I am biased;
biased by my own universe of memories,
and many those biases are.
As I describe my life's events,
I do so with an irreducible bias
from present interpretations of those memories;
as for everything else I might describe.
Some of my biases have a constant rock
that none of the others have;
At least if Buddha's flowing river
can have a name before it reaches the sea;
as the river flows on.
My universe of memories are me.
My biases drift among opinions of others
as I float from cloud to cloud of idea;
as the river flows on.
I soar with the Chinese dragon of peace
while saluting his brother's dragon of war;
as the river flows on.
So forgive my failure to explain,
for to explain to myself I cannot;
as the river flows on.
As my river approaches the sea,
it slows, now though carries far more
water and dirt toward the cleansing sea;
Perhaps my current will persist in memories of other
currents after my river reaches the sea,
as the never ending river flows on
From snow on glistening peaks.
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