The concept of hydrotherapy, i.e. healing with water, goes back such a long way into the past that it is probably safest to assume that humans have always used water to effect cures. If you try to read about the origins of water healing you will undoubtedly be told to start with the Roman civilisation. This is clearly based solely upon archaeological evidence to substantiate the idea that a culture systematically embraced an idea. Let it suffice to say that Holy Wells were sacred before they were holy to Christians, and sacred springs have been venerated since before written record of any form. Bathing in sacred springs is not a new concept!
That water has healing properties seems to be something that is generally recognised in the modern ‘alternative’ health arena and seems to be a slow revival of something very popular during the Victorian era. Quotes like this are typical of the modern perspective and marketing slant:
“There is no drug on the market that can rival the number of beneficial physiological effects that water is capable of producing, and it is widely available (unless you happen to be in a desert) and cheap. In fact, there are no substances known to man that possess as many remedial and health-promoting qualities as water. Its therapeutic qualities include sedative, antipyretic (reducing body temperature, anodyne (analgesic,), anticonvulsant, astringent, tonic, anaesthetic, and derivative.” Source: Internet Health Library
However, this post is about one particular aspect of the healing powers of water that I can find only scant reference to, more in myth than in fact and that concept is that flowing tumultuous water has inherent healing qualities for human beings. When you think about it, it is probably something that you always felt would be true but have never vocalised or integrated that intuition. Neither had I until recently, then an experiment in following intuition opened my eyes to the qualities of water. I suppose the idea of healing water had been revived in my mind by my stay in a German spa town recently.
I remember being told in the Scouts that if you were going to drink from mountain streams you should always seek out a place where the water was enlivened and agitated by rocks: drink from the white water, not a still pool, was always the advice. This advice must have stayed with me always. So, perhaps the concept of water in tumult being beneficial was already embedded in me.
Pistyll Rhaeadr is the largest waterfall in Wales. I have posted about this waterfall and its beautiful surroundings before, but this visit turned out to be a special occasion. It was a lovely summer’s day and I decided to take M along with me so that she could see what all the fuss was about. She was not up walking much because two days earlier she had been on a long walk, trying out her new “blister proof” walking socks in preparation for walking the Sandstone Trail in Cheshire. Her sixteen-mile walk had left her with horrific ‘burns’, or some kind of reaction to the lining of the walking socks and she was covered in very sore rashes that spread from her ankles across her feet. She wanted to come long, but she was not keen to walk at all it was that painful to her. I assured her it was worth it.
We had some lunch at the lovely and friendly café at the foot of the falls. We felt totally relaxed from the tortuous drive to get there by the time we had finished – the sound of the waterfall, the flowing waters, the sleeping cat on the table with us…all lovely. I persuaded M to accompany me on a walk up the waterfall to the hooded rock at the head of the falls, with its limpid pools and soothing sounds. She agreed, but complained every two minutes about her feet! I hoped that the end result might quieten her down a little. After a steep climb up the path we arrived at the head of the falls where there must have been around twenty people milling about.
The water of the Afon Disgynfa river that forms the waterfall seem to me to be chalybeate, i.e. full of iron mineral content – certainly the waters contain a dark brown tinge to them. Whether it was this characteristic that set off the idea in my head that the waters would have healing properties I can’t say, but the idea came to me that they would be of benefit to M and her stinging feet.
I got my dowsing rods out and asked whether M’s rash-ridden stinging feet could be healed – YES. Where should she sit to be healed? I followed the rods to a narrow flat rock very near to the edge of the falls, at a point where one could dangle one’s feet in the running and bubbling waters. OK – we’ll do it! M sat there for about five minutes admiring the view, feet immersed in the cold running and churning water.
When M had finished I wanted to try it too – just to see what it felt like. After five minutes each of enjoyment and cold numb feet we dried our feet and then made our way back down the steep slope to the car. On the way up M had complained at almost every bend in the path. Now, not a peep! And that was literally miraculous! Two days of constant complaining had been cured in a few minutes of ‘treatment’ by the flowing waterfall. The rash looked visibly reduced, and all tightness and soreness had gone away. If you have problems with your feet, even if only from the climb up Pistyll Rhaeadr, I recommend this particular therapy – get your shoes and socks off!
Gwas.
Following an alternative healing path.
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