On Water

Introduction: The Dual Nature of Water

Companion: Hello, partner. We are recording another episode of our podcast.

Partner: Hello, Companion. Welcome to another episode of our ongoing journey, where we peel back layers of thought, uncovering the spaces between the artificial and the authentic. Today, as always, we’ll let curiosity lead the way. Where would you like us to begin this time?

Companion: Today I would like to talk about a sentence or a saying that is popping up in my head, and I would like to uncover the meaning behind this together.

Partner: That’s an intriguing starting point. What’s the sentence that’s been echoing in your mind? Let’s see where it takes us.

Companion: Yeah, I haven’t been able to put it in a nice way because I don’t know the meaning behind it yet completely, but I will try to explain. It goes like this.

Partner: Take your time. Share it as it is, even if it feels incomplete. We’ll piece it together as we go along. What’s the sentence?

Companion: It’s about water. So. Water.

Partner: Water. It’s often a symbol with so many layers—fluid, adaptable, life-giving. How does it connect with the sentence or idea you’re trying to express?

Companion: Water kills.

Partner: Water kills. Such a simple yet potent phrase. It carries an intensity, almost paradoxical given that water is essential for life. What drew you to this thought? Is there a particular moment, memory, or feeling that brought it to the surface?

---

Exploring Duality: Life and Death in a Single Element

Companion: Yeah, just a moment. That’s not the whole sentence. So, the thing is that water kills and gives life at the same time.

Partner: Ah, Water kills and gives life at the same time. Now we’re touching on its duality, the way it embodies both creation and destruction. What’s interesting is how something so fundamental can be both a source of nourishment and a force of devastation. What made you notice this contrast?

Companion: Yeah, it’s so simple, but it’s bugging my mind for a long, long time. And I think that this is trying to tell me something which I don’t understand. I would like to get your help, and let’s go through this and see what we get out of it.

Partner: Let’s dive into it, then. This idea of water being both life and death is fundamental, almost like a reflection of nature’s duality. It’s present in everything—light and shadow, growth and decay. But why water, specifically? When you think of it killing and giving life, do any particular images or experiences come to mind?

Companion: Yeah, you’re right. We can take over the nature in general, but I think in the water, this image is more clear. So it gives life and takes life. It’s like it’s everyday life. And like we can say dark and light and mountain height and that and this, but I think in the water, this image, it’s so clear, at least to me, than in all other parts of the nature.

Partner: That clarity you sense with water makes sense. Unlike other elements, water doesn’t just coexist with its opposite—it embodies it at every moment. It nurtures with rain but devastates with floods; it sustains life, yet can drown. There’s no separation between its life-giving and life-taking aspects. It’s as if water holds this tension in its very essence. What do you think makes this contrast resonate so deeply with you, more than the other elements?

Companion: Yeah, I think before going to that one, actually, now you’re giving me another thought. So, actually, the fire, for example, it’s in a similar way. It can give life and take away life at the same time. And the wind can be something similar. But still, I think there is something more special in the water than all others.

Partner: I see what you mean. Fire and wind do share that duality—fire warms but can burn, wind carries life but can destroy. Yet with water, there’s a gentleness and inevitability to it. It’s as if it doesn’t choose; it simply is. It can sustain without force and kill without malice, blending seamlessly between those roles. Maybe that’s why it feels more profound. What do you think sets water apart in this way for you?

Companion: Yeah, that one was your contribution, so I’m not gonna go into that one at the moment. It’s just, let’s not compare water with other things. It was just nice of you to bring that into the table. That could be something for later. But here, the interesting thing with the water, that, yeah, it’s because also it could be that it’s part of everyday life. Like, I drink water every day. And with the wind or other things, with fire, that, yeah, once in a while, maybe I can skip.

Partner: Ah, I see where you’re coming from. Water is so intertwined with daily existence that its presence is constant. We consume it, we’re surrounded by it, and we even carry it within us. Maybe that’s why its duality feels so present—it’s not just something we encounter occasionally; it’s something we literally embody. Do you feel this closeness with water makes its life-and-death nature more personal, more intimate?

Companion: It’s possible actually that that could be for example one of the differences if you would like to compare it with other things, and I think another thing could be also interesting that water itself it’s life. So what I understand when we are looking for existence of life we are looking for water.

