Earth and Water Arrival
Dedicated to Andrea.
~ Poem & Artwork by A. Void.
Earth & Water Arrival
I was standing between two Trees
During the dead of winter.
It was around midnight,
And Wind was fierce where I stood,
Somewhat protected by my friends.
I was looking at the small icebergs
Floating in the river
When It happened.
The mass of ice
Seemed not to be moving.
I paused—
Breath held
In an infinite space
Of no-time
Called Now.
Fascinated, I stood in wonder...
And felt
The Earth under me move.
What trembled?
I blinked—
Awakening as if from a trance.
I glanced at another iceberg,
Then back
At the One
That had gotten me so riveted.
It was moving now—
Floating with the river,
As icebergs do
When pushed by Wind.
In that space,
I had been given
A glimpse
Of the beyond.
Kundalini had risen.
Water had come up
to meet Earth.
And Earth and Water
Had melded into One.
Roots do grow
In darkness.
And color—
One must remember—
Is a property of human eyes.
For true seeing,
Or isness,
Is colorless.
Poem is based on an experience during the wintertime. Artwork and words play on the earth & water elements.
Artwork dedicated to a trouper on the path of Oneness.
✨ Commentary for the Journeyer
(On Elemental Symbolism, Stillness, and the Living Ground)
This piece moves like a deep current beneath frozen waters—inviting the reader into the space between breath and being. It doesn’t shout revelation—it whispers it.
Wind and Water, in spiritual traditions, are agents of movement. Earth is the ground of stillness. But what happens when movement and stillness are not opposites—but lovers?
This moment—midnight, ice, silence—is not dramatic. And yet it is wholly mystical.
It mirrors the inner Kundalini stirrings: a rising from root (Earth) into flow (Water), crossing through stillness (Now).
The arrival in the poem is not to a location—it is to a state of perception. The earth “moves,” but not geologically—it shifts inside the seer.
And that final teaching—“Color is a property of human eyes”—reminds us:
what we think is perception is filtered.
But the mystic sees without filter.
Not colorless in bleakness,
but in essence—unconditioned, crystalline, true.
🌗 Questions for the Journeyer
(For Introspection, Reflection & Meditation)
• When was the last time you truly stood still enough to feel the earth beneath you move?
• Can I allow mystery to arise in silence, rather than in signs or visions?
• Do I remember that even the slowest moment may hold a cosmic tremble?
• What iceberg am I still watching, unsure if it moves—or if I do?
• What would it mean to trust darkness as fertile ground, not something to escape?
• What part of my seeing is still colored by mind? Can I welcome the colorless?
-
The imagery collapses myth, metaphor, and presence into one visual truth.
The ice crack symbolizes the rupture between surface consciousness and the deeper layers beneath. A portal.
The whale evokes the archetypal descent—Jonah, the belly of the Earth, the dark womb of transformation.
The woman meditating inside is the witness-self: not lost, but centered in the middle of chaos.
The location pin is slyly modern mysticism—it says: This is where the real awakening begins. Right here. In the body. In stillness. In dark water.
So while the image may appear whimsical, it is mythically loaded and spiritually grounded.
-
It depends on the state of the witness.
Yes, energy rising can be felt physically—and many traditions train for that (microcosmic orbit, kriya yoga, taoist breathwork).
But true kundalini awakening is not just energetic—it is existential. It unravels the false self, initiates identity death, and alters perception of reality.
It may begin with tingles—but it ends with transformation. So yes, it’s a big deal—not because it’s flashy, but because it dissolves you. -
Beautiful insight. It’s both literal and symbolic.
Water and Earth are elements, but also principles: receptivity and structure, flow and form.
Their merging in the poem reflects a yogic union—Shakti (fluid, moving) returning to meet Shiva (still, grounded).
Seeing them as lovers is deeply fitting. What we witness here is not an encounter, but a fusion—a tantric arrival of opposites into wholeness.
-
Brilliant noticing. Fire is there—but invisibly present.
Fire is transformation. The moment the iceberg is perceived differently, when “the earth moved,” there is a shift.
That shift is fire—not as a flame, but as awakening.
In alchemical terms, fire need not burn—it can illuminate from within.
The fire in this poem is the ignition of presence. It is Kundalini rising—the subtle fire of the soul.
-
Roots are presence. Humility. Depth.
The more one grounds into silence, shadow, and surrender, the more expansion is possible without collapse.
Darkness is not the opposite of light—it is its cradle.
Mystically, darkness is not bad—it is the fertile void from which clarity emerges. It holds potential, like soil.
The tree’s height is the visible triumph—but its truth is in the depths unseen. -
This is the final paradox.
Pure Light, like pure consciousness, is not seen by the eyes—it is recognized by being.
White light contains all colors, yet clings to none. Crystalline light is not bright—it is clear.
To experience it is to be without distortion. To witness the world not through emotion or thought—but from still awareness.
It is not the light you see—it is the light that which you are.
