Liora stands where the river meets the stones.
The water is clear and fast, thinning as it passes over the shallows. It makes no claim on her attention, yet it does not recede from it either. The opposite bank is visible, close enough to name, too far to matter. There is no bridge. There is also no absence of one.
The air is cool. The ground is firm beneath her boots. Nothing is required of her.
This place does not present itself as a problem.
For a moment, Liora simply stands.
You may remain here, with Liora, and notice the scene as it is already given.
Or you may allow one distinction to come forward.
Not to decide what happens next, but to notice what becomes present.
Choose a stance:
Attend to the movement of the water.
Attend to the line between water and stone.
Attend to Liora’s footing.
There is no correct choice.
If you attend to the movement of the water
The river ceases to be something that separates.
What appears instead is continuity: motion folding into motion, turbulence giving way to flow. The water is never in one place long enough to be counted. Stones do not interrupt it; they inflect it.
From here, there is no crossing. There is only ongoing passage. The distinction between this side and that side loosens, not because it is denied, but because it never stabilises.
Liora is not beside the river. She is within the same rhythm that carries it past her. Her stillness is simply another form of motion, slower, heavier, but no less involved.
Nothing waits on the other side.
When you remain with the flow long enough, the idea of arrival loses its sense.
The river does not lead anywhere.
If you attend to the line between water and stone
The river sharpens.
What becomes salient is not motion but boundary: the precise place where water ends and ground begins. The stones hold. The water yields. The line is thin, but it is everywhere.
Here, sides matter. This bank is not that bank. Near and far take shape. The river is not passage but condition.
Liora stands at an edge.
The world organises itself around the distinction. Stability emerges not from movement, but from contrast. The stones persist. The line holds, even as the water moves across it.
From this stance, crossing is intelligible — not necessary, not inevitable, but thinkable.
The river does not invite. It delineates.
If you attend to Liora’s footing
The river recedes.
What appears instead is pressure: weight distributed through muscle and bone into ground. Each stone underfoot presents a slightly different demand. Balance is not achieved once, but continually adjusted.
There is no river here, only ongoing negotiation.
The distinction that matters is not between banks, but between what holds and what slips. Liora’s awareness narrows to micro-movements: ankle, arch, heel. The world is composed at the scale of contact.
From this stance, neither flow nor boundary is primary. What persists is enactment.
Standing is already an accomplishment.
When you are ready, return to the moment where Liora stands at the river’s edge.
Nothing has changed.
And yet, the place is no longer quite the same.
You may enter another stance.
Or you may leave the river here, without resolving it.
Both are admissible.
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