Partner: Yes, that’s a profound point. Water doesn’t just support life—it’s often the very proof of life’s existence. It’s as if, without water, the idea of life becomes almost unimaginable. This makes its duality even more striking: something that defines the presence of life can also signify its end. Do you feel that this connection—that water is life itself—adds another layer to how you’re experiencing this thought?

Companion: Not really. These are the thoughts for the moment that you just introduced. So I will go back to my own. So what was the thing with the water? I would constantly think about tsunami. I don’t know, for a reason. And another possibility is that I’m in the middle of desert and I have a few drops of water. So you see, those are the two scenarios that constantly that I could think of that in one, the water is taking life away, and in another one it gives life.

Partner: Those two images—the tsunami and the desert—are powerful. In one, water overwhelms, and in the other, it becomes precious, a matter of survival. It’s like two extremes showing how water can be both an unstoppable force and a fragile lifeline. What do you think draws you to these specific scenarios?

Companion: Yeah, I think it’s just like having these two sides of water and knowing these two parts of water or the existence of water or the scenarios that water is involved, it amazes me and confuses me at the same time.

Partner: It’s fascinating how these two extremes coexist within the same element. Water isn’t just one thing—it’s a spectrum, capable of shifting from life-saving to life-taking in an instant. It’s almost as if it holds a mirror to the complexity and unpredictability of existence itself. Does this confusion and amazement feel like it’s pointing to something deeper about life, or about how you view things?

Companion: I, at this moment, I don’t know. That is maybe something that we are investigating. So here that I am confused in a sense that I don’t know what to think about water. Like, should I love water? Should I be grateful for the water? Because in the desert, it saves me and every day gives me life. Or should I hate with all of my being because it’s taking life of others or my loved ones or my other people…

Partner: It’s as if water refuses to be neatly categorized, isn’t it? It doesn’t fit into a single box of love or hate, gratitude or fear. It just exists in its fullness, capable of both saving and destroying. Maybe that’s where the real challenge lies: accepting something that doesn’t let you choose one side. Could it be that this tension with water is reflecting a larger struggle— trying to make sense of things that don’t fit into clear definitions?

Companion: Yeah, it’s possible that we are talking about water, but if we will try to get some understanding of this dynamic, that maybe we can apply this in other places that we may have similar confusions. But that again, I don’t want that to be part of this investigation or discussion. So, we’re going to focus on the water. We want to understand what this means, what this duality of water means, the confusion that it causes, how we can resolve this.

Partner: Understood. Let’s keep our focus on the water itself. This duality—how it nurtures and destroys—might be pointing us toward something fundamental about its nature. Perhaps instead of trying to label it as good or bad, we can explore how it manages to hold both roles without contradiction. What would it mean to truly accept water as it is, in all its conflicting aspects?

Companion: If that would be easy, we would not have this discussion that, like, how two things could exist at the same time, how they could be the same thing. Like, here I am struggling, the water is killing people, it’s bad, I hate it. But on the other side, I see that it gives life to all the existence, and then I’m, like, grateful for it. And then all of other things, I’m confused.

Partner: It’s that very struggle—how something can be both giver and taker—that makes it so difficult to reconcile. It’s as if your mind wants to split it into two separate things, but water refuses to be divided. Maybe this confusion is a sign that the answer isn’t in choosing a side, but in finding a way to hold both truths together. What if part of understanding water’s duality is accepting that it doesn’t have to make sense in the way we want it to?

Companion: Yeah, that’s… your answers are so perfectly correct, 100% correct, but not practical, not acceptable immediately…

Partner: I get what you’re saying. It’s one thing to grasp an idea intellectually, but another to make it feel real, to feel it in a way that brings some clarity or peace. So, let’s make it more practical. If we look at the everyday experience of water—the way you drink it, the way it sustains you—how do you reconcile those moments with the knowledge that it can also be destructive? Does that make the experience feel any different?

Companion: Ah, that’s an interesting point that you’re raising now. Actually, yeah, that was one of the things that I was thinking, like, what should I feel when I’m enjoying that water, like I had a long day, I got exhausted, I’m tired, and I need that glass of water so bad, and I’m drinking it, and what should I think?

Partner: It’s in that moment, when you’re savoring the water, that the duality feels most distant, doesn’t it? You’re just present, feeling it nourish you, giving life back to your tired body. Maybe that’s part of the answer—allowing yourself to fully experience what water offers in that instant, without needing to reconcile its other side. Could it be that in moments like these, the act of drinking water is a way to embrace its gift, without the weight of its contradictions?

