The Need for Water

I escaped the land of winding cliffs to the south.
And when I did so, I changed course from where
I initially had planned to go.

From that day, I no longer ran from my people
but merely persisted in staying away from them.

Days passed into months and months into years.

I grew into manhood without the companionship of
my father and without the worrying comfort of my mother.

The hills and the valleys raised me.

Then, as well as now, in my daily walking, I have sought
the answer to one question above all others:

Where will I find water?

Think about water for a moment.

Have you ever considered all it does for us?

I have learned to walk near water, for beside it the earth
springs forth to provide shade and refreshment.

I try to rest near water,
for I need it for nourishment and strength.

I bathe in water, for it cleanses and invigorates my skin.

My final destination at the end of each day has been
a pool of pure water.

And when traveling in dry places, each morning
I have set off with as much of that pool as I could carry.

For I have learned from dry journeys that deserts can be
weathered only by those who are sustained by deep waters.

I know, for I have stumbled and fallen facedown
on the desert floor, my throat unable to swallow,
my eyes unable to see.

I know the feeling of walking too long without water.
I have felt the thirsty fingers of death constricting
around my soul.

As is common with so much in life, I failed to understand
how much I needed water until I was without it.

Drought in the Soul

I say this not to scare but to warn.

Perhaps you too wander in deserts as I have,
unaware of your own perilous lack of water.

Don’t misunderstand. I speak not so much of
where feet walk as where hearts walk.

The deserts and lush forests around us mirror
the deserts and lush forests within.

Our bodies, like the earth, can be parched and thirsty.

And both point to the thirst of the soul.

Moisture to the Soul

Let me tell you of my thirst.

Or rather, let me tell you of my recovery from thirst, and with
it the desire for life that I rediscovered through water.

I wish I could say that I entered the wilderness because of
my love for nature, but you know this wouldn’t be the truth.

A lone existence in the wilderness seemed my only option
when I set my back against my people.

Over a period of months, the reasons for my flight,
so upsettingly clear to me then, gradually faded from
my heart—or, should I say, were washed from it.
For as I look back, I believe it was water, more than
anything else, that cleansed my soul.

Although I was angry with all creation—cursing at every hill,
swinging at every tree, reviling every valley, kicking at every
stream—try as I might, I couldn’t stay mad at the water.

I tried, oh how I tried—for I hated life itself.
But every day, by bending to the stream to take a drink,
I was nevertheless choosing to live.

Think of it. The cool drinks refreshed my body, to be sure.
But more powerful by far was the refreshment to my soul.

The life that I had hated I now thirsted to save.

And with each saving drink, those who had given me life
seemed more worthy of salvation as well.

Water was moistening my heart.

Water’s Lessons

Water moistened my heart as I observed the way it
moistened the earth.

I observed how water produced green shade
in abundance all along its length,
giving comfortable cover from the scorching sun.

In comparison, I began to realize that the banks in my soul
were barren. I could tell, for I felt little respite from the
bitter feelings that burned within me—thought of my rival
still stirred resentment within me, and I continued to carry
grudges toward my father and our people.

There was no abundance in my soul
because my heart had run dry.

I observed as well that water would not scar.
As quickly as I removed my foot, my hand,
or my spear from its heart, water washed away
the wound and made itself whole.

My soul, on the other hand, bore scars aplenty.
I preserved each painful scar in its original state,
like ancient images chiseled in stone,
as evidence of others’ guilt.

But every day, water taught me of another way.

Water’s mission is not to preserve hurt but to wash it away.
And not only to clear the earth of strife, but to combine
with air and light to grow beauty in its place.

If ever there walked a man who needed water to work its
miracle in his heart, it was me. As I ran from my people,
my soul was cankered and dying. I needed water
to bring me back to life.

Each day’s search for water to refresh and cleanse
my body became as well a search for water that
would refresh and cleanse my soul.

When I found it, I couldn’t believe I had been so blind.

Water’s Source

One year, at the height of the dry season, I encountered
a storm such as I have never experienced before or since.

Water poured from the heavens, filling the air
so completely that it was even difficult for me to catch
my breath. Within minutes, what had been
parched earth had become a raging river of sliding soil.

The earth was giving way all around me
and threatening to sweep me away in its fury.

I looked for shelter but could find none.
Trees were defenseless against the weight of the storm,
and my buckskin, which I had tried to secure as a barrier,
was snatched away by the torrent.

Instinctively I clawed my way up a gentle, stony slope.
I had been in that area for some time and knew
the feature well—a slight dome in the earth that traveled
in both directions as far as the eye could see.

The stone provided a foundation for my feet, and
with the storm tearing at me, I started to run with all my
strength in the direction of the land of my people.

I am not an emotional man.
Or at least, I had not been until that night.
But as I ran, I cried tears as thick as the rain about me.

I ran all night and into the next morning
until finally the storm broke.

Light poured through the parting clouds above me,
expelling the shadows from the earth. I lifted my eyes
in the direction that I had been running in.

Far in the distance I could make out a faint shape
against the sky, an outline that would never have been
visible but for the clear, post-torrential air.

It was a mountain. Not just any mountain,
but a mountain I had been avoiding for ages.

I was looking from far away at the summit of
Big Mountain—the last place from which
I had seen my people.

I bowed my head in silence.

Water, which had been soothing me
for months and years, had finally healed my heart.
My tears had brought me home.

The rain had resurrected from deep within me
the desire to be with my people.

I looked heavenward. The rain had fallen from
where the sun now shone. It was then that I knew:

The water that cleanses the heart comes
from the same place as the sun that lightens it.

Water, too, is a gift from above.