Petros' Well
Short Story
Christopher Girard
Petros grew up as a member of a powerful tribe full of beautiful
people. Although Petros cared deeply for his tribe, and had been with
them many, many years, he always felt like an outsider, Petros knew he
had been found on the trail when he was just an infant but he still knew
he belonged to this tribe and wanted nothing but the best for them.
Everyday he watched them trek back and forth to the river. They made the
long, arduous trek each day, for they needed the water that the river
provided. They knew that they could not exist without the life
nourishing water. It was a very difficult journey all the way to the river and
back, but the tribe knew it was necessary in order to survive. So they
had learned to accept it as a way of life. They had stopped
questioning their fate. They had accepted their limitations.
One day, Petros watched a small girl struggled with a very large,
heavy clay water vessel. Petros's heart went out to her, as he watched
her valiantly struggle with the water vessel. Petros's heart was
burdened and he had finally had enough. He vowed to find a solution to the
water problem. He vowed to find an easier way for the tribe to get the
water they so desperately needed. He set out to find a better solution.
How could he help them access this life nourishing water, in an easier
way? He thought and thought on the problem, yet no quick, easy
solution came. No answer or quick remedy came. It was a difficult problem.
His ancestors had been doing it this way for years, for
centuries. Surely, somebody would have thought of an easier way by now,
Surely, someone would have come up with a better solution by now. Who was
he? How could he, just another tribe member, find an answer, find a
solution? But Petros cared so deeply for the people, for the small
little girl, that he continued his search. He talked to everyone, he
explored every possibility. He searched and searched, but no solution came.
Finally one day when he was close to giving up, an old man approached
him, one of the oldest in the tribe and told him a story. He said that
there once had been a great man, an ordinary enlightened man, very much
like Petros, that had once solved the water problem. The old man told
how this great man had set out to build a well in the middle of the
village, in the middle of all people. How the people would be able to
access water whenever they wanted, as much as they wanted.
That the
people wouldn't have to toil and labor for the water. They wouldn't have to
travel long distances to obtain the water. That it would be readily
available without limit. All they had to do was lower their buckets,
their vessels, and they would be filled with the life nourishing water.
That they never need be thirsty ever again. He told how the man with
the well had disappeared and how people had forgotten. Forgotten the man
and forgotten the well. How it had dried up and had remained that way
for eternity.
Petros took this story with him. He thought on it day after day.
Finally it came to him, Why can't I build a well? . Why can't I make
it easier for the villagers to obtain water, life. The next day full
of enthusiasm, he set out to dig a well in the center of the village.
As he began to dig, he found that the packed earth was difficult to
break through. The earth had been trodden down day after day by the
villagers. The earth was hard, dense unmovable. Petros began to see how
this task would not be easy. That it would require immense patience and
love on his part.
Day after day, he dug and dug. Slowly, ever so
slowly, he dug and discarded the old layers of dirt and rock. Layer
after layer, inch after inch he dug. As he dug the villagers would
sometimes gather to jeer at him. They would laugh at and make fun of
Petros. There is no water there you fool, they would yell. Who do you
think you are? What do you think you are doing? If there was water
there, we would have found it years ago.
Undiscouraged, Petros continued to dig. Petros continued to dig, alone. Deep down inside he knew he was right. Deep down inside he knew there was another way. Deep
down inside, like the earth, he knew there was water. The villagers
came by day after day and scorned him. What a fool!
After many years of digging. After many years of hard work.
After many years of breaking through the old earth, the hard earth, after
many years of discouragement and almost giving up, Petros felt a
quickening. For as he was digging one day, he felt a change in the earth. He
felt a change begin to take place. The earth between his fingers and
hands had become damp. He could feel the precious gift of water, within
his reach.
Finally on a quiet day, in early spring, Petros broke
through a final layer of dried sand to a pool of water. The water ran into
the well, muddy at first, filling up the bottom of the well. As it
cleansed the sides of the muddy ,dry walls. It flowed in muddy and full of
sediment.
But over time, slowly so slowly, the water began to clear.
As more water poured in the clearer it became. As the sediment and
earth settled the purer it became. Petros stood in silent awe and
reverence in the cool refreshing water. He wept for the sheer joy of it. He
wept because of the affirmation that what he had known all along had
finally, finally come to fruition. He wept for he could finally free his
tribe.
Petros felt rejuvenated. He felt new life flow into him just as new
water, had flowed into the dry old well. He celebrated life, he
celebrated the love and joy of living He celebrated the water.
The following week when he felt that the water of the well had
cleared enough. He went to the villagers. He wanted to share this
miracle with them. He wanted them to know that the well was full, that it
contained life giving nourishing water. That they no longer had to toil
for it. That they no longer had to trek all the way to the river and
back to meagerly collect small portions of water. The villagers
listened patiently to Petros, they patted him on the back, they congratulated
him.
The following day, Petros awoke early and ran to his well, full of
excitement and love. He put out large buckets and eagerly awaited the
villagers. Minutes passed, hours passed, and no one came. As he went
to the hill to see where everyone was, he saw them walking away down to
the river to collect their water.
He saw them toiling and struggling
with their large water vessels. He ran to them and tried to explain,
tried to tell them that they didn't need to go all the way to the river.
That there was sweet crystal clear water right here. Right here in the
village, in the middle of everyone, was water, accessible water. But
the people smiled at him and continued to the river.
Petros felt disheartened. He tried harder, he screamed louder, he
brought them water to drink to taste, yet no one listened, no one came,
no one drank. Day after day they continued the difficult trek to the
river. The years of tradition, of habit, had imprisoned them. The years
of habit and custom had blinded them. Here was this beautiful water,
in the middle of the village yet they were unable to believe it, to
access it. They were unable to believe they could have any amount of water
whenever they wanted it.
For that was not possible. It had never been possible and would never
be possible.
As Petros sat by his living well. He was at angry. He was bitter.
Why won't they listen? Why can't they see? .
As Petros sat by his well, in conflict, a softening occurred. As
he drank from the well he had a moment of clarity. You cannot force
people to drink the water from this well. It's not something you can push
or force on people. It's a sacred place that they must come to when
they are ready. When they believe they deserve, an easier, better water,
they will come.
I cannot make people drink. My job, my labor, my
work, is to provide the well, provide the water. Whether people drink or
not is none of my business. I should not be intolerant or angry that
people don't want the water provided by the well. I should love them the
same no matter what. They are free to seek their water wherever they
want.
As I awoke early the next morning, I went about the task of
putting out my buckets and preparing my well. I did this everyday as an act
of love and compassion. As I enjoyed a cool, crystal clear, cup of
water, I watched my tribe journey back and forth to the river. I released
and allowed them their path.
As I turned to go in my tent, I saw a small figure out of the
corner of my eye. It was the little girl I had watched struggle with the
heavy clay water vessel. She was sitting on the edge of the well
enjoying a cool clear glass of water. A smile broke across my face, a smile
broke across my soul.
A smile broke across her face, as she tasted the sweet crystal
clear water.
Thirsty?
Petros' Well© COPYRIGHT 2005 Christopher Girard.
Reproduction prohibited without permission from the author.
06/21/05
