Water has long been a powerful symbol of cleansing, renewal and transformation across cultures and throughout history. From ancient rituals to contemporary practices, water has played a role in how people seek emotional and spiritual renewal.
For me, the waters of the world are sacred and I’m most certainly not alone in this way of thinking. Many cultures throughout the world find them as such. The Ganges River, for one, is deeply revered by the Hindu and considered one of the holiest rivers in the world. For centuries, millions have endeavored pilgrimage to this river to bathe, making offerings of rose petals while seeking spiritual liberation. The Ganges is considered a bridge from the earth to the divine realms.
The Nile River, as well. The ancient Egyptians believed this water to be a gift from the gods well beyond its practical offering of making possible the fertility of Egypt. The water is as important in the afterlife as the here and now. Much like the Ganges, it was seen as a conduit between life and death and a pathway to deceased loved ones.
Indigenous cultures around the world recognize the healing power of water. Last year I spent some time in Peru with the people of the Shipibo-Conibo tribe. From them, I was taught a ritual of bathing outdoors, pouring flower water over myself so as to clear bad energy. I was also encouraged to put clay on my body, let it dry in the sun and then wash in the lagoon for purification. The lagoon was said to have healing spirits living in her depths. I believe this. I believe in water spirits.
Native American tribes incorporate water in spiritual ceremonies, as well. There is the pouring of water over hot stones in the sweat lodge of the Lakota, the Navajo and the Ute, or the Cherokee prayer ritual of dipping in to the river seven times while facing east at sunrise. These practices, and countless more, are healing rituals as well as sacred acts to connect people to their ancestors. The ritual and also the art of cleansing the spirit, the body, the heavy heart and the mind—all of utmost desire.
I have a full moon ritual borrowed after these water customs where I sit with a group of women in the darkness of a wood-fired sauna while singing songs of liberation and empowerment. We sweat and cry and bellow and laugh in the presence of both water and fire while the wind blows outside. Afterwards, we run barefooted on the earth to plunge in to the cold waters of the pond. Each of the elements, in this case, alchemizing an ache for the world or one stemming from within.
Ultimately, water’s essential nature of the path of least resistance teaches us about the actual flow of life. Our rivers teach us through forward motion, shaping and reshaping the landscape.
She is never in a hurry and always just in time. She is a metaphor for healing and rebirth—connecting people across time and culture. Connecting us through our human experience.
I am drawn so very often to the river by my home. She is the Animas River, whose full name is Rio de las Animas Perdidas—River of Lost Souls. Her reputation grew as English settlers first found her as a haven and later associated her with danger due to her current to which many lost their lives. She is ever-changing, ever-flowing and always the same. Like I am. Like you are.
This river has given me the quietest of medicine when my heart was so sore–when my heart was bleak. She never announced herself as the place I would find healing. Instead, she lured me to her banks with my own memories of every other body of water I’ve ever known. She is older than any memory I’ve ever had and holds more wisdom than any words of any elder. There is healing in her rhythm and her sounds always quiet the noise within me. The Animas River holds my grief, my tears and so much of my joy. She is the very river I screamed at when I broke her surface ice, making way for the ashes of my son on that very cold January day 11 years ago. She holds a part of my child.
I return to this river to remember that I am also made of water and to remember that healing may be less about fixing and more about flowing. The Animas river has taught me to trust the depths of myself; the seasons of myself. I sit with her and I give her offerings of honey and song. This is how I show my gratitude.
The invitation here, for you, is to find the water. Remember the water. Is there a time in your life when you dipped your aching feet in to a cold stream or fell asleep near a mountain lake with the sound of gentle waves in your ears? Were you ever drawn to the shores of an ocean for love or solace?
Practice giving your grief to the waters. Find your ritual. Create your ritual. Send your messages to your beloved down the river with flowers. Stay too long in the rain with your tears. Plunge in to the ice-cold lake. Let the ocean hold you. You are alive. You are the one who is alive.