Have you ever stopped to truly observe a large body of water—how calm and unshakable it appears most of the time?
At some point, we’ve all tossed a stone into a pond or lake, watching the ripples expand outward in perfect circles. No matter the shape or weight of the object, water rarely responds with chaos. It receives the impact, distributes the energy evenly, and quietly restores balance.
That is the quiet resilience of water—a lesson in strength, balance, and composure.
A vast lake, much like an enlightened person, does not erupt at every disturbance. It absorbs the shock, lets the ripples diffuse the stress, and allows calm to return naturally. In physics, those ripples are waves—energy transformed, not destroyed—guided by gravity and surface tension until equilibrium is restored.
But water’s calm has limits, and they are proportional to its depth and breadth.
A small puddle will splash violently at the same disturbance a lake would absorb effortlessly. And when the force is immense—like an undersea earthquake shifting the ocean floor—the calm collapses. The result is no longer ripples, but a tsunami—immense and destructive.
The dual nature of water—serene under strain, fierce under provocation—mirrors how we respond to life’s pressures.
Life constantly throws small disruptions—words, setbacks, frustrations—that are the equivalent of stones skipping across our surface. The real test is whether we let them ripple through and settle, or whether we let them stir storms within.
Emotional balance, like the stillness of deep water, is not the absence of disturbance but the capacity to absorb and release it without losing form.
It also reminds us to recognize every person does not have the same capacity to absorb these jolts—to know which disturbances are minor, and which are seismic to each individual is the key to healthy relations.
The calm of water teaches us grace under impact and wisdom in response.
