WHY I BELIEVE IN THE WORK OF 

THE WELL

I made this little piece last month—it was an art journal prompt (All Torn Up) for our 3^rd Act group, and there’s a fun little story behind it, but it’s also the story of the Soul and how she’s formed and cared for.

In my reading this morning, Marion Woodman writes a whole chapter on how we have lived most of our lives disconnected from our bodies.  I know that to be true—I was diagnosed several years ago with fybromalgia, and I currently live with its every day.  I know it’s telling me that the pain locked in my body is emotional pain, old “stuff” that hasn’t been healed yet.  Woodman discusses how important it is, especially for women, to get back into our bodies, to learn to listen to them, and to help them heal from the inside out. 

Woodman writes: :In other words, life has not been lived in the body; the soul has not taken up residence. The body has become a machine, running on willpower, and the soul, the young feminine, has been left to stave in the darkness…We can choose to rescue the little girl from the manure pile. We can give our soul child time to play; time to imagine, dream, perceive; time to put those images into painting, writing, music, dance [journaling, SoulCollage®, active imagination writing and painting].  This is the food that will nourish her.  In our creating, we are created.”

THIS is the purpose of The Well.  We don’t meet there to come out with beautiful art work to hang on a wall; we meet there for self discovery, to aid our souls on the journey, and to help nourish our little child inside along the way.

It IS important work.  I have to remind myself of that because of the times that I sit in The Well by myself.  I have to remember it’s not MY Well, it’s The Well that Christ invites us to.  It can be a place where each one of us is nourished by our own Living Water.

It’s a new ministry.  It flounders.  I’m not sure how to proceed.  You’re not sure it’s worth your time.  None of us are sure what we’re doing.  All I know is that space is opened.  And it’s waiting for you to come and drink.  And if you come, I can at least promise that we’ll keep seeking and knocking until we find the water.  It may take us a while, but we’ll find it.

And if you still don’t come, promise yourself that you’ll find a way to nourish your soul in your own space: write, pray, draw, read, cut out paper dolls, play, and set your little child free to just be, with no Great Expectations.