With my cup, I arrive yet at the well, ready to draw water for my very parched soul, but it was as dry as the Sahara desert, not a single drop of water was found, not even a fluttering, an illusion, a mirage, an attempt to provide. There was just nothing, bleak and dry in every ramification possible. I left with my head bow. This was not my first time at the well, actually I have been coming for years. At the start it was slow and then the flow started, so much water, I almost drowned in it, I would arrive with my bucket and draw and draw until I could carry no more, I was fully saturated and hydrated. I never lacked or wanted. I guess you take it for granted and assume it will always be like that. We are inclined to believe that the good times will always be good and times will not change and then without warning or whether by our doing or not, the times change, the well dries up on us.
We are confused, cup in hand, we keep turning up every morning, expecting to get that which we are use to receiving, we already know it is not so, but habit is a lemon, when do we stop coming to this particular well? When do we accept the inevitable? When do we source another well for our parched soul? Whichever way we look at it, to survive we must be hydrated. Ease is our undoing, we have been fed and watered for a while, we have lost the hunting instinct and the seeking impetus, rather that seek for a new well, we find it convenient to stare at the depleted and yell at it, moan at it, cry at the base of the well, pray and fast for the unyielding, believing the forever gone good old days are coming back. We refuse to accept the evolution of our existence and consequently our relationships. Growth to the next stage demands a different kind of input, our diet must be different, our hydration must be appropriate, but no, when we should be on meat, we hold on tightly to our milk feeding bottle, standing at the base of the well that no longer serves us, confused and deluded, wishing and hoping, refusing to grow and move with the time. Why must growth be so hard? Why is transition so destabilising? Why must we endure this patchness of our soul before we find our next hydration Zone? Why must the nest be stirred? Why must our comfort be disturbed? Why? Why can’t life continue just as it is, was?
It’s just time for change, for growth. Nothing is wrong with us or the well. Parched throat we will always be until we find the next well. Each well serves its purpose and then dries up for us but maybe not to others and that is how the story goes.
Find your next well and erase the track to the ‘was’.
Beautiful Ivory 