Flow

Be like water

The quest to freedom

Photo by Matthes Trettin on Unsplash

She: "Fetched... If I were water, would I be fetched? Would I be of good use? Would I quench a thirst—or would I refuse?"

He: "You wouldn’t just be fetched. You’d ‘be like water’—flowing, needed, everywhere. You’d find your way."

She: "But even water can drown. Spill. Be wasted. What if I flood instead of heal?"

He: (softly) "Even floods begin as rain. Maybe you’re meant to reshape, not just soothe."

She: "That sounds dangerous."

He: "So does thirst. We don't fear the water because it's strong—we trust it because it knows when to rise and when to rest."

She: "And if I dry up?"

He: "Then I’ll wait. Like the earth does. For your return."

She: "What if I vanish into mist—seen, but never held?"

He: "Then I’ll breathe you in. Carry you in every silence. Mist is just water learning how to drift."

She: "And if I fall, drop by drop, into nowhere?"

He: "Even in falling, water finds gravity. Finds purpose. You’ll shape the hollow places."

She: "You speak like you’ve never thirsted."

He: "I have. That’s how I know—some water isn’t for drinking. It’s for awakening."

She: "And if I become ice?"

He: "Then I’ll wait through the thaw. Cold doesn’t scare me. Stillness doesn’t mean absence."

She: (quietly) "You make me sound like more than I am."

He: "You are. That’s why you flow beyond yourself."’