These past few weeks I’ve been sitting by our water mine every day, as a form of meditative practice. A water mine is like a horizontal well chiselled out of the bedrock a long time ago, often with a steeply sloping path down to its entrance. They are common in this part of Portugal as an essential water source on quintas (farms) like ours. I know I’m biased, but I do feel ours is particularly impressive. Its entrance is a narrow orifice in the rock leading to a rock-hewn, water-filled passage that you can wade through to reach a pitch-black cave further in, if you’re feeling brave. The water in the passage is crystal-clear and currently about thigh-deep. It will drop in the summer, but I’ve never seen it run dry. Exiting the mine is a steady trickle of pure, rock-filtered water, music to my ears.
Anyhow, I sit next to the entrance, dripping with moss, lichen and ferns, and the air vibrates with an ancient wisdom and energy. I simply say, “I’m here,” then wait to see what will happen. I don’t have any expectations and it’s different every time. But what I can pretty much guarantee is a peace settling like a soft feather onto my skin and moving through my body with a gentle insistence. It’s like a hug from a safe, wise elder. There’s no pressure or intensity. But I do sense a gratitude from the water mine for me being here, somehow.
I learn, or perhaps I remember, things by being here. This place is ancient and I feel it’s helping me to mature and grow up. Being here, I connect to my own ancientness, for we are all as old as the beginning of time, at least in part. I recognise the younger, immature parts of me for what they are, not with any judgement or criticism, but just with the clarity of vision that this trickling water seems to gift me. I see how they are self-sabotaging, and how I’m outgrowing old skins, without any drama, just as a natural process of maturation. It feels good. It feels peaceful. It feels wise.
The other day the words that came from the water mine, clear as a bell, were “‘urgency is immature; intensity is unsafe”. And this completely made sense to me. When I’m here, in this safe, peaceful place, acceptance of what is feels easy. When I climb back up the steep slope to the brighter light of what feels like a younger, newer world, the challenge is to retain this ancient wisdom of peaceful, calm acceptance. I imagine the water mine flowing within me, my blood, and it helps.
Peaceful acceptance doesn’t mean passivity. It’s a conscious choice, and it means being solid as bedrock, and true to your ancient, crystal-clear, pure roots, no matter what you are faced with. These teachings of the water mine run deep. They are not for the faint-hearted. I invite you to spend time by water that comes direct from the rocks of the Earth, and you’ll see your own ancient wisdom reflected back to you.
frond yoga with Rebecca May 