Somehow, despite all the things that have happened to us, all the things that have been done to us, all the things we ourselves have done, there remains something originally and unchangingly innocent.
That night on the bridge I clearly discerned the pure, pristine, original water and the pollution as distinct and separate. Something kept them from actually bonding from one another. It was as if, right in the midst of this polluted creek, that original, pure water had been hidden away somewhere where it could not be touched.
And while all we saw on the surface was the pollution and the muck, right there, hidden from view, was the original purity.
Indeed, something truly did maintain the integrity of that original innocence. And it did so well it even forgot that that is what it was doing.
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