Deep, green, iridescent swirls spiral downward and across in a slow moving spring somewhere. The stones that sleep at the side of this pool, lay covered with the inscriptions of ten thousand years. Humble is the one who stands at the side of this well. His feet press against the stone where he too must make his inscription. His mind traces the unforgiving eddies. Is his heart calm? Or does it leap at each beat, artfully chasing the rhythm of his desires? Only his heart can tell him what inscription to make. Once an inscription is made, he knows the only thing to do is jump. It is the unknown that scares him the most.
Somewhere is my spring and my inscription. I pray for the wisdom to make my inscription. I pray for the courage to jump.
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