Minds like water

What a singular thing it is to have a mind like water. Winter comes and it all gets cold, summer comes and it turns to clouds, four seasons in one day, what a singular thing. This morning it felt like candy floss, with thoughts of you intertwined to it, awkwardly, then it melted into a pink fluffy dough of love, condensing into despair, cut into suspicions to later on be shaped just the way we like: nothingness. And I nearly forgot about the mind itself. So curious a thing. I watched it. How can it be like water? What a weird thing this singular thing sometimes is.

I can’t use the verb to be the same way you do, not because I read Korzybski, but because my mind is like water. I am, now or ever, I was, I will be or won’t, I’m not sure. Is you mind like water? I sometimes think it is, but then a 2 minute spring rain washes this very thought away and I’m back to winter. I’m sorry I forget.

It’s good when two minds like water meet, sometimes each in a different state, mine liquid, yours solid, frozen, and we watch them exchanging heat till they merge, till they swap places, what an irony. Now we know we have minds like water, and that’s mostly because they met, cos water won’t watch itself, won’t turn itself from a stream into the sea fully aware of it, cos it flows and changes, cos it absorbs the world, cos it’s a big job to be water.

Tsunami, it all comes down like a deadly storm, I cry, and then a rainbow with 7.000 shades. I smile. It’s a big job to be water.

It’s hard to have minds like water, but we’re blessed cos we’ll have to be painfully honest, scrutiatingly aware and we’ll go that extra mile in life, towards the sea, always changing, strong and gentle.

Picture by Schrollum