You can read the original poem Hydraulic Jump here.
Water’s strength, in Taoist terms,comes from its ability to yield.
Just as Rome was not built in a day, the Grand Canyon was carved in increments by the flow of the Colorado River.
Gravity, erosion and time can cleave mountains, though it can take an ample amount of that last ingredient.
The through-line? It’s automatic. Insofar as the Colorado River is left largely to its own devices.
And what looks static in the course of a day, a year or a lifetime is actually constantly changing with the topography of its surroundings.
With no mind to straighten their courses, rivers end up as magnificent squiggles, rending valleys and mountains alike.
When a river flows downward (usually in the case of waterfalls) the friction can cause a small portion of the stream to flow in the opposite direction of the current.
This is the eponymous hydraulic jump.
And in that vein, sometimes order can look a whole lot like entropy.
From different perspectives, rivers can take on many different forms.
But at the end of the day, life moves with the squiggles, and is in no rush to adjust.
When you recognize things as they are, then change comes easily– imperceptibly, even.