Once he asked him: "Have you also learned from the river the secret that there is no time?"
A bright smile came over Vasudeva's face. "Yes, Siddhartha," he said. "This is probably what you mean: that the river is everywhere at once - at its source, at its mouth, by the waterfall, by the ferry crossing, in the rapids, in the sea, in the mountains - everywhere at the same time. And that for it there is only the present, not the shadow called the future."
"That's it," said Siddhartha. "And when I learned that, I looked at my life, and it too was a river; and the boy Siddhartha and the man Siddhartha and the old man Siddhartha were only separated by shadows, not by anything real. Siddhartha's previous births were also not a past, and his death and return to Brahma were not a future. Nothing was, nothing will be; everything is, everything has its being and is present."I love the river as a metaphor for time and existence! I think this is a perfect example of how beautifully words can convey metaphysical truths. Often words fail us; they're lifeless in comparison to Life. But this is just one of millions - no, countless - examples of language proving itself as the gift that it is, regardless of its limited power.