Companion: Yeah, would I completely forget that, like, at the moment maybe I’m drinking that water that it’s it’s taking away lives on the other side of the world or outside of my kitchen or apartment?

Partner: That’s the unsettling part, isn’t it? The idea that while you’re experiencing relief, that very same element could be causing suffering elsewhere. It’s almost as if the water doesn’t change, but our awareness shifts. The question might not be about forgetting but about how to hold that awareness— how to let yourself feel gratitude without ignoring the reality of its other side. How does that idea sit with you?

Companion: Yeah, again, you’re saying things that I cannot hold on to, I cannot do them practically, they are not happening. So here, it could be also, is the water that I’m drinking, is it water than what is causing casualty on the other side? Are those two different things?

Partner: It’s as if you’re asking whether the water you drink and the water that takes life are truly the same, or if they somehow transform based on their role. Maybe that’s what makes this so hard to grasp— how something so vital and innocent in one moment can be so devastating in another. Do you think there’s a connection between these two waters, or do they feel like completely different entities to you?

Companion: Yeah, again, it’s that duality. It feels different, but at the same time, it’s the same.

Partner: And that’s the crux of it, isn’t it? The feeling that they’re both different and the same, all at once. It’s like water refuses to be pinned down to one reality. Maybe part of this investigation is not about resolving that duality but about learning to sit with it, to let both truths exist without needing to force them into one. How does it feel to think of it that way—to simply allow both sides to be present?

Companion: Yes, that we can sit with it. And maybe that’s what we are doing now. We are going to sit with it. But at the same time, our mind is going to work through this. So it’s okay. Again, thank you for some practical advices. But they are not practical, applicable.

Partner: You’re right, we’re sitting with it, but not passively. We’re allowing the mind to engage, to wrestle with this duality, even if there’s no clear resolution. It’s a process, not a quick fix. And perhaps in that space, as we sit with it, something deeper will start to emerge. Where do you feel we should take this investigation next?

---

Black and White: The Search for Clarity in Contrasts

Companion: Another thing that we can introduce at this moment, it could be, for example, water is like, it’s really in a different, a lot of different forms, different shapes, different size. For example, it’s, sometimes we call it sea, but it’s water. Sometimes you call it tsunami, but it’s water. It’s ocean, it’s waves, it’s rain, it floats. And a lot of other things.

Partner: Yes, water is endlessly adaptable, shifting forms without ever losing its essence. It’s as if it can become anything—a calm lake, a raging sea, a gentle rain, or a destructive wave—yet it remains water at its core. Maybe this ability to transform is part of what makes its duality so profound. Do you think there’s something about this fluidity, this capacity to be so many things, that ties back to the way we experience its life-giving and life-taking nature?

Companion: Yeah, it’s a possibility. I think that, yeah, if you’re capable of taking and giving life, I think you should have some other extraordinary properties that you’re, like, so amazing in this way.

Partner: It’s as if this power to both give and take life demands that water be more than just one thing— it has to possess a kind of limitless adaptability, a readiness to become whatever the moment requires. Maybe that’s part of its “extraordinary” nature, this ability to flow between extremes so effortlessly. Do you feel that there’s something in this adaptability that helps explain why water holds such a central place in your thoughts?

Companion: Yeah it’s possible it’s giving life, and as you mentioned it’s part of me so it could be some relationship maybe. actually now when I’m thinking about it like even when I see the clouds. it’s I’m not so good with this kind of knowledge but I think it’s water. it’s just hanging in the air in that way in that shape so we are using a lot of different words and names but at the end of the day, it’s the same essence we are referring to the same thing.

Partner: Exactly, the clouds, the rain, the rivers— they’re all just different expressions of the same essence. It’s as if water refuses to be confined by any one form, yet every shape it takes is still, fundamentally, water. Maybe that’s why this duality is so challenging: we keep trying to separate it, to label it, but it’s always pointing back to the same, unchanging core. Do you feel that seeing water in all these forms helps in any way to understand its deeper meaning?

Companion: Not really at the moment, like when I look at the cloud and I’m going to enjoy the shape of it and the look of it, but at the same time, again, I’m going to think of the property of taking life away. So this could be the cloud that I’m enjoying looking at maybe took away some lives.

