Is water really just one organism?
I live in the wetlands on the south coast of Western Australia. In winter I’m almost drowning in water.
The ground is soggy underfoot near the house and a lake forms within metres of the back door. When I go for a walk along Manoni Road, which is really just a gravel track one fat cow could block, I come to a bridge.
Under the bridge water flows along a canal dug to drain the flat coastal farms. The canal drains into Lake Saide, which drains into Wilson Inlet, which drains into Ocean Beach, which blends with the Southern Ocean, which bobs around the ice of Antarctica not far from the South Pole.
The global wind current called the Roaring Forties blows from the west, bringing rain formed from water droplets drawn from the Indian Ocean, which may have come from melting snow in the Arctic circle. The rain drifts across the coastal hills, hits our tin roof and gushes through pipes into our water tanks. The rain also feeds an underground spring which filters into another tank. I drink its water to replenish every cell in my body.
We pump the lake water onto the vegetable garden, which swells beetroots and potatoes, and plumps up beans and peas. These things appear on my dinner plate and finally become part of the 60% of the water content that makes up me.
Water is everywhere on our planet. On, in, under, above, around. But, wherever it is, and whatever its form, water is made of two hydrogen atoms and one oxygen.
Some say that all the water in the world is really one organism. Whether it’s in the form of Himalayan ice, a waterfall, cellular liquid, drenching rain, or in your teacup, it’s just part of one giant thing that happens to be scattered all over the world.
What if there is really only one human being, and each of us is a part of the whole of it?
Perhaps we are like water – scattered around the world, but one organism.
If we act as if this were the case, then it would be so.
Mindfulness Tip for the Week
I am you. You are me.
My work involves spending time with people with dementia. They may not remember what they had for breakfast or what they just told me. They may think their wife is their mother, or their son is their brother. But when I look into their eyes I sense we have more similarities than differences. Two legs. A beating heart. A sense of wonder. A deep-down knowing that we come and go, and nothing of value is lost in the process.
I am them. They are me. We are one thing – human. Like water, we are united by common atomical arrangements.
Water may be ice cubes or a hot cup of tea, but it’s water all the same. You may have dementia and I may be arranging social support for you, but we are parts of one thing called Human. We’re bits of the same thing.
Water doesn’t war with itself. Cold water doesn’t feel superior to hot. Rain doesn’t wish it was snow.
Let’s learn from water.
Be part of one thing.
With love, Marlane