Waterborne
It doesn’t rain in Budapest any more. At least according to the people who only use words like ‘downpour’, ‘cascade’ or ‘torrent’, as they look at water falling from the sky with narrowed eyes. It never drizzles, drips or sprinkles here any more. As soon as a few drops fall from the sky people shout, “Oh, it’s pouring again!” Then they get in their cars and splash the remaining pedestrians. Dogs contort their snouts, stepping around puddles with disdain. The Meteorological Service issues a multi-county warning.
At the age of eighteen, I was platonically in love with a girl. One day it started to rain outside. Her eyes lit up. “It’s raining! Let’s go out!” I stared at her in shock. I had been taught that rain makes you wet and causes colds, that you have to stay indoors, and if you have to go out, you must wear a raincoat or carry an umbrella to protect yourself from this severe natural disaster.
Source: Urban Vintage, Unsplash
Although the possibility had never crossed my mind before, I soon discovered that I like rain. I like to breathe in the airborne mist which makes smells stronger and turns faces softer. I enjoy the swelling of plant tissue, the opalescence of the light, the clearing of the air, the introspective attention brought about by rain. I love to listen to the tapping of raindrops. Or even the melodious sound of thousands of tree frogs in the tropics merging into a concert.
Once in a city in the Balkans, after a week of 40°Celsius heat, a thunderstorm arrived. Lightning cracked the sky every two seconds, with water pouring down like a vertical river. The sewage system couldn’t absorb the deluge, so the water was up to the middle of our calves, but dancing barefoot we didn’t care, and most of the sludge had been washed away early on. We felt like people from a desert country who only get such a blessing once every five years. Water, water falling from the sky!
The opposite of tropical-like downpour is the almost-drizzle common in the Netherlands and Belgium. Moisture moves slowly through the air in drops larger than fog but smaller than rain, almost horizontally. It doesn’t make you thoroughly wet, only turns the world humid and mysterious. An even more subtle aquatic phenomenon is fog, which is a mystery, a dreaming, a transformation in itself.
Source: Yassin Mohammadi, Unsplash
In Hungary Santa Claus doesn’t come at Christmas (that date’s reserved for little Jesus or the angel) but today, on Saint Nicholas’ day. His sleigh, packed with treats for children used to slide easily on the snow. Nowadays that snow has become a rare visitor in the lowlands, he has surely switched to a horse carriage and an umbrella. The white scenery can only be observed on more sizable mountains. If you decide to stay down here it’s time to open your heart to the rain. According to biodynamic healers, humans possess a liquid body. So you can conduct a walking-flowing meditation in the raindrops, children of the sea. Merging with the energy of the water covering our planet.
One of the great things about rain meditation is that you don’t get to choose the time. You could be in the middle of some activity when the blessing arrives. “Wow”, you realize, “the Universe has sent me an opportunity! I’ll put aside that Very Important Thing, and take a walk in the rain.”
Oh, I know you’re too busy for that. You’re in a hurry. Where to exactly? And there, will you finally be at peace?
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People often don’t pay attention to the soothing, calming effect of rain. The sense of peace even observing it from inside brings. Going outside adds new sensory dimensions. You can stand under some protection and watch the water droplets fall. Breathing in the air, the scent of the minerals released from the Earth by the rain. Or you can start walking, feeling yourself getting gradually wet; the drops falling on your head, running down your face. You don’t even have to go out into nature, you can just take a stroll in the city at any time of day.
When it’s not raining, you can walk along the riverbank. All major human settlements are located near water. The Roman name for Óbuda1, Aquincum, means ‘city of water’. The name might originate from the nearby thermal springs, or perhaps from the Danube. The majestic sweep of great rivers is awe-inspiring. More modest sized rivers burble in a friendly way, while small streams gurgle with playfulness. Each body of water has its own sound, and each touches something in the human soul in a different way. It’s as if they’d carry our consciousness to some ancient place, like the stars in the sky.
With rivers and lakes, you can merge even more directly. Relatively few people immerse themselves in natural bodies of water at this time of year. But if you don’t feel like swimming across the Danube or Lake Balaton in winter, as some people do, you can just take the water into your cells. From a spring you can sip directly, without a filter bottle.
Source: Balikó András, Unsplash
Not only do the waters of every region have their own distinctive flavor, but each spring is a unique individual. In a meadow near Csíkszereda2, two naturally carbonated springs hide among the plants. They are less than three meters apart. One has a reddish color, the other is yellowish, and their taste is quite different. The locals of old have enclosed them both in hollow tree trunks.
Springs all over the world are shrouded in mystery. According to certain belief systems, they are a gateway not only to the depths of the Earth but also to other strata of reality. Fairies and fauns are often associated with the vicinity of springs.
So many resources to be found in water... Even in winter, you can give yourself and your loved ones the gift of a river, a spring or rain meditation. Have a happy snowy or rainy Saint Nicolas’!
The oldest of the three towns that became unified into Budapest.
A regional town in Transylvania. Rumanian: Miercurea Ciuc. German: Szeklerburg, Latin: Sicolsburgum.