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by Roslyne Sophia Breillat

She is the pure still water of the silent lake, her profound depths encircled by sun bleached pebbles, softly glittering sand and tall graceful grasses dancing playfully with the breeze. This lady of the lake is deeply sacred and quietly mysterious, for she holds many ancient songs and silent secrets in the cool dark waters of her womb.

The smooth and shining surface of her reflective beauty mirrors scented green foliage and billowing clouds and the glory of golden sunshine by day. As the glowing orange orb of the sun slips slowly beneath the horizon, she welcomes twilight’s haunting song. And then she becomes one with the nocturnal realm, opening the water-filled chalice of her womb to the vastness of the night sky and to a myriad mysterious shapes silhouetted beneath galaxies of twinkling stars.

And all her wisdom is embodied within this dark womb of containment, this silent lake’s deep well of peace. The stillness and depth of her vast womb place nurtures many feathered birds and tiny creatures, providing a safe haven for nesting, for resting, for breeding, for feeding. Black swans fly from afar to glide peacefully upon her expansive waters. Fruit bats chatter all night long in the swaying branches that hang, abundant and heavily laden with a juicy feast, above the cool darkness of her watery depths.

Pelicans land majestically upon her mirrored surface, hungry for her schools of fish and ready for a meal. Her peace-filled aura reflects a pastel pink sea of mystical lotus blossoms arising regally from her muddy depths. And iridescent dragonflies shimmer their iridescent wings of turquoise and crimson amongst long slender reeds protecting tiny froglets and tadpoles.

Beyond and above the undulating hills surrounding and protecting her nurturing watery treasure, stands an ancient volcano that once billowed flames and smoke and ash from deep in Mother Earth’s underground realm. This powerful reminder of days long ago reigned regally when the earth rumbled and roared and breathed fiery molten lava into the deep silence of the cool dark lake. Her rushing and roaring long subdued, she is now at one with the silence of this peaceful lake.

She is the openhearted river of grace, fed by myriad sparkling streams dancing and gurgling their way across her smoothly worn rocks. And she welcomes the journeys of many smaller rivers with the welcoming embrace of her deeply flowing waters. For they have travelled far from their underground source in hidden mountain crevices that arise from the womb of the earth. Her song is powerful music, echoing loudly when summer rains invite her to tumultuously flood her banks. For her unpredictable spontaneity covers farms and valleys and towns and highways with an uncontrollable wildness that knows no boundaries and is impossible to contain. And her song is sweet music, flowing softly and gently when the rains have subsided and her journey towards the ocean calls. She flows, she knows, she goes where the wise whisperings of her waters take her, winding here and there through verdant dales and around gracefully undulating hills.

She is the mistress of the mountains, she who moves from one place to another with beauty and wildness and grace. She winds sensually like a silver serpent, carving her way through the sacred ground of the earth, always seeking a new place to flow, to move, to be. Her clear shallow waters are warmed by the sun, creating gently swirling pools where colourful leaves and feathers dance and play before being lightly carried to further horizons.

And her deep dark waters are dangerous and wild, almost moving too fast as they become passionately energized and enlivened with the vibrant spirit of the storm. She moves, she flows, she changes, never remaining the same, always reaching towards her Mother Ocean, who draws her ever nearer with the heartfelt promise of her wise and fathomless depths and her sacred knowing of the way home.

There are sleepy tranquil places where she lingers languidly for a while, almost stopping entirely as if she has no real purpose, no real need to go anywhere at all. And in the peaceful quietude of these pleasant places she invites others to gently step into her waters, to become replenished and refreshed, enlivened and revitalised.

Here, golden buttercups and spiraling fern fronds dip and sway, washed by the purity of her cleansing waters and renewed by her swirling depths. And within these welcoming places she offers opportunities for standing and swimming and diving and floating and playing with her for a while before she moves on and before she moves fast.