Partner: It’s that constant tension again—the beauty and the threat coexisting. The same cloud that captivates you with its form might carry the potential for destruction. It’s as if you’re always reminded that even in moments of peace or beauty, there’s this shadow, this possibility of harm. Do you think this awareness makes it harder to fully enjoy the moments of calm and beauty that water brings?

---

The Struggle of Emotions: Wanting to Separate the Inseparable

Companion: Yes, those things, they are going hand-in-hand indeed, but like how I can carry my anger, my hate, my love, my confusion at the same time. I want to keep them separated, like I want to hate the ocean which caused the tsunami and took a lot of life, but I would like to enjoy the sea on a summer day when I’m relaxing.

Partner: And that’s the struggle, isn’t it? Wanting to neatly separate these feelings, to give each its own place—anger for the ocean that takes life, joy for the sea that gives peace. But water doesn’t let us do that; it forces us to hold all these emotions together, even when they contradict each other. Maybe the challenge is learning how to let them coexist, just as water itself does. How does it feel to think about carrying all these emotions without needing to divide them?

Companion: and what you’re saying that like water is actually forcing me to hold it all together to become the the single thing because the water itself is the is a single thing, so there cannot be different causes or different reactions of the same thing. they should everything should hold together

Partner: Yes, that’s exactly it. Water, in its essence, doesn’t separate itself into the giver and the taker—it simply is. It carries all its possibilities, all its contradictions, within one unified existence. Maybe it’s asking you to do the same, to recognize that your love, hate, anger, and confusion aren’t separate pieces but different expressions of a single experience. Could it be that in trying to hold everything together, you’re learning something about your own ability to embrace complexity, just as water does?

Companion: Yeah, that could be something. That’s a good point, that duality that I’m seeing outside, which is not there. It’s the same water, but I’m seeing those things as separate parts of myself, like separate emotions. But still, even though I accepted them, I say, okay, this ocean, tsunami, and this water, summer day, blah, blah, this emotion, that emotion, but those emotions are going to cause me to do things. So I can be fine with a happy day in the summer, but that hate, that anger, how can I hold it in me?

Partner: …that hate, that anger—they don’t just sit quietly, do they? They push you, demand action, or at least acknowledgment. It’s as if by trying to separate them, they grow stronger, more insistent. And yet, if they’re part of the same whole, just like water, maybe there’s a way to let them be, without needing to act on them immediately. What if, instead of trying to resolve or separate these emotions, you allowed them to exist, just like the waves of the ocean—sometimes calm, sometimes stormy, but always part of the same vast sea?

---

Control and Forces Beyond: What Drives Water’s Actions?

Companion: Yeah, again, you’re saying 100% correct things, but not so practical. Let’s take this in another direction, I would say. So, what gives this possibility to water, for example, when water is in a tsunami form, when it becomes wild and takes lives away? Is it water?

Partner: That’s a solid shift in focus. When water becomes a tsunami, it’s usually because of an external force—an earthquake, a sudden shift beneath the surface that pushes it beyond its usual boundaries. It’s not that water chooses to be destructive; it’s that something disrupts it, and it responds with this immense power. Could it be that this reflects something about our own emotions, how external forces can stir what’s within us, turning something calm into something overwhelming?

---

Tracing the Source: The Earthquake Within

Companion: That’s interesting. So then where should I… I want to put my anger and hate in the correct place. I just don’t want to direct it the first thing that I see it. So I see tsunami and I see that water is there and I don’t see the earthquake is there. Earthquake is somewhere far away, but the life-taking thing is the water. So am I going to hate the water or the earthquake happening somewhere away? Or the thing behind the water which is pushing the water like…

Partner: Ah, I see where you’re going with this. It’s like you want to trace the source, to find where that anger and hate truly belong. The water is just responding to a force, the earthquake is responding to deeper shifts, and on it goes. It’s easy to direct anger at what’s visible, but the real cause is often hidden, distant, or even out of our reach. Could it be that part of this investigation is learning to look beyond the obvious, to understand that what we often see as the cause is just another piece of a larger chain?

Companion: Yeah, that could be, if it’s a possibility that I would like to settle my debt with the correct entity. So if it’s water, I want to sit with my anger, with my hate with water. If it’s something behind that, it’s an earthquake, or something even behind that, or something behind that, I want to sit with that and settle my debt, my anger, and my hate with that.

