Walk Like Water

Walk like water.

Water doesn’t hesitate before following the path of least resistance.
It doesn’t have one sentence in its head different than the one that comes out,
And it doesn’t care which direction other water is going.
Go like water. It doesn’t get mad, judge, or remember. It goes alone, hangs off the sides of bushes, or ponds with other water. It does not get indignant if other water, or even dirt touches it. It carries all kinds of things, lovely and disgusting, all the same—it carries anything it can lift.
Water flows in a sheet down any street that’s shaped wide and slanted.
It doesn’t stop to decide which side of a ridge to go down, crying about leaving the water that goes the other way.
It doesn’t say “Whew!” to the other water in the ponds when it comes to rest; doesn’t reflect on how painful or uncomfortable it was to get there, and doesn’t worry about how it will get to the next place, or even the next state of being.
Water has an easier time than the richest person you know, even if that person lives on a hill named after freedom. It just beats a rhythm on umbrellas, car hoods, garbage, or leaves, without planning for that particular situation. And it doesn't care whether its dripping is enchanting a person, being ignored by a turd, or annoying a spider below.

Walk like water. Follow it and you will know the most direct route.