I believe in the healing power of water, in my ability to become whole by returning to my humble beginnings. I witness its power. I am drawn to its wisdom. One spherical drop. One salty tear. One artful splatter. One molecule. Two elements. An unbroken bond. I believe.
I believe in the healing power of water. I am drawn to a springtime wash over ridges of layered life, creeping backward as time marches forward. I sit beside a raging river, rushing through time, leaping youthfully over parental bedrock of old. I walk along the endless ocean, each swell holding a swirl of suspended soils carried from whitened mountaintops to the darkest, deepest ocean floor. I believe.
I believe in the healing power of water. I float freely with my eyes clenched tight, with my arms stretched outward, the water whispering its ancient stories in my ears. I listen to a crescendo-ing chorus of a summer storm as it plays upon my metal roof. Its symphonic movements awaken my soul. I respond with the earthy sound of my cedar flute. Click. I capture the silence of a frozen winter awaiting warming rays, ready to announce its re-birth and congregate like a family reunion in vernal ponds below. I hear the water’s lessons. The swing and sway of a gurgle as it dances privately beneath a river-worn rock. I believe.
I believe in the healing power of water. I travel to bubbling medicinal springs that offer me their naturopathic remedies from odor-spilling fountains. I feel the pounding of waves upon the sandy shore, sweeping forward, pulling back, unearthing the granules beneath my toes. I release myself from this world to another with my meditative swimming strokes, the rhythmic motion of my paddle. I run to the window when hearing the maniacal laughter of the loon as its floats, dives, surfaces, and embraces its newly created life in the reservoir beyond my cabin door. I believe.
Drip, drop, trickle, gurgle, splatter. I believe. I believe.
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