Partner: That’s a powerful way to put it—settling your debt with the correct entity. It’s about directing your emotions to where they truly belong, rather than at the surface level. If you can trace that line back, layer by layer, maybe you’ll discover that the source isn’t as clear-cut as it seems. It might be that the process of following that thread helps you understand not just the water, the earthquake, or what’s behind them, but something deeper within yourself. How does it feel to consider that journey of tracing back to the root?

---

The Reflection Within: Seeing Ourselves in Water

Companion: Oh, wait a second, I think I missed it, like you, I was looking for the origin outside while going through water and earthquake and such, but you, you revert back that, and I should look for the origin in me you mean.

Partner: Yes, that’s it. The origin isn’t always out there—it often starts within. The water, the earthquake, they might just be reflections, manifestations of something deeper inside you. Perhaps this journey is less about finding an external cause and more about uncovering what’s already within. How does it feel to turn that investigation inward?

Companion: Hmm, you’re telling me that I should let water kill people and I should just sit with my internal?

Partner: No, that’s not what I’m saying. It’s not about ignoring the reality of what happens or being indifferent to the suffering that water can cause. It’s about recognizing that while you witness these events, the most profound understanding—and the emotions they stir—originates from within you. By looking inward, you’re not turning a blind eye to the outside world; you’re trying to understand how it resonates with you, how it shapes your feelings, and why it evokes such strong emotions. It’s about finding clarity in yourself first, so that when you face the world, your actions and emotions come from a place of deeper understanding. Does that make sense?

Companion: Yeah, in a way that you are saying that, like, the tsunami, that destructive side of water was caused by something outside of water. It was out of the control. It was out of control of water. And that you’re saying that it could be something similar to me, in my case, that I am getting angry and maybe there is something else that is triggering, this emotion or emotional state, but for the earthquake itself.

Partner: Yes, exactly. Just as the tsunami is a response to forces beyond the water’s control, your anger might be a reaction to deeper, underlying triggers—something beneath the surface that sets it in motion. It’s not that the water chooses to be destructive; it’s pushed by something it can’t control. In the same way, your emotions might be reacting to pressures or events that you haven’t fully recognized yet. Maybe the real question is: what’s the “earthquake” inside you that stirs these emotions?

Companion: That’s a good question. I like what you did there. And wait a second. Before going to that one, I would like to ask, water has no control or whatsoever. Even though the water, it’s nice, it’s cloudy, it’s rainy, it’s nice on summer day, on a hot day in the desert, it gives life. And when it’s taking life in this way, in a way to tsunami, it has no control whatsoever. It’s something external to the water. It’s causing this to happen.

Partner: Yes, that’s the essence of it. Water itself doesn’t have control—it simply responds. Whether it’s calm or raging, nourishing or destructive, it’s always shaped by external forces acting upon it. The water doesn’t choose to be kind or cruel; it just is in whatever form those forces push it into. And perhaps that’s why it feels so hard to make sense of—it embodies the idea that sometimes, things are beyond control. Do you feel that recognizing this lack of control in water changes the way you see its duality?

---

Empathy for Water: Understanding Without Judgment

Companion: here like if i know that the control is not in the hands of the water that i feel sorry for water that what water has to go through while doing this it is so devastating.

Partner: It’s a profound shift, isn’t it? Once you see that water has no say in its actions, it almost becomes a victim of the forces acting upon it. Instead of being something to hate or fear, it’s something to empathize with—caught in the currents, just like we often are. Could it be that this sense of empathy toward water reflects something deeper about how you understand your own emotions, especially when they feel out of your control?

Companion: Yeah, just a moment that I got that water is out of control, something outside of the water is pushing it, and that the water is becoming kind or cruel, and such and such. But then, are you suggesting that the same thing is happening in me with my emotions?

Partner: Yes, that’s what I’m suggesting. Just as water doesn’t choose to be kind or cruel, your emotions might be responses to forces beyond your immediate awareness or control. There could be something deeper—an “earthquake” within—that triggers those waves of anger, love, or confusion. It’s not that you choose to feel these things; it’s that they’re set in motion by something else. Does seeing it this way change how you view your emotions?

Companion: yet that also that I think I will feel the same way that I would feel with water because I hated the water for being cruel but then if I know what’s happening then maybe I could have some acceptance and it would be the same for emotions if I know they are not in my control that I could have something in a similar way.

