The water inside

She felt the water inside her body like a quiet tide, moving slowly, softly. It felt like ease, a cool rhythm that rose and fell with her breath.

When she closed her eyes, she could sense it, currents flowing through her belly, her hips, her chest. It was gentle and steady, as if her whole body was being rocked by an invisible sea.

Water didn’t ask her to push or to try. It invited her to soften, to surrender, to let herself be carried. It reminded her that pleasure could be calm, tender, nourishing. That passion could arrive like rain, like a river finding its way home.

She thought of the moon, how it pulled the tides of the ocean, how it stirred the hidden waters of her womb. The same moon that moved the seas also moved her emotions, rising and falling in waves she often tried to tame. But here, in her body, she let them come and go, trusting their rhythm.

Her body swayed with it and her breath followed. Her skin opened to her own touch like the shoreline opens to waves.

The water showed her another kind of strength, the strength of yielding, of loosening, of trusting. It washed away the tension she carried, the need to control.

When the waves inside her rose, they did so with gentleness. They swelled, rippled, then slowly spilled through her body until all she could do was sigh and let go.

Afterwards, she felt quiet, soothed, alive. The water inside her had spoken. It had reminded her of the power of ease, the sweetness of flow, the deep pleasure of simply letting herself be.

Love,

Rosie x

( a poem from my book Soft and Wild)