Speaking of Spiritual Water, here is a good documentary on the abbey at Chartreuse, home to the Carthusians (note the etymology of the name):
the famous liquer invented by the Carthusian Fathers, making us 'chartreuse' with envy
Chartreuse, where the Fathers have arguably perfected the eremetic life, living "all alone in their own little home" distilling spirits "from the mountain stream."
I propose that it is one of those classic post-modern (in the sense of post-modern as reaction against modernity) contemplations. While Morrison chooses to present the things, and the story, romantically, illuminating them and bringing them to our attention, he poetically leaves their inner nature still implicit. He speaks for them only so far, letting his praise of them illuminate them, and giving them the opportunity to speak for themselves.
Good poetry does not impose meanings, but nurtures moments, and things, and stories. The poet adds his breath to the things, so that they are enabled to speak for themselves. Does this mean that poetry and ultimately their subject matter are without their own being? That they echo the evocation of the caller/poet, or absorb the prejudices of those to whose attention they are drawn (the hearers?).
I do not think so. But this post-modern poetic approach to subjects does require alot of trust from the singer, and from the hearer. We must trust to let things speak for themselves. Trust that their very real, objective truth can only be fully, or at least most fully explicated if they are allowed to develop from within.
Does that mean that 'interpreting' or explicating a story, or things, or moments "kills" it and imposes by analysis the prejudices of the poet or listener? Does this impose, and down-shout the song?
I hope not. Rather, I like to think that explicating is a form of 'naming', of bringing the true self of the story into fruition by bringing it into relation. Moreover-- since a moment, a story, and the things of the story are not just themselves but also the warp and woof of the relationship between the poet and the hearer, and moreover between all three and their Creator, Who is the great context of all such things-- explicating, unveiling, naming are the conversation by which we help things become known to themselves, and our selves to our selves, and each other to each other, and each other and our selves to the Primary Poet who is cultivating and illuminating us.
"Half a mile from the county fair And the rain keep pourin' down Me and Billy standin' there With a silver half a crown Hands are full of a fishin' rod And the tackle on our backs We just stood there gettin' wet With our backs against the fence Oh, the water Oh, the water Oh, the water Hope it don't rain all day
And it stoned me to my soul Stoned me just like Jelly Roll And it stoned me And it stoned me to my soul Stoned me just like goin' home And it stoned me
Then the rain let up and the sun came up And we were gettin' dry Almost let a pick-up truck nearly pass us by So we jumped right in and the driver grinned And he dropped us up the road We looked at the swim and we jumped right in Not to mention fishing poles
Oh, the water Oh, the water Oh, the water Let it run all over me
And it stoned me to my soul Stoned me just like Jelly Roll And it stoned me And it stoned me to my soul Stoned me just like goin' home And it stoned me
On the way back home we sang a song But our throats were getting dry Then we saw the man from across the road With the sunshine in his eyes Well he lived all alone in his own little home With a great big gallon jar There were bottles too, one for me and you And he said Hey! There you are
Oh, the water Oh, the water Oh, the water Get it myself from the mountain stream
And it stoned me to my soul Stoned me just like Jelly Roll And it stoned me And it stoned me to my soul Stoned me just like goin' home And it stoned me"
I propose that this song is not just about the sacramentality of water (that would be an obvious proposition given the well-known mystical emphases of Van Morrison's songs), but about the Sacrament of water.
Two fisherman (they go by twos, of course) are on the way to the festival (how Pieperian). So they are also pilgrims. Aren't we all always on a long trek in search of a feast, a rest in boisterous harmony? They are in the normal existential mode, that of begrudging the water, hoping it "don't rain all day." Water in this fallen world is usually a nuisance, even something to be feared. It will ruin our plans for work or for fun.
The two fisherman encounter someone on the way (to Emmaus?). Here something strange takes place that changes the whole song: Morrison doesn't explicate this conversion, this ineffable moment, because it can't be explicated. By the end of the verse this encounter with "the driver", a joyful fellow pilgrim, has transformed the fisherman, and the song. No longer do they hope it doesn't rain all day; now they realize they are dry, and are overjoyed at the opportunity to encounter the Water. The hospitable pilgrim brings the fisherman to a pond, where they do not fish, but leap in, clothes, gear, and all. A baptism.
Suddenly the two fisherman want to be immersed. They never knew before how parched they were.
"Oooh! The water!
Ooooohhh! The water!
Oh! The water...
Let it run all over me."
Now the fisherman are going home, and singing. But even then, though they are cleansed by baptism, they lack sustenance; their 'throats were gettin dry.' Suddenly from across the divide of the road (the way, the via vitae) they see the "man with the sunshine in his eyes." Is he a saint who faces the Sun? Perhaps, but He may be The Father who also faces the Son, to whom "the driver" and their journey have brought them. The Father, who "lived all alone in his own little home," Absolute, Ineffable, but Who can now be reached.
And what does The Father give them? Water in "a great gray gallon jar", which is clearly moonshine. Uisge Beatha. The Water of Life. Spirits! Spiritual Water! This is not rain, that comes and goes, nor a pond, that is still, but comes "from the mountain stream" (for which deer long, as our souls thirst for Him). From the fast flowing, sparkling, many-tongued stream, flowing from on-high from the rock, from the spring. Streams are alive, speaking, and eternal. The pilgrims have been given the sacraments.
And it 'stones' them, with the ecstasy of being at home.
