In the ancient wildlands of Ireland, nestled in a town steeped in history, I found myself by a riverbank, a place where generations past drew life directly from the wellsprings of nature. The scene was serene, yet a profound sadness resonated in the air, carried on what I could only describe as the Water Song of the river itself. A local man, who kindly offered me a ride, spoke words that echoed the river’s lament: “You can’t drink or swim in any water round here no more, No you can’t drink or swim in any water round here no more.” His words painted a stark contrast to the idyllic landscape.
From afar, the river seemed a pristine haven, an invitation to bask in the summer sun and refresh oneself in its cool waters. But approaching closer, the illusion shattered. The river revealed its spectral wounds, haunted by the ghosts of its former self. Dead fish, their eyes like chemical tears, seemed to rise to the surface, whispering a chilling warning: “Don’t dare drink or swim in any water round here no more.” This water song was not one of life, but a dirge of loss and contamination.
Where shall we turn, and where can we possibly flee, if we systematically poison our fresh water sources, leaving behind only a lifeless, saline expanse? In such a desolate future, would we descend into conflict, battling for the last drops of potable water? At what critical point will humanity awaken to the silent demise of our rivers, the arteries of our planet? When will it dawn on us that we can no longer drink or swim in any water in this world? This is the urgent question posed by the water song.
In response to this somber melody, I offer a prayer, a water song of my own, for all the waters of the world. I pledge to protect you, and pray that I may never fail in this sacred duty. Have we been sleepwalking, detached from the stark reality? I hope with all my being that we are awakening in time, that we are waking up in time to heed the water song.
Do we not yet comprehend this fundamental truth? Earth is our very body, and water, unequivocally, is its lifeblood. This is the core message of the water song.
The insidious virus of our unchecked greed is now reaching the precipice. If we remain heedless, there will be no wild, untainted places left. A metaphorical grandfather, representing ancient wisdom, cautions us about the ominous “red in the sky,” a symbol of environmental catastrophe. If we persist in our unsustainable consumption, blinded by denial, we are heading for irreversible damage. I do not intend to sound alarmist, nor to dampen spirits, but the magnitude of waste inflicted upon this earth warrants oceans of tears. The water song is a lament for this waste.
Again, the haunting question echoes: Where do we come from, and where shall we escape to, if we destroy all the sweet water, leaving behind only an “angry dead sea,” a metaphor for a poisoned and vengeful environment? How will we ever adequately mourn this profound loss? I yearn to hear a collective cry of grief. At what devastating juncture will we finally acknowledge the death of our rivers? And what will we tell our children, what words of explanation will suffice when they ask why they “can’t drink or swim in any water in this world no more?” This is the painful legacy we risk leaving, a world without the life-giving water song.
Therefore, I offer a prayer, and I stand in unwavering solidarity with all the water in this world. I vow to protect you, may I never forsake you. I have been asleep at the wheel, disconnected from truth, but I pray with fervent hope that we are waking up in time, I pray we are waking up in time to the urgency of the water song.
Do we not yet understand? Earth is our body, water our blood. Do we not yet understand? Earth is our body, as water’s our blood. And now, with absolute clarity, I understand: Earth is my body, as water’s my blood. This is the profound realization brought forth by the water song, a song of connection, responsibility, and hope for awakening.
