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Communing with Water

Flowing water over Galena Creek, Reno, Nevada

I love water.  Water is movement, action, vibrancy and life.  I love water in all forms.  I enjoy watching water run over slick rocks in creeks, carrying with it many life forms, providing a self-sustaining ecosystem.  I enjoy sitting in the damp sand, watching the ferocity and energy of ocean waves as they slap shorelines, intimidating me, exciting me.  The power dwarfs me, humbling me.   I also relish in simple pleasures like long showers.  I cherish my time under the hot flowing water as it cleanses and awakens me.

Water is musical.  Some of my favorite sounds are of rumbling creeks and of trickling water fountains.  I can think of countless times I have snuggled up in my home, listening to the symphony of raindrops as they pound on my rooftop like a team of thundering pianos.

When the skies open, I cannot contain myself.  I want to be in the rain, in the flurry and liveliness of nature as it washes the earth.  My fondest childhood memories are of my long walks in the rain with my father in the wooded Oakland hills.  The dark, wet daylight would amplify the green trees and vegetation.  Life stood still, and all that could be heard was the pitter-patter of wet drops on exposed leaves.  The sounds of water can be calming as well as dramatic.

I have always loved being in water.  Swimming is a source of pleasure for me.  As a child, I would turn into a wrinkled prune before I ever considered leaving the pool.  As an adult, I swim to relax and energize.  I love the way it makes me feel physically, emotional and spiritually.  Exercise improves the body and mind, but swimming, for me, takes the experience an extra step.  I can meditate in and around water.  When I swim laps, I get into a grove, a meditation so to speak.  I can truly turn off my mind, allowing my body to flow.  It is rhythmic.

This rhythm and the clear presence I have when I commune with water is the common theme behind my love for water.  Water is power, it flows, and I feel my body and my spirit flows with it.  I can float into a restful yet powerful place when I am by a creek, an ocean, or even as I stand with my arms open to a storming sky.  I simply love the way water sounds, feels and gives life.

“If there is magic on this planet, it is contained in water.”

Quote by Loran Eiseley, The Immense Journey, 1957

Gaia

Mendocino, California

Mendocino, California

I sit idle, watching as each wave licks the compressed sand, lapping it up like a savory treat.  Back and forth, small bursts of white froth move excitedly, digging deeper into the cavernous beach.  The ocean foams at the mouth, curling hungrily around each isolate rock.  These rocks, positioned haphazardly throughout the watery cove, lay hidden beneath mystery and fury.  It isn’t until the fervor of the ocean unleashes angry bursts around them are they exposed, vulnerable.  Like beached whales, they are stubborn and steady.  Occasionally, the lone bird coasts powerfully by, dancing its commanding dance, arduously pumping against the western winds, cutting the evening air like a thick, dull knife.  Seagulls have now returned to their hidden shelters, and the skies are clean, leaving only the clouds as a moving, cluttered canvas.  Various shades of grey glide by, determined, deliberate.  Charcoal, lavender, silver, peach, blues, each color faintly kisses the contours of the heavens.  And as the coastal wind whips by, the celestial art changes, moving about, morphs, evolves into nothing, something into everything.  One glance away and the scene is gone, replaced by a new canvas, new inspiration, a new mystery.  My eyes aren’t absorbent enough to consume each pixel of light and color, not focused enough to catch every angle, each contour and the rich depth that lies before them.  I gobble up each subtle moment; each luxurious second feeds into my mind, my body, my soul.  I can feel my molecular structure change.  Each cell, each atom slows, relaxes and meditates my body.  My muscles, my blood, my flesh, all bubble and simmer, fluid and flexible.  Am I any different than this great spectacle I feast my eyes on?  Am I the ocean in all its glorious fury, the air that whisks by, carrying with it the soft grey sky as one complete and complex unit?  Am I each seagull that clamored through the breezy current?  Or perhaps I am that blade of grass that chatters in clumps, encompassed by a field of sand.  There is no separating myself from the land, the life, the action.  I am beautiful.  I am life.  And I sit quietly, steadily, yet actively participating in this living, breathing masterpiece.

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