Immortal

Immortal

A bottle in a river
could take days or hours
to reach its destination,
perhaps even years, depending
on how many branches divert it
or how many eddies stall it
or how many rocks threaten to break it.
But when it reaches its destination,
it will be chosen by a solitary soul
walking barefoot on the sand
or trekking through the forest.
When the message is finally read,
will anyone be concerned with the time
or the condition in which it arrived?

Or will we embrace this formed glass bottle
with amazement that it even reached the end
of this perilous journey?
Would knowing if the journey
took days or decades
add or detract from the message?
Only the bottle knows its trials,
but we, the souls who witness
this final leg of the race,
can choose whether or not to respect
the message and the messenger,
without judging their values
based on the speed of their journey,
or the path it took them to get there. 

And if, my friend, you are the bottle
and your life’s journey
has been long and perilous
or even short and rather effortless,
speak your message aloud
for the fortunate soul
who might find you
at the end of your travels.
Speak out, for this soul
will carry your words
on another, and perhaps
a very different journey. 
In this way, we are all messengers. 
In this way, we are all immortal.