Well, well, well, Lookin' for the water from a deeper well.

We once lived in the Sand Hills of Nebraska-- Richard, and Julia and I (this was before Jennifer). Geologically speaking, the Sand Hills are a moon-scape of stabilized dunes, held in place by long grass, yucca, wildflowers, and sage. It is an arid land. People there never dared pray for rain, they talked hopefully of getting “a little moisture.” It was an unsettled land until the railroad went through, and it would not have been a land to sustain much more than bird life if it weren’t for the ingenuity of the well. There was, in fact, plenty of water just below the surface. The Sand Hills cover the Ogallala Aquifer, a vast underground lake of fresh water. Folks might have to drill deep, but wherever they sink their well, they draw from the same aquifer. That’s how I visualize it, anyway: every pump pulling water up from the same source.

That is also how I see other spiritual traditions. Contemplative prayer, Gregorian chant, Buddhist meditation, Hatha yoga, Kabbalah, Sufism—all are born of the same yearning of the soul for union with the source of all life, which we call God. There are different wells, but ultimately, we draw from the same source.