Impermanence

I have just come back from the washroom, where I found myself in awe and disgust as I ran my hand under the cold water pouring from the tap. I fiddled with the nozzles, adjusting the temperature to my comfort level and it occurred to me how privileged I am to be able to have hot and cold water at my every beck and call.

But, like a splash of icey water in the sleeping face, it hit me how deluded I am. My privilege is at the expense of someone else. I do not control my water source; in fact, I have little understanding of where my water comes from. If someone were to decide that I do not need clean water any longer, hot or cold, it could easily be gone.

Would I miss it?

I am on my knees. Begging and shackled. At the every beck and call of my water master. My emotions are externally determined. Decided by the circumstances I am puppeteered on through.

See Jane go. See Spot run. See Sol smile as he washes his face with clean water. See Sol frown as his water turns brown. See Sol shift his spirit and drive at the whim of his master. See Sol anger and stomp his feet. See Sol stomp his feet on the street. See Sol poison himself as he drinks the dirty river water, tainted by toilet refuse.

Looking in the mirror at my own reflection, the illusion of freedom.