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Sunday, September 27, 2015

The Well

They started digging the ground
With twigs, mere children blessed
With big bundles of time
Shoveling away on the pretense
Of one game or another
They dug till the trench got deeper,
As they grew up, buried each other in it,
As they kept digging till there was water,
A stream of self-realization, as it reflected
A speck of their true selves, as they looked
At the water and not their reflection.

They dug away, sucking at the water
Like newborns suckling away, oblivious
Of the rules of the game, not worrying
About what happens once the eyes
Are open, and the senses awakened,
Sucking, drawing, emptying
Without care, without conscience, without love
There is just pure desire at first, no love,
No hope, no meaning, then there is a search,
When the belly is full, when the mammaries
Of the earth have been sucked free
Of everything there was in it
A search for everything that was
Right there in the first place.

But the water has receded, and the light
Isn't bright enough. If you throw a stone,
You can still hear the distant echoes
As the stone strikes the water deep down
Bringing us faith and meaning.
Should we let it rest or keep drawing?
Should we stop digging, and descend?
Hopping, on to the other side of the pulley,
Deeper into the recesses of the unknown
Embracing the fears that hold us,
The uncertainties that delay us.
Pack our bags, or even throw them away
And just descend into the well of the mind
Where the peaceful waters might have settled,
Or may rise to meet you half-way; just stop
Before you hit the surface, and observe, probe,
Question; the answers are always in the well.