Day 58 of Year 2
There is so much sacred poetry alluding to springs, fountains, and rivers. I've always seen these as symbols of creativity, the fundamentally generative stream that undergirds all of life.
The Fountain
by John of the Cross, Trans. Willis Barnstone
How well I know that flowing spring in black of night.
The eternal fountain is unseen.
How well I know where she has been in black of night.
I do not know her origin.
None. Yet in her all things begin in black of night.
I know that nothing is so fair
and earth and firmament drink there in black of night.
I know that none can wade inside
to find her bright bottomless tide in black of night.
Her shining never has a blur;
I know that all light comes from her in black of night.
I know her streams converge and swell
and nourish people, skies and hell in black of night.
The stream whose birth is in this source
I know has a gigantic force in black of night.
The stream from but these two proceeds
yet neither one, I know, precedes in black of night.
The eternal fountain is unseen
in living bread that gives us being in black of night.
She calls on all mankind to start
to drink her water, though in dark, for black is night.
O living fountain that I crave,
in bread of life I see her flame in black of night.
From To Touch the Sky, Poems of Spiritual & Metaphysical Light https://amzn.to/2NUpnnE