Thursday, June 11, 2009

Roses and Water
















I've been imagining that water has a story to tell me but my ears are too dull to hear it. I'd like to know what's on its mind. What's on the mind of a substance that can divide itself into such small, separate particles which can crystallize with so much eloquence or alternately join into one body so vast its weight must press the earth's crust into ever shifting configurations of trenches and crests. What's to be said about this element which inflates all creatures with the tensions necessary for embodiment? Is there anyone who isn't "born of water?" Certainly there are those who've hidden this information from their awareness.

Twice in two days I came across the line "they go down to the sea in ships," which sounded like very odd language to me when I paid attention. The first time I simply marveled at the words wondering what was at the root of their strangeness (you don't go to sea in ships, you get in them when you get there, was what I was thinking.) I sat down on the train next to a man reading a book open to a chapter entitled "They go down to the Sea in Ships," and then saw that the page mentioned psalm 107:23. I never found out what the book was. Then for some reason it pleased my daughter's teacher to preach this idea to me as I was leaving her class yesterday: "A boat can take you anywhere you want to go." Hmm, anywhere? That's very accommodating.

Above is the rose water I've been making with the abundant petals of the Rapa Rose bush so huge it hits the front of our house like a wave spraying a storm of pink foam. Does pink also have a story to tell? Let me hear it. In the meantime, I'll tell you a little story. I found out that if you make tea from fresh rose petals by steeping them in boiling water for a few minutes, the liquid will be a light rust color. Add a few drops of lemon juice and it turns a shade like the one above. Do it if you can, maybe like me you will feel blessed and elated by the strange revelations, and in the turning of the pink, a joy as abundant as if the mixture had precipitated gold.

5 comments:

lorir530 said...

Thank you.

Marie said...

On rivers? They go down to the sea in ships...Thames
Hudson...Mississippi?

(I'm reading Twain's 'Life on the Mississippi'...)

amarilla said...

Yes, I guess that's what the draw bridges allow.

Cotton Wool & Silk said...

Sometimes I 'steal' some of your sentences and put them in a sermon. . .

amarilla said...

Thanks, Cotton Wool. What did you swipe? I'm flattered.