#6 - The memory of water
On the day of the event (i.e. the trauma), it's as if a part of the soul escapes from the body. The one that must be kept intact. The one that still smiles in childhood pictures. The event can take any form: an accident, a fateful phone call, a one-way trip, being uprooted from one's origins, an assault in the parking lot, a silence kept for too long... It's like a punch on the table. All the pieces of the puzzle fly. Nothing is really lost, but everything is transformed. For the part that escaped, it's as if time has stopped. From up there, suspended, it watches. It has nothing more to fear and it tries to understand: what happened? In this story, we'll call it Innocence. What it doesn't know is that the moment it detached itself, it left a void somewhere in the body.
For the part that remained with both feet nailed to the ground, time stopped too, but only for a second. Then everything came back at once.
And the pain, the emotion, the feeling sick in your guts, the impossibility of the thing, all unmanageable, went to take refuge where Innocence had left this gaping hole when it left.
The little door closed, tears flowed, but that was manageable.
If we take a glass of water and speak to it kindly, lovingly, like we would do to a child, its molecules will arrange themselves in a healthy and organized way. Literally: its molecular structure changes. On the other hand, if every day we tell it how incapable it is, that it is just stupid water, that it can't do anything, there, sitting all day, its molecular structure also changes: it becomes altered, chaotic. We therefore conclude that water has a memory. ¹
It's in the morning, while waiting for the coffee to be ready, that I think about this, in front of the window. The plants are growing, they've sprouted new leaves, I wrote a poem last night. And water has a memory. If it's true, then it's to water I must speak. So that someone will continue to remember you when I'm no longer here.
So that morning I put on my wellies and went out to the beach. What I said and how long I stood in the rain that day is between her and me. But as I finished, I left a rose behind. I didn't throw it away, I simply put my hand in the water and let the wave carry it away. On my way back, the song of the sea fading behind me, I took a deep breath. Then, stuffing my hands in my pockets, I looked up at the sky and said to my Innocent soul: the coast is clear now. You can come home. —
¹ : Gentle reminder : 70% of our bodies is made of water…
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