In the desert, neither gold nor oil, but water is the prime currency. And the one who controls the source of water, has the dominion over desert. Any water body which couldn't be controlled by the enemies or protected by the rulers, was either poisoned or destroyed.
"So, how the hell has this well survived for so long?"- asked a young traveler once to his much seasoned companion. They were resting beside an ancient well outside the holy city of Jerusalem. The old grey bearded man puffed his chillum pipe and after exhaling impressive smoke rings, asked back the traveler- "Do you see any flag placed on the well?"
The young man looked above and beamed with joy- "But of course, it carries the flag of my holy faith. How strange and fortunate!"
"You see, this well survives because of the touch of an angel."- the old man smiled mystically and continued- "Judaism, Islam and Christianity- all three monotheist religions believe in one true God, and yet they have been quarreling since ages over whose God is truer than the others. Jerusalem has been the hot cauldron of these crusades for centuries. And a water source like this almost always carries a flag, notifying whose property it is at the moment.
Seeing all the other water bodies destroyed during the horrific crusades, a merciful angel dropped her feather in its water and protected this ancient well with a charm. Since then, whoever passes by the well, sees a flag of his own pious faith unfurled over it. That's how they never dare desecrate or poison it. That's how the old water well remains forever protected."
With those words of wisdom, the older traveler passed over his camel flask towards the young man. Slowly raising it above his lips, he drank the well's water. Believe it or not, he felt a touch of divinity filling his heart with peace. Or it might just have been the satisfaction one gets with a mouthful of water quenching desert thirst. Hard to know the difference.
My dear reader, in this story, you are 'the well', placed somewhere in this ongoing desert journey called life. A journey so often without a clear destination. The well, ie you, seem full of life-force, offering your energy to travelers passing by daily in your life. But this poor well is eventually going to be dried up.
There are faiths which plant their sad flags on this well. Your Education and Profession. These two faiths feel enticing in the beginning, but intoxicating by every passing year in your life. Are you getting what I am saying? A quality education and a steady profession are supposed to be the master-key to open any doors for you, and yet you seem trapped because of them. At times too scared to even venture out and try doing something unconventional. And still, so often these faiths end up convincing you that this been your life's whole purpose all along.
But should they? Should your degree, job or CV define who you are as an individual? Is there nothing more to add on to this precious little life?
So where does the well find a magical feather to reignite its life force, without offending the powerful faiths one still has to serve to earn one's livelihood.
The answer is in finding your passion. Some find it in music. Some do in arts and crafts. I found mine in Storytelling. It replenishes the well of my soul every time I feel drained by the other intoxicating faiths in my life. My passion makes my path a little greener wherever I tread in this desert of life. And over the course of journey so far, it has nearly given me a purpose as well. Every time I write a new story, knowing that you are reading it, fills my heart with a divine satisfaction, similar to how a camel flask of clean water quenches the desert thirst.
Who am I in this story? Perhaps the old grey bearded man.
Waiting for newer young travelers to join me in this journey.
Telling them how an old well like you found his magical feather and survived the test of times.
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