The lifeblood of existence.
I remember that, from a very early age, I loved water-not so much drinking it- or swimming on top of it, as watching it, and later, sailing on it and, for a short time, swimming under the surface.
In my pre-teens, there was a brook, bigger than a stream but smaller than a river. I often sat on the bank above the brook, watching it flow past me and wondering where it ended. I watched debris float past and wondered about its story. Where did it come from? Where will it end? What will be its journey?
I knew about the water cycle: rain, rivers, the seas, and condensation lifting the water back into the air. But I was much more interested in the physical journey—a leaf, a twig, a rat that swam past once. My imagination climbed aboard each one of them and imagined the journey.
On land, I had a fear of the night. The darkness hid a man determined to do me harm at the end of every street. In the water, I swam in absolute zero visibility, not knowing the depth of the water or what lurked under me...But I felt safe. Perhaps the silence and stillness below the surface meant I wanted a rest from my sporting life, where movement was always necessary. I was always aware of my breathing underwater.
NOTE: I have always desired a death or a burial at sea.
I have always been aware of water, allowing me to relax, yet also to destroy the earth and even the rocks it runs through and around. Psychologically, I am aware now of the toxins carried by water, and the toxins we carry in our bodies.
Toxins that cause swelling of the cells, causing headaches, sickness, and cramps. Or drought, which brings on depression, lack of vitality, and, like all things deprived of water, arthritis. The bones are twisted and dry, just as plants wither, and the branches of trees curl and twist.
When the water lacks energy or movement, it stagnates. If it has too much energy, it destroys its surroundings. When water is provided in the right amount, with the necessary speed to flow smoothly, the water cycle takes care of itself.
My daughter is living in the desert in Egypt. Volcanoes formed mountains that surround the hotel where she works. Trees and some plants surround her. The scenery is spectacular. It hasn't rained for eight years, yet the mountains were formed by volcanoes that lay on the seabed millions of years ago, and water for the greenery is deep underground, yet still reaches the roots of healthy trees.
In the human body, the Chinese attributed the energy to our kidneys. They maintain the balance of liquids vital to life. The kidneys filter water and plasma and allow them to be reabsorbed, while waste is taken to the bladder.
The kidneys separate the required liquid elements and filter out the waste. When the kidneys fail, the toxins build up and become part of the dying process.
Conclusion:
I remember a few times when I stood on cliffs overlooking the sea; I remember the urge to jump, to plunge toward the water below, as if attracted back to the element that rules our lives. That is the powerful energy of water. We can compare the restful nature of that stream I talked about, or the gentle lapping of the waves on the shore, with the destruction caused by a storm or a flood.
I remember embracing the zero visibility of the lagoon where I used to dive, and I can match that experience to the peaceful existence below the surface of the coral reefs off Eilat, where visibility was forever. I seek danger as often as I work for a peaceful life. I often swim against the tide and rarely float along, like those twigs, leaves, and rats.
How often do you feel as if the tide is taking you with it?
How often do you swim against the tide?
Are you anxious in the dark?