At Camp Grounded, a summer camp for adults, you are not allowed to use your real name. You pick a camp name. Given my intensive work with water, I decided to adopt its name, and be “Water” for the weekend. I didn’t realize the consequences of such a choice. On the second day of camp, I woke up
with a re in my belly — an irritation, a frustration I couldn’t explain. We were in such a beautiful place with amazing people and I had felt happy the night before. I wasn’t sure why I was feeling agitated, but I wanted to work through it. I went to a songwriting class and tried to write songs. I became more frustrated. “Well, at least I know I am not a songwriter,” I thought. I was debating going to sleep when I ran into my roommate, who reminded me of a spoken-word workshop and I decided to attend with him. The facilitator gave us lined paper and markers, and told us to complete the sentence “I am...” We had five minutes to complete the exercise. I started to write as if my hand was possessed.
I began to weep and my breath became heavy and fast,
my chest rising and falling with each breath. Snot ran from my nose and the pen kept moving. Water was expressing herself. I felt frustrated, angry, hurt and — at the same time — I felt her compassion and love. She longed to remind us that we are water, that how we treat water is how we treat ourselves. When we were done, we sat in a circle and the facilitator asked “Does anyone have anything to share?” and my hand shot up. I had to read or I felt as if I would explode. My reflections came out like a spoken word piece, with passion, frustration, kindness, hurt and compassion. I felt as if I was outside of my body. I was speaking the words of water. Reading these words is always a sacred experience for me. I feel grateful that water entrusted me with them.