Let the river, let the ocean

Once I had a rock.
I found it in a river, and it was eggshaped.
I have never been much fond of rivers and I was terrified by the sea.
Perhaps it was because i did not know how to swim and everytime my father took me with him to the water, being that a ring of nothing around his waist, i became hysterical (pardon me Freud bitte).
On the other hand, the river was what?, either a large, huge, wide stream or a humble body of water like a brook. But alas, the water is nothing but humble, so all the stories i heard from drowning people, youngsters, students, and the rest contributed to my special theory regarding water: stay away from it unless you want to engross the large number of bodies swollen and greenishly purple.
And so it was until i learned to swim.
It was in one of those visits to a river when I found the rock.

Beautiful, yellowish round, eggshaped rock, it did stay with me for many years.
I never caried it with me in my pocket but I knew it was there, in my room, over some old books, always there, always there.
I am not sure whether I lost it or if it was stolen or simply, the river or the earth claimed its posession.
Years later i still dream of it, that i have it somewhere over my desk, my beautiful rock. One night the dream came, flying on soft feathers and wind, and then a voice, Toruka the voice of dream, tells me, that the star is back to the sky, that it was an insane star who got confused with the sparkling dance of the river hence came down here.
I woke up with a warmth feeling, the sensation of having helped someone find its way home....
James