Water has always been my sanctuary, a place where I could escape the chaos of life. As a child, I would retreat into my daydreams under the comforting cascade of shower water, and in the stillness of swimming pools, I found peace by submerging myself underwater, disconnecting from the world above. Some of my most cherished memories are of my father taking us to lakes and rivers, where I would lose myself for hours, skipping rocks and feeling the cool rush of water flowing over my legs in the creeks. To me, water has always been magical, each body holding its own secret world—an ocean that feels like an entire universe and rivers that cradle their own hidden habitats. I marveled at how these waters, so calming to us, nurtured entire lives within them.

It wasn’t until the past few years that I truly understood the depth of my connection to water. With my home far from the coast, the shower became my nearest form of escape. After my awakening, the visions began—stories unfolding in my mind, voices from the past reaching out to share their tales, and at times, answers to my own struggles in life. Even now, I still get lost in the water, finding clarity and serenity with each drop.

Although I was enchanted by water’s beauty, it also held a shadow for me. A deep-rooted fear lingered, one that haunted me with visions of drowning, possibly echoing a past life. I carried this fear with me for years, particularly when I became a mother. For the first few years of my daughter’s life, I had recurring visions of us both drowning in a river. This fear gripped me so tightly that when she was old enough, I made sure she learned to swim. It was as though my own fears, passed down from my mother—who had long feared water—found a way into me. Yet, my father was different. He thrived in water, taking us to lakes and rivers each summer, despite my mother’s anxiety.

But then came the call. The first whisper in my awakening led me to Topsail Beach, and it was there, where the ocean meets the river, 14 hours away from home, that my bond with water truly transformed. Seven years later, the water still calls to me, offering solace and grounding whenever the world feels overwhelming. Oceans and rivers have become the places I go when I need peace, when I feel lost or disconnected. They are the places that, more than any other, feel like home.

For some time now, I’ve felt a quiet, ancestral pull toward the waters—a gentle call to reconnect. If you’ve been following my recent posts, you may sense how strong this pull has become. It feels like a delicate tug-of-war between the ocean and the river, each pulling me in different directions on my spiritual path. I hold onto hope that this yearning will soon be met with a sense of relief, guiding me toward a deeper understanding.