Things are just what they seem. Like dreams, the act of looking into water has no words. And it can’t be given any, except the simplest ones: blue, log, deep, water, light, wet, leaf, dragonfly, pond, toad, fish and so on. You can read it, but its language is itself.

The language is complex.

And multi-dimensional.

It profoundly resists usefulness. You can bathe in it. You can drink it. You can be centred by it, but that is not use. That is bathing, drinking and centring, which is a way of saying: in different ways our bodies do the same acts, whether with the eye (seeing), the skin (bathing), the mouth (drinking), or the gut (centring). Beyond that, we can’t go. Our language, English, has this profound layer, that can’t be budged. It can be approached in infinite variety.

But it can’t be budged. That is honest. It is completely unified, on levels of body, heart and mind, dream and waking, self and world. We can trust it. It can lead us to water, stone, rain, wood, snow, fish, toads, grass and light. Words aren’t there to explain it. How could the complexity shown in the image below be explained? Explaining has nothing to do with the body, and this is about the body.

And since you can trust this, you can know that if anyone explains what you see here, what they are really doing is dismissing your body, and theirs. They have no right.