My heart was cleansed, as if in flowing water.
In bells of frost I heard the resonance die.
∆ Li Bai, excerpt of Listening to a Monk from Shu Playing the Lute, trans. by Vikram Seth, in Three Chinese Poets: Wang Wei, Li Bai, and Du Fu
We are all bodies of water, with pumped-up vulnerabilities, leaking, sponging, sloshing, dripping, sipping. But these days, my body of water is mostly feeling like a liquid hot mess.
I worry that we carrier bags are forgetting how to hold things. In the English language, “to be at sea” is an idiom that suggests that you are discombobulated or confused. You have lost your bearings. To be alive as bodies of water, in these times, some of us might feel tetherless. But what if for others, tetherless was another way to say: getting free?
“‘Hey,’ he said, half-asleep, ‘what were you before you met me?’
‘I think I was drowning.’
‘And what are you now?’ he whispered, sinking.
I thought for a second. ‘Water.’”
–Ocean Vuong, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous
Toni Morrison writes, 'All water has a perfect memory and is forever trying to get back to where it was. Back to the body of earth, of flesh, back to the mouth, the throat, back to the womb, back to the heart, to its blood, back to our grief, back back back.
∆ Natalie Diaz, from Postcolonial Love Poem, The First Water Is the Body
Friendship is a mysterious and ocean-bottom thing. Who can know the outer ranges of it? Perhaps no human being has ever explored its limits.
∆ Zora Neale Hurston, 1942