I never wished for it, yet I had a sense it was coming quite some time before it arrived. It was the whisper of the trees one breezy afternoon, coupled with the presence of a small bird who flew cheekily in front of me with beady eyes full of knowledge. In the melodic song I heard the message, directed, very specifically my way and no, this is not an uncommon thing to pass but know this, I have absolutely no control over it. An example of this lack of control was recently demonstrated in a vivid dream of a friend I don’t see often enough. She came towards me quite unexpectedly and I asked her ‘What are you doing here?’ She lacked a reply and was stamping her feet in quite an out of character way. Her temper engulfing her sunny disposition and common heard laughter. I stood there observing her but it was like I was invisible. I awoke and messaged her, just a small token blip of ‘How’s things?’ I had not spoken with her for a long while and she called me within minutes and immediately broke down in anger filled tears. An hour and a half later on the phone and the energy that was transmitted it was no surprise why I had actually dreamed of her in this state.
When the bird’s song finally came to fruition, it was so subtle that I was not present nor awake enough to notice it immediately. I was too busy celebrating my birthday, it was a day of self choice and induldgence but also with some element of delusion. But, still I took one small moment to share it with you all be it indirectly. Although, inconsequently during this moment I was oblivious to the suffering that would come with what appeared to be such an innocent act on my part. What I was lacking then was the insight of how this bird song would unfold.
When I accepted those invitations to dance with the water it was without any perception of consequence. It was a small indulgence of conversation and witty exchange. This almost childish naivity and lack of awareness of the cyclical emotion that would go with those ebbs and flows has been a lesson to me. The interaction between us sometimes flowing, often reduced to a dripping due to a confusion, but the emotions frequently whirling like a rip in the tide, that dangerous point where salt water meets fresh. A crossing of two points that appear similar in their form but their differences exist to engulf and pull you in and then under. Only the clever ones can swim it with success. Only the knowledeable ones know how to navigate through the pull of it and not drown. I was not skilled in the navigation, I fought the energy of it and have drowned. Survival requires total submission and to follow the path of the energy. Why the resistance? These tides of emotions, are uncomfortable and torturous for me. The source of many of my discomforts were your words.
Of course you never said anything bad or awful. No, this is not in keeping with the water style. I clung to those words, the sheer poetic beauty of them captured me, the more I clung or cradled the phrases of intimacy the more they slipped away. It began to resemble a drink from the river without a cup. Trying to quench a deep thirst by dipping your hand into the water to catch it and drink is not as satisfying as drinking water directly from the cup, it does not meet the need. A drink from the river is never enough to cure the burn without many repeated attempts at the dipping, catching and drinking. The water falls through the fingers demonstrating how it can never be caught or tamed. It must flow, onto the next place or person. This realisation came to me quite abrubtly. It was via a song I hadn’t heard for a long while but one I know well and have taken time to listen to despite it being by singer that I don’t particularly follow. What struck me was the truth to the words. I don’t refer to solely the lyrical perception of what was sung, although one verse in particular stands apart. No, it was watching the singer perform that song in front of the audience that uniformly experienced a unity in recognition that an absolute truth had been communicated. This truth was later confirmed via an interview in which the singer laid bare a raw and intimate truth to millions of strangers. So raw was the emotion that I was one of the watching population amazed and captured by the vunerability of it. The basic and unabashed admission that someone’s words had captivated the soul but had somehow been untrueand a cruel game. You and your words were always with the advantage. I do not communicate with you in my native tongue and so you will always win. Your words draw me in but have no truth.
When I think about what is truth I am reminded of famous mathematicians stating that numbers provide both truth and beauty. My difficulty with numbers affects every aspect of my life, from spatial awareness to writing down a phone number to identifying the correct money to pay. Yet, the pure synchronicity of numbers presents itself via nature to me often. These numerical manifestations are a kind of truth to me. I saw and felt the number 8 continuously in your energy but I do not know why. Truth is manifested by the action behind the words. Words are just that….literal forms on a page, vibrations of meaning passed from the mouth to the ears. However, words are my weakness. Without numbers in their usual usage I am at their mercy. Without corresponding action those very words that invite one to sip from the river to quench the thirst have the ability to cause one to drown, of course we hear of euphoric recollections of being sucked down and submitting to the flow but if that flow drowns you and flows away then it is best to take that drink from the safety of the cup.