As Paul described, it was a bit like the seaside. We swam across Coniston – it took a while and left time for the mind to wander as we swam. To be honest my mind was still swimming Moss Eccles tarn – I hadn’t really finished with it or maybe the contrast with Coniston was so great that it floated me back to the previous swim.
As I recollected it, we approached Moss Eccles on a broody, thundery day. It’s greenery was already full of reds and browns, and summer seemed to be at it’s height. The ‘body of water’ showed traces of lilac in it’s reflections and seemed thick and alive. Then I thought you could as well say the ‘mind of water’ – for was this eco-system in all its interdependent complexity not, essentially, a sentient being? – self absorbed maybe and withdrawn into a deep silence; locked in extravagant cogitation and idling its time away in endless self-transformation – yet an integrated living creature all the same?
At that moment it felt like our arrival at the lake was a moment of contact with an ancient being who would rather not be disturbed. Our un-stated aim seemed to be to evoke a response from the lake which would reveal it’s miraculous plenitude and personality.
Upon our entry into the still lake it writhed into a turbulent state; this introverted world became a vortex of mental currents, created, confused, and confined in it’s murky depths: it’s thoughts, emotions and sediments were stirred by our intrusion. We looked at it’s bed and saw rocking weed through the occasional shafts of sunlight. These were the elements of our encounter with the lake and when we finally emerged, leaving it to calm down, I felt this ‘mind of water’ returning, ineluctably, to its original state of quiescence where it would dream of us for a million years or forget us instantly.
Meanwhile back at Coniston Lake it felt like a beach party was going on and we swam ashore.
