The dance of water

Lazy waves rippled the surface of the quiet pond in a myriad of luminous geometries.

The light lines and curves kept meeting and melting, captivated in a continuous metamorphosis of appearance and being before ultimately dissolving at the shore.

Lucian was watching this seamless cycle of creation and destruction serenely, amused.

There was something majestic about being alone in untamed nature.

A way of feeling one, none and all at the same time.

He could see the moving geometries of the water just like his life. Pain, joy, sorrow, solitude, love, career, friends, home, meaning, fear. All the thoughts and sensations that composed his being intertwined and disappeared in the same cyclic motion. A cycle that all beings and matter participated in. They always had, and they always will.

There was a form of salvation and damnation in this acceptance.

Lately, he could only feel the latter. His life had become stagnant, his energy feeble. What was the point of repeating this same cycle over and over again? All for a beginning and an end that may have a tiny new bend, but are really all the same.

He thought that if he could understand how and why the water in the pond kept moving, he could do too.

So he kept his eyes on the turquoise blue, hoping that Nature would speak her secrets to him and enjoying her quietness nonetheless.

The peace that Lucian felt in that tiny meadow hidden in the woods was somewhat mystical. A serene abandonment of all the senses in the touch of the warm sunlight, the whispers of the quiet breeze, the bittersweetness of wet grass and the soft geometries of the waves.

Sometimes a white butterfly would appear in his view and flap its light wings in a loopy wandering or the chirp of a robin would fill the silence with cheerful notes. These unexpected intrusions would harmoniously coexist with the peace, causing no distraction nor sorrow when they came and left.

Yet, Lucian found himself growing uneasy as the hypnotic flow of the ripples began to dwindle in the rampant quietness engulfing more and more of the surroundings.

He could anticipate the water becoming entirely still, losing all its motion until it finally froze in eternal immobility.

The frosty ice expanded through the space of his imagination to his whole being as it besieged his body. Both he and the water were at peace in the cold, free from the imposition of the compulsive dance of motion.

No emotions or actions to be fulfilled. A full rebellion of the free spirit.

And silence.

A gust of wind suddenly rose behind Lucian to tousle his hair, the blades of grass, the leafy branches of the oaks and the watercress in the distance.

New ripples appeared spontaneously on the surface of the pond, silver shining in the bright light, to draw novel patterns on the previously still canvas as they once more met and contracted, expanded and departed.

Lucian smiled, newly at peace.

He uncrossed his legs and slowly untied his shoes before stepping out of them and on the stony soil towards the shore.

The water was cold on his feet, as he had expected it to be. He bent over and faced it to see his features perfectly reflected in its stillness.

Carefully he let his right hand close to the pond's surface and, with the tip of his index finger, lightly touched it.

One circle after the other began to propagate from that point of contact, blurring his reflected lines into Picassian curves.

Nature had gifted him her answer.

It was the wind and the fish and the lilies that the water moved for, not itself. He believed the same to be true for him, and maybe for everyone else.

He was ready to move, and be moved.