In this final instalment of the first cycle of six visits to River, I contemplate the role of water as communicator and consider: how do we reciprocate when so much is given so freely? I honestly did not think I was going to go again. I have been swimming twice in River this week, the stretch of River known as Till. It was heavenly to swim upstream and float down, buoyant in the water, moving at river’s pace, the sun bouncing sparkles off the water’s surface that up close, had a skin adorned with seeds, dust, and tiny feathers. All of life was here amid time suspended. The children splashed and shouted as they swam and all I could do was indulge in the few brief moments of silence afforded by the blanket cover of water on my ears when I relaxed and lay fully back. Being immersed in River felt restorative on many levels, but it was not an act of intentional, communicative engagement which is best experienced alone I am learning.
Your loveliest and most powerful account I read. So meaningful to me, as i spend days trying to understand how to communicate with the clear, heavenly sea i am surrounded by, being on an island. I know it and adore it though it can be scary and too strong.
I thought of experiments on water’s memory and i guess just my presence in the sea is a means of communication, by the changes the water actually seems to be recording. I try vibrations by chanting, imagining tiny wavelets will spread around my body.
Still i think i am getting nowhere, and that only surrendering to belonging shortly to this immense water being makes sense.
I think rivers have something resembling personality that makes it easier to relate. Their flowing can be similar to ours. Their banks make then reasonably limited so that a relationship appears possible. This sea is almost infinite, instead, looking so much like the sky over it, over us.
In a novel by Alessandro Baricco, a pianist who lived all his life on a cruiser, explains why he would never get off it, saying that he could only play music on a finite keyboard, and the land he saw beyond the port instead seemed infinite: only God can play music on an infinite keyboard.
This sea gives me this impression at this time of my life and I look forward, I must say, to go visit a river, or a sea that I can distance myself from, unlike this one. I will then follow your beautiful routine, much richer than mine. ❤️
Your loveliest and most powerful account I read. So meaningful to me, as i spend days trying to understand how to communicate with the clear, heavenly sea i am surrounded by, being on an island. I know it and adore it though it can be scary and too strong.
I thought of experiments on water’s memory and i guess just my presence in the sea is a means of communication, by the changes the water actually seems to be recording. I try vibrations by chanting, imagining tiny wavelets will spread around my body.
Still i think i am getting nowhere, and that only surrendering to belonging shortly to this immense water being makes sense.
I think rivers have something resembling personality that makes it easier to relate. Their flowing can be similar to ours. Their banks make then reasonably limited so that a relationship appears possible. This sea is almost infinite, instead, looking so much like the sky over it, over us.
In a novel by Alessandro Baricco, a pianist who lived all his life on a cruiser, explains why he would never get off it, saying that he could only play music on a finite keyboard, and the land he saw beyond the port instead seemed infinite: only God can play music on an infinite keyboard.
This sea gives me this impression at this time of my life and I look forward, I must say, to go visit a river, or a sea that I can distance myself from, unlike this one. I will then follow your beautiful routine, much richer than mine. ❤️