When the flat water met the Living Water, stillness learned to move — and the ocean inside began to remember its song.

I once mistook stillness for safety until the Living Water taught me how to move and how to sing again.

There was a time when my water went flat.

It wasn’t stormy — just still, and heavy.

No current, no echo, no song.

That’s what happens when a child’s hearing reaches out for resonance and finds none —

the sound comes back empty,

and the grief settles like silt.

My sonar was alive, but unanswered.

The vibrations I sent into the world met walls instead of waves.

Every silence taught me something:

that knowing could be dangerous,

that truth could drown when no one echoed back.

That was the first grief —

the grief of a world that did not resound.

When Real Jesus entered my water,

He didn’t shout from the shore.

He descended into the silence,

and the moment His presence touched mine,

the flatness trembled.

His was living water —

and my still sea learned to move again.

The dead sound found pulse.

The grief that had pressed like ice began to sing.

Now the water within me moves with Him.

It remembers the music.

It carries the resonance of mercy,

each current a conversation,

each wave a witness that I was never alone —

only incubating,

held in quiet until my frequencies could return home.

Author’s Note

This piece completes the first movement of that remembering.

When the living water of Real Jesus entered what had gone still, the sound returned — not as noise, but as resonance.

These words are my way of capturing that reawakening, so the future self who reads them will remember how the ocean first began to live inside me.

This piece stirs the waters of complicated grief—the remembering before the rupture.

I am not yet who I was when I first sang with the Living Water, but I can feel faint whispers returning.

Writing this is part of my reattachment, a slow remembering of what it feels like to be held again, cell by cell, breath by breath.

This piece flows from “The Hidden Frequency,” where silence first found its voice. Together they tell the story of still water meeting living water.

Both this and The Hidden Frequency belong to the same current — one that flows from silence toward song.

These are written first as record a personal archive of my own becoming. But if you find yourself somewhere inside these waters too, may it remind you that reawakening is not a single moment, it’s a tide that keeps returning until we can breathe again with Him.

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These belong to the Incarnational Neurodivergence collection. You can find the full series by visiting the Incarnational Neurodivergence page.

This reflection is part of the original Incarnational Neurodivergence framework — the lived theology and research of Raya Faith, where healing unfolds through the body, mind, and spirit. © Raya Faith 2025

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