Send a prayer to the sea, sing the tale of the sailor, dance on the feet of long drowned folk. Why do you go into the Water that lurks on your life, eager to swallow you whole? Do you not hear the mean chiming of the waves, the secrets whispered by the foam, of stolen stories and eternal grief? Have you not tasted the saltwater that streams down along cries of loss, and runs home to the sea?
Send a prayer to the river, learn the words of its lullaby, once more dance on the feet of long drowned folk. Perhaps you think the river kinder, perhaps its friendship to the boatman who secures your way through deceives you into believing it tamed. Perhaps you believe you know it from your dreams. Do not mistake wisdom for kindness, nor affection for submission. Why do you risk falling into the river’s affections? Do you not know it’ll love you, and claim you? Do you not know of seduction and desire? Do you not know mothers can kill?
And yet, if the chant of the Water is simply too true to resist; if it’s not blood that runs in your veins but rain; if you do not come from dust and to dust shall not return, leave. Dream awake amidst the matter of memory, learn the secrets of history untold, the names of all beings which runs in the current. Hear the hymn of the world as it echoes in each drop. Live the life of those who know themselves already dead, and know not misery or melancholy, cry not for the coming drowning. Do not think this an easy task: Water will take you soon and impatient if you allow it to; Death will catch you swift and fast if your love of Water has you giving yourself up for the sinking, for Life is a prideful lover, with many suitors and who does not care for you. Those of us who dream, and those of us who remember, are the ones who must remake the world. Do not mistake freedom for carelessness, do not think yourself removed. As strong, as pungent, as visceral is your love of Water, moreso must be your adoration of Life. Moreso must be your need for it, or it’ll leave you as you left land.
Death will be forgiving of this betrayal, for you reside in its home and you do not run — make it your companion, invite it to dance: it shall be part of your festivity, and you shall thank Death for its patience till you’re reunited.
And so, as Life’s begging lover, as Water’s craving child, and as Death’s eternal promise, cry, and rage, and breathe, and feel joy. Deliver yourself to these three masters and allow not for a single moment to go by idly and uncared for. Dance, and sing, and revel. Consume them, and yourself, as they consume you as well. Spare nothing, crave all, and never believe yourself alone. You shall not be selfish of your loves, you shall not believe you can swim by yourself: only a fool believes to have alone a will stronger than the current.
Send a prayer to the sea, send a prayer to the river. Sing the tale of the sailor who came before you, and teach the words to those who come after. Sing in chorus — as many voices you have singing with you, as many lovers Life, Water and Death are occupied by, as much longer shall your journey be.
To Gaston Bachelard’s “Water and Dreams” and Herman Hesse’s “Sidarta”.