You were born.
Always existing was not your trait.
But you yearn for eternity.
And find it . . .
When the worlds were created, land was spoken into firmness.
Lights were placed in the canopies of sky.
Teaming beings were spoken to live in their regions of space.
But one thing was not spoken of as . . . "Created".
Separated? Yes. Moved from above to below, and back again?
But water appears to have always been.
Didn't Jesus tell the woman, to put down her pail?
That He was the living Water?
Drink of me, and never more thirst . . .
What would it feel like? To not ache with longing.
The beasts seem to know a thing or to on this . . .
How to rest, and not yearn.
How to play, and abide.
But we walk the earth, burning with desire.
Our feet crack.
our lips do also.
Even our soul cracks.
And all the while . . . the Water . . . it's out there.
But we dig wells.
Believing ourselves to be something like divining rods.
Able to provide our own sort of nourishment.
Our own Hellish quenchings.
Our feeble attempts at refreshment.
Only. . . the further we go . . . the drier it gets.
We busy ourselves with distraction . . . and people.
But they also are thirsty . . . and dry.
We dream of greener pastures . . . getting dizzier and dizzier. . .
with thirst and longing.
But there is a pool out there.
One that's been there . . . a very long time.
won't you run from what you know?
Don't you want to feel the cool ripples?
Then come. Come to the Fount. Come Dive in.
You know you need it.
Even want it.
So . . . What are you waiting for?