You can scoop water, but you cannot grip it or crush it. Water makes no effort to be high; it naturally seeks the lowest point. If you try to raise it or strike it, it resists and pushes back. It has no will to serve what is claimed—it simply serves.
Water nourishes all things. It waters flowers, sustains living beings, cleanses, softens, and embraces. Water always tries to come to rest, yet it cannot be stopped until it reaches its final destination. If you place something in its path, it finds a way around. It can bring down barriers. It seeps through the smallest cracks.
Water clings stubbornly to some things, yet it only serves: washing, carrying, softening, cleansing, and shaping. It can evaporate or freeze when influenced. It is unbreakable and invulnerable. It has no shape of its own, yet it can take any shape.
Water is clear and transparent—it conceals nothing. If undisturbed, you can see yourself reflected in it. But if you stir it, your reflection becomes distorted—just as your self-image becomes confused when your mind is agitated.
If you are like water, people can draw inspiration, energy, and insight from you—but they cannot grasp or contain you. You do not experience depression, stress, or anxiety. You simply let yourself be. The energy others take from you is equal to what they put in.
If you are like water, you go where you need to go and stay where you need to stay. You may have a plan—Plan A, Plan B, Plan C, Plan D, Plan E, Plan F—or no plan at all. If you are needed, you appear. Otherwise, you wait.
Water longs for stillness, for peace and silence. But if it moves, nothing can stop it—only slow it. When obstructed, it accumulates strength until it overcomes the barrier. If there’s even the tiniest opening, it finds a way through. Yet it can also vanish, or become solid ground.
Anything can be done to water, but nothing can harm it. It may adhere to some things and not to others, but nothing repels it. It continues to serve—cleaning, embracing, flowing, washing away, softening. It can take many forms, yet none define it—and all of them are it.
If you are water, you are honest. Anyone who looks into you can see something. You hide nothing. Those who avoid you are fleeing from themselves. You reflect others clearly, but only when still. Those who agitate you are stirring their own unrest.
Being like water is not easy—but it is possible.