I am water

 Here in Crete the waters are warm and still.  This may be scientifically incorrect but, It feels like there might even be more salt in the water for I can lie for long stretches of time on my back without sinking.  Perhaps this is just due to the absence of waves.

Time dissolves in these moments of perfect suspension.  Clouds float by, my body rises and falls with the  rhythm of the sea, in perfect harmony.

There is a peace that flows into me from being held by the water—the soothing, smooth, almost sensual caress of the ocean against my skin. It is healing in ways that transcend the physical. The water's touch whispers of something deeper, something primordial and true.

Water's movement is everywhere, always changing, never stagnant. I am mesmerised by its endless transformations—those minuscule atoms dancing from ice to fluid to steam, from dew to rain to mist, and even into us when we remember that we are seventy percent water ourselves. We are water; it flows through our veins, fills our cells, carries our dreams.

In this knowing, it is no wonder that the touch of water feels like a homecoming of sorts. When I slip beneath the surface, when the caustic patterns of light dance across my submerged form, I am not visiting another realm—I am returning to myself. The boundary between self and sea dissolves, and I become daughter of these waters, born of their light, held in their loving embrace.

This is what I will paint for now: not just the physics of light through water, but the soul's recognition of its liquid origins, the joy of coming home to what we have always been.