What if your imaginary conversations weren’t imaginary at all—but sacred whispers from the water itself?

I remember, as a child, I used to talk to water.

During school vacations, I’d visit the river or the sea and just sit—or walk along the shore—talking out loud. Not to anyone visible, but to something. To someone. I imagined a creature of the sea, a water spirit, a sitsar of the depths. I’d tell them everything: my stories, my victories, my secrets. I’d unload whatever was swirling inside me.

It was probably my first form of meditation.

And it was natural. It flowed from me, as easily as breath.

Then, one day—I noticed myself doing it. I must have been a bit older. Suddenly I questioned it:
“Wait… am I crazy?”

Talking to water? Who does that?
I stopped sharing it. Hid it. That part of me became silent—unspoken—because I didn’t want to seem strange. I convinced myself it wasn’t normal.

But years later, I found myself in a ceremony. A beautiful, sacred one. A guided tradition led by a teacher and her partner. And part of the ceremony was this: connecting to the spirit of water.

They spoke to her—this water spirit—and I saw how she responded. I felt it in the space, in my skin, in the energy between us.

And just like that, something clicked.

I’m not crazy. I never was.

It was a moment I will never forget. It felt like I received a promotion from the unseen. A divine affirmation that my childhood knowing had always been real. That the voice, the relationship, the vision—it never left me. I had just forgotten for a while.

Since then, I’ve never doubted the sacredness of speaking to water.
I’ve never questioned that connection again.

The water listens.
The water knows.
And wherever I go—that voice goes with me.