I’m an elemental sort of guy: my favorite theatre (now sadly closed) always included natural elements into their productions; the plays I write tend to focus on natural elements. Natural elements are of a particular value. They make you feel closer to the earth itself, closer to the source. There is a reason that songs are written about stars, baptisms involve water, and cowboys ride off into the sunset. There is something we yearn for in those natural elements. They give meaning that transcends the everyday. Elements are imbued with a power when considered by our soul.
All that poetry, however, has to be slowly figured out by us humans as we grow in age and wisdom. Our son doesn’t understand any of that yet. His soul at once connects with everything he sees as well as treats it with no specific dignity because he doesn’t know what “dignity” means. The title of this post “spitting water,” should give an insight into what it is about. Indeed, that wonderful element of water for which songs are sung, religious initiations are wrought, and human bodies are comprised is, in our son’s eyes, something fun to spit out of his mouth.
Not surprisingly, this isn’t something we encourage. While I’m all for him having a good time and experimenting, I’m fairly certain that he can experiment a good deal better with water while he’s in the bathtub. Whatever the issues we’re having with his spitting water it ultimately involves his safety. Our hard tile floors become instant ice skating-level slippery if you just add water. Our son also isn’t fond of having soaked clothes… but that’s what happens when he covers himself in water. We love him though, even if he’s soaking wet.