Purity

I idolise clear water. I've played in a perfect stream before and there's nothing like it. The water is joyful, gently touching the rocks. Maybe I should stop idolising natural bodies and like, try to be more like actual people or something, but I don't know, make me a stream. Let me be a calm wave and a clear and reflective and beautiful force.

But I'm not a delightful slow-moving bit of water that I perceive as embodying a sense of gentle purity even though it's probably filled with weird river bacteria and various bits of dirt. I'm a weird flesh creature doomed to experience discomforts and awkward feelings and a sense of confusion at the person I have become much like a rock falls off a cliff and is a slightly different rock after the fall. I'm that rock. Life is, in this analogy, the fall. Or a series of falls that knock parts of your rock off or add weird new stuff to your rock (you).

Am I what I thought an ideal adult me would be when I was little? In some ways ABSOLUTELY YES WOAH I AM WAY COOL, but in some ways EW GROSS, NO WAY. So that's inconclusive. I probably wouldn't have been interested in being water though, as a small clueless child who liked eating grass and chalk.

I think maybe I should stop romanticising natural bodies like water and sun and sky and cute little baby otters, for example, as if I'm not also a natural body. I can't put myself in the same place as the natural world, or even other people, in my mind. Is that normal? I don't feel like I am like anything else, but I am. I'm the air and the dirt and the light too. I'm a natural body.