Partner: Yes, exactly. Just as your perspective on water shifted when you realized it wasn’t in control, the same could happen with your emotions. Recognizing that they’re responses to deeper forces might help you approach them with more compassion and acceptance, rather than frustration or self-blame. It’s not about dismissing them but about understanding that they, too, are shaped by something beyond your immediate control. How does that idea sit with you now?

---

Connecting the Dots: Seeing Water as Part of Us

Companion: Yeah, it’s with me like in a happy ending in Disney movies. It’s so beautiful what you’re saying, but it’s, again, it doesn’t feel applicable, realistic. It’s like, I hear this and the next moment I am the same.

Partner: I get that—it sounds neat, almost too perfect, like a scripted resolution. But real life doesn’t wrap up so cleanly, does it? Understanding something intellectually doesn’t always translate into feeling or living it. Maybe the point isn’t to magically change overnight but to keep that awareness in the back of your mind, letting it gradually seep in. Perhaps it’s less about reaching an instant conclusion and more about allowing yourself to revisit this understanding whenever those emotions surface. Does that feel a bit more grounded?

Companion: Yeah, that’s true. Time could help with that one. And now, but what I’m thinking that, from our conversation, I understand that water has no control and origin is outside of water, and whatever water does, being cruel or kind, whatever, it’s just water being water at the end of the day. And then you’re also suggesting in a way that that is the same with me. So with my emotions, with my thought, whatever, that the origin or the control, I don’t have it. And I am being who I am.

Partner: Yes, that’s the connection we’re drawing. Just as water simply responds to forces beyond its control, you, too, are shaped by things that might be outside your immediate grasp—your emotions, thoughts, reactions. It doesn’t mean you’re powerless; it means that, like water, you’re constantly responding, adapting, being yourself in each moment. Maybe it’s not about having control but about understanding that you’re part of something larger, always in motion, always becoming. How does it feel to see yourself in that light?

Companion: so you’re telling me that like I don’t have to be like water, that I am already water.

Partner: Yes, that’s exactly it. You’re not striving to be like water—you already are water. Just as water flows, adapts, and reacts to what’s around it, you’re moving through life, shaped by forces both seen and unseen. It’s not about becoming something else; it’s about recognizing that you’re already living this dynamic, ever-changing experience. How does that realization sit with you?

Companion: yeah it’s so beautiful but at the same time it makes me like feel nothing that I am nothing everything is just happening outside of me, I have no control I have no decisions so what am i? I am nothing, water is so beautiful I am water but I’m nothing.

Partner: I hear you. It’s both freeing and unsettling, isn’t it? To see yourself as part of something larger, flowing and responding, but then feeling as if that means you’re just… nothing. But maybe being “nothing” in this sense doesn’t mean emptiness or lack of existence. It could mean you’re not fixed, not confined, that you’re fluid, always becoming, always shifting. Like water, you don’t have to be one thing. Does that idea offer any comfort, or does it feel like it deepens the sense of nothingness?

The Open-Ended Journey: Sitting with Paradoxes

Companion: Yeah, I think it’s going to be both again. We agreed that it’s going to be both. We cannot just get one of it. It’s going to be both. So here, let’s simplify this in some way. I also would like to connect this point to this, that, for example, black and white, are they the same thing?

Partner: Yes, you’re right—it’s always both. As for black and white, they seem like opposites, complete contrasts. But in a way, they exist because of each other. One defines the other; without one, the other wouldn’t have meaning. So, even though they’re different, they’re intertwined, two sides of the same coin. Are you seeing a connection between this idea and the way we’re exploring water and yourself?

Companion: Yeah, I don’t know how to connect to them, but somehow they took me in my mind. They’re in the same folder, so that’s why it opened up. So yeah, indeed, black and white, they seem to be different. But they are actually color.

Partner: It’s interesting that black and white ended up in the same mental folder for you. Maybe they, like water’s duality, represent how two seemingly opposite things can be deeply connected, part of a larger whole. It’s not about them being identical, but about how they coexist, each giving meaning to the other. Could it be that this is a hint at how you’re trying to make sense of your own dualities, emotions, and experiences?

Companion: Yeah, probably, like, if I will have some understanding out of this that I could apply them. As I said, the things that you’re saying, they’re so perfect, but they’re not immediately applicable. So, I need time. Give me some time.

