The clear creek forms a beautiful swimming-hole right by my house, and Alex and Emily have learned how to take off from the rapids submerging themselves and coming up with small pebbles in their hands.

We have a collection of some attractive stones, right by a large rock where we sit in the sun and tell stories. We call it “The story rock.”

The water is cold, but we are now used to it. The kids hang from a rope and fall right into the center of the natural pool. Every now and then we meet an agile trout that likes to swim in the bottom of the pool, right between the rocks. The kids call this entire place “the office,” because that is where I spend most of my time when I am at home. I sit there, and think, and the most productive moments take place when I do not think at all. There are just emerging feelings, like the passing of the creek. Moments that go into new moments, and a peaceful energy that flows all over the forest.

In the creek, the mind disappears after your body is submerged in the melted snow. The sounds that first captured your attention become second nature, just like hearing yourself breath. It is like taking consciousness of a larger body and tapping into a wide range of new feelings. The creek is alive and it has its own way of being. It goes way back, long before us, human beings first walked the earth. And the energy of the creek is particularly strong in this swimming-hole.

“I am nothing.”

Those words of Dr. Husain, the world’s foremost authority in treating children with trauma of war, become meaningful to me as I sink into the swimming-hole. This is exactly what I feel there, and it is so liberating.

Becoming emptiness. But that emptiness is filled with this impersonal life that goes on, the fresh water that flows and flows, the creek that seems to hold eternity and the present moment at the same time.

In one of those moments, while I am sitting at the story-rock my daughter Emily asks me “Come on Dad, if you sit there you have to tell a story.”

The sun is kind, the water soothing, and I don’t want to move from that comfortable rock. So I tell her this story.

“Once upon a time there was a pig. He ate and ate, and never stopped, until all of the food he had in front of him was gone. One day, a fairy appeared to him, and gave him plate after plate, and the pig ate and ate, until he could eat no more. The next day, the fairy asked him if he had learned his lesson. ‘Yes’ the pig said, ‘I don’t have to eat everything that is in front of me.’ And so, the pig ate, and then he stopped, even when there was more food before him. From the distance, the fairy watched, and was pleased with the pig’s progress.

The following day, the pig found himself to be a dog. Now, he could go into the house of the humans, a place that he only saw from the distance when he was a pig. He ate and stopped, and shared the rest of his food with some stray dogs. The fairy was pleased with him, and the following day the dog found himself to be a cat. Now, as a cat, he could be in the house for as long as he wanted. He was surprised to see that he was served only the most delicious of foods, presented in some fancy trays. He was about to eat when suddenly he changed his mind. Instead of having the meal of his life, the cat went without food in order to give it to a hungry group of wild kittens. The night came; the cat went to sleep and woke up as a little girl. ‘What is this?’ the little girl marveled. ‘You are now a human being’ the fairy said ‘your goodness has earned you that right to become human and now you are in a position to share the most good with all the creatures around you.’

We were quiet for a moment, and then Emily smiled and said, “I am a little girl, and I love all of the animals and all of the people of the world!”

Then we spent some time there, in silence, on the story rock, both of us listening to the stories of the creek, stories that came and went, but are always there, flowing in the clear waters of the creek.