And you could, at the behest of a guru, wait for the pond to clear, for the mud to settle and the surface to stretch to placidity – then to drop your pebble and reap your simple and beautiful reward.
Or, you could teem with the masses, a mosh pit of frothing swimming hole plotters – gnashing to find better in a hedonistic swirl of delight.
Or you could declare your spirit like an anchorman and cannonball into the parted seas.
No fret, no sweat. Any of the above will do. The water is the water. The way is the way. The froth is just as delicious as the placid. The alone as dreamy as the party.
No need to choose wisely.
You could even walk coolly away from the pond.