I watched a river flood the low fields first, then recede to feed the parched banks upstream. The water does not hoard its power in the deep pools; it flows where there is need, leaving the overflowing places empty again. This is how things endure. When a man fills his cup while another’s is dry, the cup breaks and the ground hardens. I learned this watching the seasons turn grain to dust on the high ridges, only to see new shoots rise from the valley floor where the rain had just fallen.

I ask you to check your own hands before you sleep tonight. Do they hold back what belongs to the neighbor? Lay down the weight of your surplus and let it fall into the hollow places around you. Walk softly so that no one hears you give, for in giving without a name, you become like the earth that supports all things yet asks nothing in return.