Original Poem: The Sacred Well

…there is a place called by today’s folk The Sacred Well. It is an uncanny three thousand-year-old, flawlessly constructed triangular staircase into the Earth, within which a well sits at the bottom.

It is believed to have had religious purposes–a site of community gathering and discussion and spiritual ritual, and likely much more.

Wandering there after purchasing my tourist ticket, I descended these stairs twice, determined–despite us needing to leave soon to conserve daylight and drive on the left side of the road to the next archeological site–to figure out how to truly appreciate this divine construction left to us to explore several millennia later.

The second time I descended, no longer fearful, but lured and intrigued, I sat on the bottom step and deigned to stare into the dark waters.

Very soon, I realized that through the top of the well, a mere pinhole captured the blue sky above, and revealed white clouds rapidly passing over. With sudden thrill, there and then I knew that I had seen something special, and that I needed to save an imprint of what I saw with all my mental power. I would need to leave, but I wanted to take every atom of observation–seen and felt–with me.

My interpretation of the hypnotic mirrored cloudscape was something like this, that this well is a tool to focus on the divine beauty of the heavens in day,

just as one basks in the majesty of the Stars at night.

I imagined people ritually descending those stair steps, sitting at the bottom just as I did, gazing in deeply. Maybe many people sat on the steps at once–there was plenty of room on the unblemished slabs of primordial rock.

Touching the water and drawing fingers across their face to be blessed with it, just as did I.

Maybe they took mind-enhancing drugs, as anthropologists are wont to theorize, to open their vision and imaginations even wider. Perhaps descending those steps is what they looked forward to most in their days. Perhaps on nights afterwards, they dreamt of love or sailing in the Sky and leaping off the Clouds to travel the Stars.

Just nearby the well is a likewise stone meeting circle. Did they discuss and dance there to share what they saw in the Water and in the Sky?

This little settlement of thousands of generations was a fairytale wonderland to me. So green and wet with sparkling dew, with randomly abundant prickly pear cacti amongst the vivid trees and grass, as if to represent a piece of home to me, and show me that this place was home for me too. Everywhere and everything — all of it alive with primeval energy — was welcoming. Every ancient doorway was open, ready for this curious traveler.

Did those ancestor inhabitants think of young curious tourists when they built these stone homes and monuments for themselves? Probably not. Who knows! Did they imagine that their magnificent megaliths would stand for eternities, many generations beyond their people’s own inhabitance, before they themselves were absorbed by other cultures and conquering powers? I can’t say.

But now can I squeeze my eyes shut to see the racing clouds stretch into an infinite portal in the water. And I was able to bring this spectacle with me, which I shall hold as a holy treasure for all my years. This we share, a vision of three thousand years, a simply transcendent reflection of the beautiful divine.

Thank you to the ancestors. Thank you for crafting wondrous playgrounds and intricate effigies to leave for me, and all who will come after.