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.
