Imagine the flow of a river. A river begins where water wells up from the ground. Several springs combine into a small stream, which merges with other rivers along the way, gradually growing into a larger flow. Eventually, it empties into the sea, and its form as a river ends there. However, that water evaporates into clouds, turns into rain, and falls somewhere again. The rain that falls to the earth is absorbed into the ground, eventually welling up somewhere to become a river. The rain not absorbed flows directly into the stream. In this way, it is constantly circulating.
Now, imagine dropping a bit of ink into this river. In an instant, the ink disperses, and its color disappears. But if you keep dropping ink continuously into the same spot, the color will remain visible to some extent, if only right there. Our world is probably just like this. Everything changes and transitions; in reality, there is no such thing as a fixed “self.” There is simply a flow that exists, regardless of our will or purpose. We are within that flow, and at the same time, we are the flow itself.
We eat every day. This is like dropping ink into the river. By eating, we manage to maintain our form and shape amidst constant change. The world is always flowing, and we live in a single moment within it. The physical body we try to protect, thinking “this is who I am,” is nothing more than a temporary color, barely holding on. However, our attachment arises because we believe this resulting outline is something absolute. We, who are the flow itself, cannot fix ink in place within a rushing river.