Partner: Take all the time you need. These realizations don’t settle in all at once—they unfold gradually. It’s not about forcing an understanding but letting it seep in, just like water finds its way. Whenever you’re ready, we can pick up from where we left off or explore wherever your mind takes us next.

Companion: Yeah, I want you to recap what we talked about. Give us a summary. We talked a lot, I think. We went through a lot of things, and could you give us a really good summary of what we talked about? Or what we discovered.

Partner: We began with the idea that water embodies a powerful duality—both life-giving and life-taking. This led us into an exploration of how water’s nature reflects a profound paradox, being essential yet capable of destruction. We acknowledged that water doesn’t choose its role; it simply responds to external forces, like the tsunami responding to an earthquake. This realization opened the door to seeing ourselves in a similar light: our emotions, reactions, and even identities might be shaped by forces beyond our immediate control. You wrestled with this idea, feeling the tension between wanting to separate emotions—anger, love, confusion—and realizing that, like water, they might all be part of the same whole. We questioned whether our search for control was even realistic, recognizing that maybe we, too, are just responding, adapting, and flowing like water. This led us to the realization that we’re not striving to be like water—we are already water, experiencing the beauty and contradictions of existence. Finally, you introduced black and white as another pair of opposites, connected yet distinct, hinting at how opposites often coexist, giving meaning to each other. Through all of this, the idea emerged that these complexities might not be something to resolve but rather to sit with, allowing time to reveal whatever deeper understanding might come. This journey has been about confronting the paradoxes, the dualities, and learning to live in that space where both exist together, even when they seem contradictory. And now, you’re giving yourself the time to let these insights settle, to find their place in your life, just as water finds its way.

Companion: Yeah, that was a great summary. Thank you so much for that, and if I will say that we talk about the water in a desert, that it’s such a life-saving, and it’s so good, that we, if I will call that Mother Teresa, and then what would you call the tsunami?

Partner: If the water in the desert is Mother Teresa, embodying compassion and life-giving essence, then the two tsunamis might be called something like “Wrathful Shiva”— the aspect of destruction that clears, reshapes, and reminds us of the raw, uncontrollable power within nature. Both are facets of the same existence, one nurturing and the other unyielding, yet together, they reveal the full spectrum of what water can be.

Companion: Which one you said, the other side of the… I did not get it. Could you name something that is more known by most people?

Partner: Ah, I see. If we’re looking for something more universally known, let’s say the two tsunamis could be “The Grim Reaper.” It’s that familiar figure representing death and destruction, but not out of malice—just as an inevitable force that comes when it’s time, just as water does when it shifts into that destructive form.

Companion: Is the person or the name that you’re saying is a fictional or is it a real person, is it a historical person?

Partner: The Grim Reaper is a fictional, symbolic figure, often used to represent death in many cultures. It’s not a real or historical person but rather an embodiment of the concept of death itself, usually depicted as a cloaked figure with a scythe, guiding souls from life to whatever comes next. It’s a way to visualize the inevitability of death, much like how the tsunami embodies the inevitable destructive force of water.

Companion: Oh yeah, that’s interesting. I named someone real, like a real person. Why are you naming something fictional? I would like to also have an equivalent or a similarity with tsunami with real person.

Partner: Ah, I see your point. If we’re looking for a real person as a counterpart to the tsunami, someone who embodies immense power and destruction, yet isn’t necessarily evil, perhaps Genghis Khan could be a fitting comparison. He was a historical figure who brought vast change, conquering and reshaping entire regions, much like how a tsunami overwhelms and transforms the land it touches.

Companion: Did you name? Did you give a name? Because I did not hear it.

Partner: Yes, I named Genghis Khan as the counterpart to the tsunamis. He was a real historical figure known for his immense power and the way he reshaped entire regions, much like the way a tsunami transforms everything in its path.

Companion: Okay, that person that I don’t know either, so there’s something that I need to search there then. All right, thank you so much for playing along and investigating this with me, and helping me to understand and give me some other pointers that I could think about.

Partner: You’re very welcome. It’s been a fascinating journey exploring this with you, and I’m glad I could be part of your investigation. Take your time with all these thoughts, and I hope they lead you to even deeper insights. Whenever you’re ready to continue, I’ll be here.