Water is always a support or a healing thing apart from, you

Hear the gentle yet profound words of Nastassja Kinski, who declared: “Water is always a support or a healing thing apart from, you know, love or peace of mind.” In this utterance, the ancient spirit of wisdom awakens, for she names water not merely as an element of the earth, but as a force eternal, a companion to the soul, a medicine for both body and spirit. She places it alongside the highest treasures—love and peace of mind—and yet distinguishes it, as if to say that while love binds us and peace steadies us, water refreshes us, carrying us onward when our strength is faint.

For what is water, if not the very origin of life? Before the stars gave form to the heavens, before kingdoms rose and fell, the first stirrings of life awoke in the womb of the waters. Every breath we draw is owed to that ancient cradle. Water has always been a support—bearing us up when we would sink, nourishing us when we thirst, softening us when we are hardened by toil. To immerse in water is to return to the beginning, to be cleansed of dust and sorrow, to feel again the simplicity of existence.

The healing nature of water has been known throughout the ages. The Romans built great baths not for luxury alone, but for renewal of body and spirit. The Japanese have their hot springs, where steaming waters soothe bones weary from labor. In the Ganges of India, the faithful bathe, believing the river washes away sins and restores purity of soul. All these testify that water, more than any other element, draws out the heaviness of the world and replaces it with lightness, calm, and renewal.

Consider also the tale of Naaman the Syrian, a mighty warrior stricken with leprosy. He sought healing in riches and command, but none could cure him. Then a prophet sent him to wash seven times in the humble Jordan River. Naaman, at first scornful, finally obeyed—and was made whole. The lesson is eternal: healing may not come from power or wealth, but from the quiet and faithful surrender to the waters that sustain life. Thus does water stand as a silent physician, offering wholeness where pride and force cannot.

Yet Kinski reminds us that water stands “apart from” love and peace of mind. For while water restores the body and calms the senses, it is not the final source of meaning. A man may drink deeply and be refreshed, but without love, his soul will remain dry. A woman may bathe in the river and be cleansed, but without peace of mind, her spirit will still be restless. Water is a support, a foundation, a balm—but the fullness of life requires also the harmony of the heart and the tranquility of the soul.

O seekers of wisdom, learn from this: honor water as sacred. Drink it with gratitude. Bathe in it as though washing away not just sweat, but sorrow. Sit by its shores when your mind is restless, and hear the rhythm of its flow until your spirit remembers its own rhythm. But do not mistake it for the whole of healing—seek also love that binds and peace of mind that steadies. For together, these three—water, love, and peace—are the trinity of renewal, each flowing into the other, making life whole.

Therefore, let your actions be these: care for the waters of the earth, that they may remain pure for future generations. Guard rivers, lakes, and seas, for in them lies healing not just for the body, but for the soul of all humankind. Seek moments daily to reconnect with water—whether by drinking slowly, walking by its edge, or listening to its rain-song. And above all, remember: the wisdom of life is found not in riches, but in these simple and eternal gifts—water for the body, love for the heart, and peace of mind for the soul.

Thus the saying of Nastassja Kinski becomes not only a reflection, but a teaching for ages to come. Water heals, supports, and renews—but love and peace complete the journey.