Life on the Small End

I reside at the small end of a large funnel. Contents are poured in, swash around and are ultimately directed with velocity and regularity in my direction.  There are many sources at the wide end.  Some trickle in at random, where others are decanted daily, but they all end up in the same place and fill me up as instantaneously as they merge and tangle at the funnels end. 

There are those who pour in from the page and others in person but, still the same, they continue to generously tip themselves over and allot themselves toward my sustenance and edification.

Sure I have my filters whose gauges are as variable as my disposition but in my greatest hope the funnel runs freely and accepts the purity of the contents that pour in.  Pure and rare or pure and routine, they can intercalate or evaporate, value and provision are in how I let them be. I reside at the small end of a funnel; life pours in and fills me up.