There is a place deep within it’s own nothingness, that it becomes everything. 

The water is surrounding you, circling you, healing you, moving with gentle waves through the fields of your energy, your strands of light and grids of pain. Cleansing and purging the worms from your bely, the ashes from the depths of your heart. Lapping at the edge of land, as she rolls upon you, through you. The water tribes surround you. On bended knee they touch the water, staff in one hand, bringing down the light that moves from their hand, the hand of light, the hand of prima, the hand of Christ, the hand of the infinite - moving through you, gently, softly, calmly, smoothly. The water clear, now reflecting that which is being healed, surrendered, freed. Just as the oak has spoken the wisdom of its arching branches and its divine roots, so too, must the water sing her song to you.

She whispers softly like a voice upon the wind, like the Mer’s song as they stroke the waves....