Imagine my surprise last week when I found out (not figured out) that “Twinkle, twinkle, little star…” and “A, B, C, D, E, F, G…” are the same tune. I had to sing them both twice in my head to be sure. My first thought was that I was the last person on Earth to realize this.
It made me wonder what else I’ve missed. I felt almost as barmy as when I suggested to a friend that if we counted up all the money in the world and divided it equally among all the people in the world, everybody would have equal footing.
“That’s loony,” my friend said while picking at her cuticles. “What makes you think anyone even wants what everybody else has?”
She was right. If we all had what others have there would be no reason to strive. We wouldn’t spend, shop, save, seek or steal. We’d spiritually stove up.
“You really aren’t thinking completely,” she told me without looking. “Tell me, what’s the matter?” She stopped fiddling with her nails and shot me that look. It penetrated through my eyeballs and halfway to that gray gland that delivers enchantment and horror. They’re similar, you know.
I told her I think we need more rain. Not just to wash away summer dust and noise, not only to provide the relief that elections and other frivolities can’t provide, we need rain to make us stand up straight.
Benjamin Franklin said that when the well’s dry, we’ll know the worth of water. The Arabs have a saying, “It is wise to bring some water when one goes out to look for water.” Leonardo da Vinci said that water is the driving force of all nature. Lily Tomlin asked, “The formula for water is H2O. Is the formula for an ice cube H2O squared?”
My favorite water explainer is Japanese researcher Masaru Emoto, who proved through high-speed photography that water is alive and changes its expression in accordance with human thought and action. Water responds to the written and spoken word. It responds to music. When people look at water and thank it, when we ask it for good health and a one bliss of a life, water is energized, happy to make it so. When we pour a glass of water and tell it we love it before we drink it, water gets all giddy and helpful. Emoto proved that!
Surely that theory applies to everything else we think and do.
Water is homesick for the sea, yet it knows that once it gets there, it will eventually be on its way to another river, another lake, another aquifer, maybe even a cloud. Water carves its own bowl in stone where it can relax. That’s why Eureka Springs exists – look at how Basin Spring lured people from not here, then healed them.
Water chills watermelon, baptizes people, swan dives over cliffs, soothes the insane and inspires those who think they’re not. When wind blows over water, it causes movement, waves. Waves churn water downward, where it agitates and revitalizes a pond, an ocean. When water feels good, people feel good.
Does that make water smarter than people? Not so much. Everything is about amounts. Too much of anything – politics, religion, Facebook – changes who we are. Just like water changes when we mess with it, pollute it, and redirect its passage until we either have too much or not enough.
My friend who needed additional cuticle work said that’s not what she meant when she asked me what was wrong. She meant I should share my feelings about the here and now so she could tell me what’s up with my inner somethings.
“Okay,” I told her. “Why do Republican economic policies only benefit those who don’t need them? Their solution to everything is to clobber the rest of us like bad weather. And if Eureka Springs has such a squeezing parking problem, why do we keep promoting car festivals?”
“That’s not it, either.” She got all frowzy. “I meant, why do you always fret about nothing?”
“Do you remember the ABC song?” I asked her.
“You mean Twinkle Twinkle Little Star?”