A stream from its source in far-off mountains, passing through every kind and description of countryside, at last reached the sands of the desert. Just as it had crossed every other barrier, the stream tried to cross this one, but it found that as fast as it ran into the sand, its waters disappeared.
It was convinced, however, that its destiny was to cross the desert and yet there seemed to be no way. A hidden voice whispered, "the wind crosses the desert, so can the stream." The stream objected that it was only getting absorbed by the sand and could not fly like the wind.
The voice whispered again, "By hurtling in your accustomed way you cannot get across. You will either disappear or become a quagmire. To go further, you will have to lose yourself and be changed." "But if I lose myself," the stream cried, "everything I have ever been and known will be lost." "Oh, on the contrary," said the voice, "if you lose yourself, you will become more of what you were meant to be than you ever dreamed."
So, with some fear but great trust, the stream surrendered itself to the hot drying sun. And the clouds into which it was formed were carried by the raging wind for many miles. And once it crossed the desert, the stream poured down from the skies, fresh, clean and full of the energy that comes from storms.
If I were to liken myself to the stream, then I am still hovering over the deserts, being made fresh, clean, and full of energy.