We are the fish who circle inside a glass that floats in the water,
a clear vessel that holds us gently and hides the vastness from our eyes,
and whatever lives within its walls becomes our world,
and whatever lies beyond it dissolves into silence.
The fish believes the cup is the ocean,
and the ocean, in its endlessness, does not argue,
for every creature knows only the shape of its own breath
until longing awakens it.
Yet in the heart of every being, a secret fire stirs,
a whisper saying:
“This glass is not your home,
this narrow circle is not your destiny.
Break the certainty you cling to,
and let the great water carry you.”
So the question rises like a tide:
is it the mind that seeks to flee its shining prison,
or are the thoughts themselves
swimming upward from the deep
to touch the one who waits behind the glass?
Truth is not behind a door,
nor hidden in a distant room
Truth is the water itself,
the boundless sea that surrounds the cup,
the sea that calls the fish by its true name
and asks it to remember
what it has always been.