In that moment
when the water
   swallows
your skin
and you are
   absorbed
into the
living
   womb
of its expanse –

that is when her
   power
joins the very
   essence
of yours.

It’s as though the
   melding
of stardust
and liquid
in our cells
cannot help but
   seek out
the language
of its own.

Water has always pulled at me. Fascinated me. Even resting near its presence shifts something in my body – sometimes profoundly so. Maybe it’s my Scorpio heart, or my moon in Aquarius – the water bearer in the sky, that heightens my sensitivity. Maybe it’s simply being human.

Research has only recently started to confirm, scientifically, what homeopaths have suspected for centuries – the ability of water to retain energetic imprints – of substances (even when the substance itself is no longer present), of emotions, of whatever energy it is exposed to. And doesn’t it make sense, then, that our bodies, made up of around 60% water, with different concentrations throughout (for example, one’s heart is 73% water, and lungs, 83%) would respond in turn?

The language of water, or water as a conduit for the language of energy?

As I immerse myself in the world of homeopathic medicine to gain a deeper understanding and to prepare for this next phase (all while willing myself to be a sponge), the frequent references to water keep nagging at me. How is it that, the more dilute the substance, the more powerful the message becomes, so long as it is bashed a few times? It’s the irritant that gets me. Agitation. I picture my sons shooting nerf darts at me as my frustration mounts until finally, I roar at them (this only rarely happens). Is that what is happening in the world, now? Our universal wisdom so diluted, so battered by flagrant injustices that its power cannot help but rise?

How is it, when the energetic frequency of a remedy matches that of the human who ingests it, as if to say, “I hear you. I know you,” their body is nudged to rebalance, often with an unwinding of symptoms?

Is it this discourse at play, when long-buried fears rise up and catch in my throat as cold currents wrap around my limbs like tendrils? Is it this, when I roll to my back, body still submerged, as I float and breathe, that inspires a welling up of emotions as I commune with a lake that holds countless imprints of the world around and within it – or the ocean that holds the very essence of life on this planet?

Is it an unwinding, then – with this proximity to water in the natural world: lakes, oceans, even rain and snow and mist – that unearths these layers of repressed hurts, grief, cellular memories of trauma from my lived history and that of my ancestors?

Is it our communion with water that holds the power to translate untold wisdom to its sisters in our cells – messages that can be heard and felt, nudging us to surrender to the process of healing?

It was Dr. Masaru Emoto who wrote that the very structure of water as it crystallizes can shift with our mere intention.

I wonder if it is through reverence and surrender – that risky intention – that allows the universal knowing that is both within us and all around us to permeate our depths. To know, beyond a doubt that we are held and welcomed and encouraged to release that which no longer serves us. To be restored to a state of balance and peace that we might be clear channels of love.

I wonder.