Monday, February 15, 2016

February 15, 2016 - I Miss My Stream

As you can see, one of my favorite little streams is frozen solid.  This is a place of great meditation for me, and I often come here.  The rushing sound of the water is very lulling and can easily induce deep states of relaxation and other work.  Except now it can’t.  Now the bringer of peace is immobile.

It’s interesting how the sound of water affects human beings, almost always in a positive way.  Tiny raindrops on a tin roof, a torrential downpour in a field, a stream rushing by, the roar of a waterfall.  All of these things give us pause for reflection.  Maybe it’s because we know that moving water always washes things.  Soap just loosens the dirt, but it is water and time--and their combination--that do the real cleaning in our lives, the renewal, if you will.

The magic is still there . . . somewhere, hidden in the ice.

We don’t just walk by a waterfall and ignore it or keep on talking to a friend.  We stop.  We have to stop.  We just have to.  We have to go and look at it.  Did you ever notice how you close your eyes just for a second or two and listen to it?  Or maybe it’s not a waterfall.  Maybe it’s a stream.  You find that one rock it’s really slamming on.  You find that one dip where it all cascades.  And you just look at it and you just listen to it and you just let it wash you.  Then you leave the place changed, better.

When there’s thunder and lightning and the tension mounts and mounts until you feel like you’re about to explode, suddenly the rain comes.  And you give a sigh of relief.  It’s time to let it go now.  It’s time to relax, even if it’s really pouring down, even if it’s raining “cats and dogs.”  Once it finally breaks through, there’s a release of tension.  It’s here now, we say to ourselves, thank heavens.

People don’t realize just how magical water really is.  I’ve covered this idea in one way or another many times in this journal.  Water is the secret of the universe--no doubt about it.  It is not fire.  It is not gravity.  It is water.  Combine it with electricity, and you have the recipe for being a god.  But that’s another story, and you can bet the Great Alchemist figures prominently in it.

Then suddenly, water is bound up in ice.  It transmutes to a crystalline mineral.  When I look at it, I know that somewhere, somehow, the magic is still in there, but it’s trapped.  It is completely immobile--anathema to water’s nature.  But it, too, must bear its yoke, and if it can do so as quietly and patiently as it does, perhaps I can as well.  It’s a lesson I still have to learn.

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