We crawled from the sea onto dry land, and metamorphosed. Now? We grow, tiny oceanic creatures, in the water created within our mothers’ wombs. Budding arms and legs wave, like seaweed fronds, inside the watery sac. Our vast heads and cavernous eyes learn the song of the deep as liquid safety roars in time with the rhythmic maternal heart-drum.
Water sings of the West, of emotion, of feelings we cannot always express. As foetuses we learn, through our burgeoning bodies, the elemental lessons of what it means to be human, to float in wetness, to touch our own earthy flesh, to feel the warmth of our protector’s fiery blood.
Water surrounds us from our earliest inception. We gravitate towards it throughout our lives – and, at the end, it is part of the chemical genius which breaks us down into our component elemental parts.
Started by the alchemy of sperm fired from passion’s fleshly gun and met by the undulating dance of the egg, we develop in an atmosphere of amniotic innocence.
Born, grown, our withheld emotions rise, tsunami-like in their power, and can wreak terrible destruction. Our bodies leak coloured water all the time: Blood, sweat, tears, waste.
Precious little beings flexing tiny muscles in their sacs! How we take them for granted! How we dismiss them and treat them as if their differences defined them! Forgetting, in our frenzy of prejudice, that we all were once suspended in that thrumming world of amniotic love.
We are water.