#
She stands at the Well.
But she is not alone.
A voice speaks—
***"You have no husband, do you?
Not just one—not two—but many.
And still, you are thirsty."***
She freezes.
Because the voice is true.
Because she is seen.
But she resists.
"It’s not just the men…"
Her hands tighten.
*"There is another ‘her’ inside me.
She fights. She *****
She wants destruction and hunger and chaos.
She doesn’t listen. She doesn’t stop.
She is the one who makes me want to throw myself from a cliff
just so I don’t have to deal with her anymore."
"She’s gonna do something crazy,"* she whispers.
"And I’ll be gone. Like I was never even here."
The voice does not flinch.
"Then let Me meet her."
Silence.
A storm brews behind her ribs.
The "her" within her stirs—
The dark one. The wounded one.
She crouches behind the rocks, clutching her shame.
The other "her"—the one who still believes—
She wades into the water, hands lifted, reaching for salvation.
One moves toward the Light.
One remains in the shadows.
*"You see, Lord? She does not belong to me.
She belongs to the dark."*
A pause.
"No," The Spirit says.
"She belongs to Me."
The rocks begin to shake.
The water ripples.
Behind the trees, the dark "her" presses her back against the bark,
watching the water, watching the other "her" wade in.
She wants to believe.
She wants to step forward.
But she remembers.
The love of man is dishonest.
The world swallows and devours.
Every time she has trusted, she has been burned.
"The water will steal me," she whispers.
"The light will dissolve me. I will disappear."
But the Spirit does not demand.
It does not chase.
It does not force.
It only knows.
"You are afraid that surrender will erase you," the Spirit says.
"But you have already been erased."
The words cut deep.
Because they are true.
***"You live divided.
One ‘her’ in the shadows.
One ‘her’ in the light.
Neither whole.
Neither free."***
The dark "her" clenches her fists.
"You don’t understand her," she spits.
"She needs me."
"No," the Spirit says.
"She needs Me."
The trees begin to shake.
The wind rises.
***"Come, little one.
I have been waiting for you."***
She takes a step forward.
The trees do not stop her.
The rocks do not hold her.
The dark "her" and the one who waits—the one who believes—
They are not enemies.
They are not strangers.
They are two halves of the same soul.
**And Love—
Love has come to bring them both home.**
#
Mar 16, 2025
Mar 16, 2025 at 11:12 PM UTC
#
She stands at the Well.
But she is not alone.
A voice speaks—
***"You have no husband, do you?
Not just one—not two—but many.
And still, you are thirsty."***
She freezes.
Because the voice is true.
Because she is seen.
But she resists.
"It’s not just the men…"
Her hands tighten.
*"There is another ‘her’ inside me.
She fights. She *****
She wants destruction and hunger and chaos.
She doesn’t listen. She doesn’t stop.
She is the one who makes me want to throw myself from a cliff
just so I don’t have to deal with her anymore."
"She’s gonna do something crazy,"* she whispers.
"And I’ll be gone. Like I was never even here."
The voice does not flinch.
"Then let Me meet her."
Silence.
A storm brews behind her ribs.
The "her" within her stirs—
The dark one. The wounded one.
She crouches behind the rocks, clutching her shame.
The other "her"—the one who still believes—
She wades into the water, hands lifted, reaching for salvation.
One moves toward the Light.
One remains in the shadows.
*"You see, Lord? She does not belong to me.
She belongs to the dark."*
A pause.
"No," The Spirit says.
"She belongs to Me."
The rocks begin to shake.
The water ripples.
Behind the trees, the dark "her" presses her back against the bark,
watching the water, watching the other "her" wade in.
She wants to believe.
She wants to step forward.
But she remembers.
The love of man is dishonest.
The world swallows and devours.
Every time she has trusted, she has been burned.
"The water will steal me," she whispers.
"The light will dissolve me. I will disappear."
But the Spirit does not demand.
It does not chase.
It does not force.
It only knows.
"You are afraid that surrender will erase you," the Spirit says.
"But you have already been erased."
The words cut deep.
Because they are true.
***"You live divided.
One ‘her’ in the shadows.
One ‘her’ in the light.
Neither whole.
Neither free."***
The dark "her" clenches her fists.
"You don’t understand her," she spits.
"She needs me."
"No," the Spirit says.
"She needs Me."
The trees begin to shake.
The wind rises.
***"Come, little one.
I have been waiting for you."***
She takes a step forward.
The trees do not stop her.
The rocks do not hold her.
The dark "her" and the one who waits—the one who believes—
They are not enemies.
They are not strangers.
They are two halves of the same soul.
**And Love—
Love has come to bring them both home.**
#
The Art of Salvation
River running..
That rushing sound in these parts
spell out the words, crystal-clear..
Tree-lined banks, giving way
to the Dark Hills, upslope
Giving way, to
granite-rocked outcroppings
giving way to elk-hidden quakeys
Surrendering their holy-huddle's
pristine stances
to tall prairie-grass, waving
wild raspberries and tall pines
And I, myself..
am surrendering also
She is watching the water, believing
That as it flows,
she will not lose herself in it
That it will not steal, but heal
That I will not rage again
within my fear
I am watching her,
watch the water
I am watching the water-- believing
That as I give of myself
further into the flow
that I will not become diffused
by humanity
By the love of man
and all of its dishonesty
and all of its diabolical treachery
Of its lack of concern,
or understanding
Or ability to break through
its own, self-centeredness
Or its need to swallow me up
into the mundane.
Her hands are in the air now,
praising..
Worshipping
the true nature of the flow,
Believing..
that I will let all of this, go
And as she wades in
I ease, back--
Retreating
up the Dark Hills, slope
Clutching tightly..
To granite-rocked outcroppings,
weeping.
Hiding in the quakeys,
among the majestic elk
Begging for the tallgrass, cover
among the wild raspberries.
Now, fully concealed
in tall pines.
Her hands
are stretched out, now..
as if hovering over the waters,
participating
While I hide from it all
While I hide, from humanity;
From the fallen, love of man
She is wading in,
Believing
.
As I am leaving;
Believing
As the cloud-hidden sky,
starts raining--
playing the most incredible, of tunes..
https://youtu.be/PgRafRp-P-o?si=1A3rb7ajt_ZPlMW2
xox
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4407079/the-art-of-salvation/
"Little Spirits were born
with their little freedoms intact--
In freedom.. they are only
drawn out by Love"
youtu.be/i-kHleNYIDc
❤️❤️
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4736547/children-of-the-quakies/
xo
