If Water Has Memory, What Is It Remembering?

A note with the words "love" and "thank you" were put on the container of the water that formed this crystal. Courtesy of Dr. Masuru Emoto

Commentary

The more I explore the work of water researchers—such as Veda Austin, Gerald Pollack, Dr. Jacques Benveniste, Masaru Emoto, and Nobel Prize-winner Dr. Luc Montagnier—the more I find myself in awe. Not just of water, but of what it may be quietly teaching us about life, food, and even consciousness.

Let’s start with the radical idea that water has memory.

In 1988, French immunologist Benveniste published a paper in Nature claiming that water could retain the “imprint” of substances, even when diluted beyond detection. He showed that ultra-diluted solutions still triggered biological responses in cells—as if water remembered what had once been in it. Although widely dismissed, his work cracked open a doorway few were willing to enter.

Years later, Nobel laureate Montagnier explored similar ideas. He claimed that DNA emits electromagnetic signals in water—and that water can “remember” and even transmit this information, allowing DNA sequences to be reconstructed under certain conditions. His findings were controversial, but they hinted at a deeper truth: that water may not only carry life but also communicate it.

Meanwhile, Pollack, a bioengineering professor at the University of Washington, has studied what he calls the “fourth phase” of water—also known as exclusion zone water. This structured state forms next to hydrophilic surfaces, stores energy, separates charge, and behaves unlike typical liquid water. It appears to be essential to how our cells function, heal, and possibly even process information.

And then there’s Emoto, who showed that water exposed to specific words, prayers, and music could form radically different ice crystals. “Love” and “gratitude” created stunning snowflake-like structures. “Hate” and “fear” produced chaotic, fractured ones. His work suggested that water may respond to human intention, language, and even emotion.

Contemporary researcher Austin continues that exploration. She freezes water after exposing it to words or thoughts—and the resulting images often reflect those inputs with remarkable specificity. Her work raises the question: Is water conscious? And if so, is it responsive?

If water responds to words, what about thoughts?

If it remembers what has touched it, what’s happening inside the water in our own bodies?

Nearly every cell in our bodies is made primarily of water. So is the food we eat—fruits, vegetables, meat, milk, and so forth. If water holds memory, then the water in our food carries information, too.

And that makes me wonder: What is that water telling our cells?

Every drop of water on Earth has been here before. It has moved through clouds, rivers, trees, oceans, animals, and people—drunk, sweated, peed, cried, prayed over, and evaporated again. If it remembers, it remembers life itself.

Which brings me to food.

When I harvest vegetables from my farm in Texas, they’re formed by the sun, soil, microbes, and water of this land. That water carries the memory of this place—its rhythm, history, and intelligence. When I eat that food, I’m not just feeding my body; I’m taking in coherent, place-based information.

But most of the food we eat today comes from far away. A tomato grown in another country—or under artificial lights in a warehouse—what story does that water carry? If the water in our food holds memory, it may be out of sync with our environment, our microbiome, or our seasonal rhythm.

There’s a coherence to eating locally, and maybe an incoherence in consuming food that’s traveled thousands of miles.

Before refrigeration, most food was eaten within 100 miles of where it was grown. People ate what the land gave them, when it gave it—not just out of necessity but in relationship. That wasn’t just about freshness. It was about intelligence.

Now we can eat strawberries in January and avocados every day. But what if we’ve lost something? Not just nutrients—but communication. If water carries memory, then food from far away might be feeding us with stories that our bodies no longer recognize.

And it goes deeper still.

If water responds to words, does it respond to intention? Does the saliva in our mouth change when we speak gossip versus words of love? Do our thoughts reshape the water inside us, moment by moment? We see the world through water—our eyes are mostly water.

We are born when our water breaks. And in many ways, we die when water leaves us—when hydration and flow cease.

Water is with us from our first breath to our last. What if it’s not just a companion? What if it’s consciousness itself?

At the Confluence conference at Sovereignty Ranch in May, I stood in the rain while Pollack spoke to 750 people about the magic of water.

I looked up as the water fell, thinking, “This rain has been here a million times before—and will be here long after us.”

The sacredness of that moment moved through me like a current. The next day, Austin shared her images and insights. It was a weekend of reverence for water—its mystery, memory, and meaning.

And it led to deeper questions. If water has consciousness, whose consciousness is it? Is it collective—an echo of every living being? Is it divine—the presence of God flowing through all things? Is it the Earth itself, encoded with ancient experience?

Maybe it’s all of the above.

Maybe the water in our bodies carries the memory of birthing mothers, sacred ceremonies, and ancient forests. Maybe oceans remember the footsteps of the first humans. Maybe water is the witness of life—holding every vibration, prayer, and pain ever spoken.

And if that’s true, what does it mean that we continue to poison it?

When we saturate water with pharmaceuticals, pesticides, heavy metals, and synthetic chemicals, we’re not just harming ecosystems—we may be corrupting water’s memory itself. Structured, coherent water may become disordered. Its ability to store and transmit biological information could be disrupted. If water carries intelligence, then polluting it might mean altering how life communicates, heals, or even regenerates.

The ripple effect on humanity? More disconnection. More inflammation. More illness that doesn’t respond to logic—because the medium of communication between life and itself has been garbled. Perhaps this helps explain why chronic disease and emotional dysregulation are rising, even as we “advance.” Maybe we’re not just out of balance—we’re out of resonance.

So I ask: What is the water in your food telling your body? What happens when we return to coherence—when we eat from the land we live on and speak to water as something sacred? And what changes when we stop treating water like a resource—and start relating to it as a living presence that already knows us—and maybe even loves us?

I don’t have all the answers, but I believe that the questions matter. And I believe that water already knows.

Views expressed in this article are opinions of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of The Epoch Times.