Once upon a time, in a clear mountain stream, there lived a whirlpool named Eddy.
Eddy was very worried. All around him, he could see other whirlpools spinning and swirling, and they all seemed so separate from each other. “I am just a small whirlpool,” Eddy thought. “Someday I will disappear, and that will be terrible!”
So, Eddy decided to go on a quest. “I will discover the Great Stream that everyone talks about,” he said. “Once I understand the Stream, I will be wise and happy, and I will never have to worry about disappearing again.”
Eddy spun and searched for many years—seventy-seven, to be exact. He studied how water flowed. He watched other whirlpools form and fade. He read everything ever written about streams. He asked every wise whirlpool he met: “How can I find the Stream? How can I become one with it?”
The wise whirlpools gave him many answers. “Spin slower,” said one. “Spin faster,” said another. “Stop spinning entirely,” said a third.
Eddy tried everything. And sometimes, just for a moment, he would feel it—a sense that he wasn’t really separate at all, that there was only flowing, only water, only…
But then the feeling would vanish, and he’d be Eddy again, still searching.
One day, exhausted, Eddy asked the oldest whirlpool in the stream: “After all these years, why can’t I find the Stream?”
The old whirlpool laughed—a bubbly, gurgling laugh. “Tell me, Eddy, what are you made of?”
“Water, of course,” said Eddy.
“And what is the Stream made of?”
“Water,” said Eddy slowly.
“And what is between you and the Stream?”
Eddy started to say “space” or “distance,” but… he looked. Really looked. Where exactly did Eddy end and not-Eddy begin? Where was the border?
“There is no between,” Eddy whispered.
“There is no whirlpool either,” said the old one gently. “There never was. There’s only ever been Stream, doing what Stream does. You weren’t a whirlpool trying to find the Stream. You were Stream, temporarily swirling, temporarily believing you were something separate.”
“But… but I’m still here!” said Eddy. “I still feel like Eddy!”
“Yes,” said the old whirlpool. “That’s what Stream does sometimes. It swirls. It feels like something separate. It searches for itself. And sometimes it recognises itself. And then it forgets again. All of that is just Stream, streaming.”
“So, my whole quest was pointless?” Eddy felt sad.
“Not pointless,” said the old one. “How else would Stream investigate what it’s like to be a whirlpool? How else would it discover there was never actually a whirlpool at all? Your searching was Stream’s searching. Your discovering is Stream’s discovering.”
Eddy felt confused. Then clear. Then confused again.
“Will I always flicker like this?” he asked. “Seeing it, then not seeing it?”
“Probably,” said the old whirlpool. “That’s what whirlpools do, as long as they’re swirling. But here’s the secret: the flickering is also just Stream. There’s nothing that isn’t.”
And with that, the old whirlpool gradually flattened and dissolved, flowing peacefully onward.
Eddy watched, and felt something he’d never felt before. Not fear. Not excitement. Just… flowing.
He was still swirling. Still apparently Eddy. But somehow the terror of disappearing had dissolved too.
Because whether he saw it or not, whether he understood it or not, whether he existed or not—
There was only Stream.
There had only ever been Stream.
And that was enough.
The End
(Or is it?)
Terry Cooke-Davies, assisted by Claude from AnthropicAI
29th September 2025
