Sitting at the bottom of the well
Knees pressed into my chest
Like any baby in a womb
Bare feet, feeling the cold of the earth
As my spine protrudes into damp stone.
There is no water here, not now
Crumbling into this space—
This space which holds space for me
Seeking the solace of my own heart.
I chose to feel this contrast
Surrounding myself in this darkness
So that the cylinder of pure light,
Which spills down from above,
Is all that these sorrowful eyes can see
The floor is dry as a bone,
Except for drops of salty tears,
Running over and through these lips
Dripping from the jaw of this face
Which has not smiled today.
They say that Jesus, he wept,
Still flowing like a river through time,
Cleansing his eyes and the then
As well as the sorrows of now.
I ask my spirit guides,
I beg the angels,
I shout my plea to the universe,
With a voice which echoes to other galaxies,
“What can I do?”
Waiting for an answer,
Which I hear so innocently
Spoken strong yet subtle,
As a childhood memory—
“Be the water,” the voice says.
Be the water that soothes.
Be the water that heals.
Be the water that cools.
Be the water for which so many thirst.
Be the water in the well.
My burning eyes,
Now dry, they look up
And I know—now I know,
That the rains
They are coming—
For this rain is me
And the rain is you—
All of you who want to be the water too,
Our drops colliding,
As if this well is our womb
Until we will rise
Slowly and together
Up and overflowing
Spilling over the walls
Over all brittle soil and every dry soul.
We will make powerful waves
With the compassion of a million hearts,
The grace of a thousand years,
The collective hope of the stars in the sky,
Healing from wells that will never again run dry.
We will flow over continents,
Into and out of oceans,
Traveling as clouds,
And fueled with purpose and ease
By the light of silver moonbeams.
Author: Katie Vessel
Editor: Yoli Ramazzina