wellspring

There are times when I feel certain that the well is empty, that the spring has gone dry, that the conduit is blocked somehow. I am convinced that there will never be water again, that this drought will continue until my unfulfilled life comes to an end. And every day I thirst for it, wanting to have faith but not really believing that there will be relief.

My dishwasher has been broken for half a year. It stopped draining, and I didn't get around to calling the repairman until this week. When he explored its underbelly, he found a tiny piece of plastic in the drain. It was about half the size of a dime, but because of the way it was shaped and the way it was wedged into the drain, it flipped like a valve when the water tried to rush past it, and blocked the flow. Removed now, the dishwasher is ready to go.

For the past few nights, I've felt that the little piece of plastic wedged into my creative spring has been loosened, unwedged, unstuck. My sleeping mind swirls with colour, texture, and more ideas than I can even remember in the morning. I've started writing as much as I can recall in the morning, creating lists and drawings and doodles and scribbles; I cannot contain the flood. 

It is a mystery, where the waters of creativity go at times, and just as great a mystery when they return, sparkling and rushing into empty spaces to drench my spirit. I am so grateful for them at this time, and vow to appreciate them and use them wisely until that unnamed time when they will recede again for awhile. 

I will try to remember this, that this water will always return to me, to soak me in its blessed coolness.