In her wildest places her powerful flow is full-bodied and strong, swiftly carrying her towards the ocean of her belonging, drawing her like a magnet into the full-hearted depths of the sea of consciousness. For it is here that she merges sweetly with the salty tears of brackish streams and the delicious dreaming of far horizons. Sometimes she flows so fast and narrow, sparkling silver and as straight as an arrow.

And sometimes she flows so fulsome and wide and slow. She is ever compelled to realise her innate affinity with her full moon sister watching over her from her celestial realm. And in these moments of swelling fullness she rises above and beyond her sandy banks with a sudden and erratically compelling need to see more of the earth and to see more of the world.

Delighting in the sensual dance of her raw power and the perfect imperfection of her wonderful wildness she races chaotically across the neat rows of tidy gardens and neatly manicured lawns that try to control her splendour. She cannot be dammed without damning the earth, for her flow is too wild, too free, to stay in one place for too long without eventually causing havoc to crops and harvests and cities and towns that dare to stand in her way.

The spirit of the river is a magical chameleon, changing colour and shape and flow whenever and wherever she so desires. She is a creative artist, Mother Earth delighting in liquid formlessness. She carves deep chasms between majestic craggy cliffs, warmed by the sun and filled with dark caverns deep in the womb of the earth. The fast and turbulent flow of her rapids transmutes and transforms into dainty rivulets, gurgling creeks and sparkling streams, all meeting and moving and dancing as one. And it is here that her waters encircle moss covered boulders, tall sentinels and totems of solidified volcanic ash rising to the skies like ancient statues always knowing where they belong.

She is the fathomless and timeless depths of the ocean, reflecting the moon and the sun and the stars and the clouds with her cosmic wisdom and her infinite grace. Her mineral rich waters feed myriad sea creatures and migrating birds, nurturing all with her abundant life. She caresses tall swaying forests and gardens of nourishing seaweeds and kelp. And she receives many thousands of her river sisters into the vast profundity of her watery womb.

She is the cruel storm of the wild, wild sea, her turbulence lashing upon lighthouses and rocks as her roaring merges with that of the howling wind. She is the home of dolphins and whales, of turtles and crabs and stingrays and snails. She challenges those who build fences and wharves and jetties that attempt to confine her and align her with man’s ideas of how the sea should behave.

And after the turbulence of her stormy nights has abated, her calm serenity lies still and sparkling beneath ozone mists that veil the morning light of the rising sun. Like her sister of the river and the lake, she reflects the changing moods of the sky above, steely grey and cold and foreboding, azure blue and refreshingly inviting, warm aqua currents that swirl and contain. Her bubbles and foam and froth play upon vast expanses of cool wet sand.

She carries adventurers and warriors and travelers to distant shores. She is home to pirates so bold and caskets of gold. She holds many ancient secrets that will never be told. She joins and separates the cultural differences and similarities of many foreign lands. She is Grandmother Ocean, wise woman of the sea. The magnificent power of her tides ebbs and flows with the cycles of the moon. For she is at one with all.

She is the frozen water of snow and ice, of delicate flakes that cover the land with a crystalline purity of peaceful stillness. For this is how she protects the succulent new life of spring throughout the cold of winter. She is the lighthearted joy of the bubbling spring, a well of coolness filling underground caverns with her refreshing waters. She is the widespread ocean resting deeply beneath vast expanses of deserts that cast her nourishing womb with windblown orange sand.

She is the refreshing caress of gentle raindrops feeding the dry and dusty ground with the beauty of new life. She is the torrential downpour of water from the clouds above, filling her rivers and lakes and creeks with her sustaining bounty. She creates the beauty of the rain soaked earth. She penetrates deeply beneath gnarled and ancient tree roots and tiny blades of grass.

She is the tiny sparkling dewdrop suspended on the spider’s web in the cool mist of morning light. She is the spirit of water. She is the spirit of the earth. She is the spirit of woman. She is the spirit of life.

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