Pebbles

As I pick up this pebble in my hand I wonder, how long its been here? Where did it come from? It just stays here in my hand, like a weightless spectator. Without slightest care for what I would do with it. Would I throw it back into the water? May be that's where it came from. Longing to go back. Finally the moment has arrived. Its been touched and its life is going to take a new turn. Its holding its breath in anticipation. Any moment now the decision would be made, either thrown away in the water or laid back down where it was just waiting and continue to wait for an eternity. No, that's not the pebble. That's me. the pebble doesn't care any less to be thrown or not, its content either way. It knows whatever I would do would not be me doing it, but its own destiny taking its own course. It would neither have any regret nor any relief. My action is guided by its own destiny. Perhaps it doesn't even realize my existence. It was its destiny to be picked up by me and mine to pick it up. It was a point where our destinies connected. Are there really two destinies? Or perhaps there is one destiny guiding everything, me, the pebble and everything that exists in this universe, the gigantic network of endless possibilities of intervening paths, leading to one goal unknown yet to a human mind. The pebble does not know my existence, but I do its. It can not perceive me but I can. At least a part of it. Perhaps that's why I believe I am powerful.