Heraclitus said, “You cannot step into the same river twice.” Today’s story takes this very literally.

One thing I do not realize the first time I head for the river is that the person who steps onto the raft will not be the same person who steps off. The water washes not only grains of sand from the belly of the rock; it washes from me my routine, takes me to a momentary place, a liminal space, where so many things cease to matter. The consequences of the step onto the river are as opaque as the red silt water. It is a time and space where, like the rock, I am carved… we are carved, yet added upon one grain at a time.