As I look out at the horizon, I see waves that were once familiar replaced by new ones. As much as I might want to find the old waves again, I can’t recover something taken by the tide. And yet, I saw something interesting the other day when I read that ‘water has a perfect memory’.
I’ve also read that more than half of the human body is made up of water. Every day somewhere there is a new discussion about whether our lives are led by our own hands, or by a destiny somewhere beyond our control. But perhaps it’s like water and the human body.
No matter what I might call water, my body knows that it needs water to live, to refresh itself, and to nourish other life. In turn, whether I view water as a resource given to me by the universe or a gift from God, the simple physical act of refilling my body with water is itself the purest form of honoring the life-force.
In this same sense, whether the world looks like a broken conglomerate of water and land, or whether it looks like a perfect sphere in the midst of a dark galaxy, the world is still just being, and sometimes being is just enough. I can’t change how the tide treats me, but I can flow with the tide.
It’s only when I let go that I find myself absorbed by the world I struggle so often to understand. When I just walk into the water, my life reconnects with the originality of everything. Then, I remember. It’s a brilliant waterfall through time and space. Everything is there.