The Water Witch

Dear Lucy,

My grandmother used to tell me strange tales of “intelligences” and certain people with a special “sight.” Loosely related was the belief in her day of “water witching.” She claimed that after escaping the Bolshevik Revolution in Russia and moving to the barren southern prairies in the middle of Canada to begin farming, her family, like that of many others, employed a person to look for water so they could dig a well. This method, a kind of divination, was employed to locate ground water by use of a Y-shaped twig or rod. This witching rod was used by a “dowser” or diviner and would appear to wobble and point over ground under which water lay. (Until 1986 “dowsing” occurred the world over to find water as well as buried metals, ores, gemstones, oil, gravesites, and many other objects without the use of scientific apparatus.)

“Something is missing in my life. Can you help me?” The question you ask here, Lucy, is a deep one and I’m not sure what you exactly mean, but I will attempt to BEGIN an answer, by saying, be a Water Witch! Look for what you hunger. Seek and ye shall find. We’ve talked about your love life and guys, jobs, passions and more over these recent years — do we need to revisit one of those topics or is this deeper?

I’m going to assume the latter and begin in a very practical way to help a deep need; many people ask the same question, obviously a universal need of the human condition — a question which addresses a sense of emptiness at our core which is not always filled by love or career or typical ideas of “fulfillment.” What you need is a pursuit of that answer — a living (ie. moving) water is out there to fill your soul and to keep on renewing it day by day. It takes work. The parable about the hidden treasure is about a state of heavenly joy and “is like a treasure hidden in a field which a man found and covered up. Then in his joy he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field.” He is water-witching in a way and has found the water for his soul but understands that some superficial sacrifices must be made in order to obtain it.

We can talk about this more in future letters, but just to begin very practically, here’s what I do every morning: Before looking at my phone or in any way getting distracted by the host of worries that pop up around the bed like little goblins (which I beat back WHACK-A-MOLE style) or with dirty kitchens calling or emails waiting for answers, I make coffee and do this: I sit in cobbler position looking out at my pretty backyard and deep breathe yogi-style. There is something about the trees that raise my eyes upward, uplifting my soul; there is something about the rocks reminding me of the bedrock beneath us all which holds in it reminders of the traditions and voices of the universe which for generations have held up and strengthened people everywhere. And then there is the beauty. Why beauty?…the scent of an early spring flower, or an indescribable auburn fall leaf with veins incredibly like my own body holds, or the flash of a red cardinal against the blue of the water?? Why? Why, but for NO other reason than to bring JOY. The uplifted eyes, the bedrock foundation, the beauty — they all lift me to The Other.

Soon I relax and focus on nothing, preferably my nasal passages and I hum the “OM” or start to speak-inwardly or aloud or sometimes words after the fashion of the ancient monks: “Have mercy on me. I adore thee. I thank thee.” OR, when I’m desperate I love what Anne Lamott says her three main prayers are: “Help! Wow! Thanks!” Or, I say nothing at all and just wait. And breathe.

Because the great need is for us to be thankful, whether psychologically or spiritually speaking, the fact is that thankful people are happier people. (Ha! In fact a TED TALK recently shared the commonality of longevity in folks who were always smiling or grinning in photos throughout their lives vs those who didn’t!) Sometimes, I help get past the rolling pain of past hurts or worries or self-doubt by forcing a simple smile to play on my lips…

Continuing with slight head and neck rolls and raised arms as I deep breathe, I talk to the Divine as a perfect parent, thankful for protection and provision and mercy and ask for the Spirit’s nurture, comfort and guidance — the one whose inner voice I invoke; I invite him/her to renew my heart cleaning it out and filling it with presence, power, and peace.

When I was cut down, in crisis, in need of hope or I’d die, this truth was given me. IN everything there is great hope, Lucy, for another ancient sage has written, “For there is hope of a tree, if it be cut down, that it will sprout again, and that the tender branch thereof will not cease. Though the root thereof wax old in the earth, and the stock thereof die in the ground; yet through the scent of water it will bud and bring forth boughs like a plant. (The Book of Job) Just imagine the tenacity of those trees that, tho’ bent and even broken come alive again JUST AT THE SCENT OF WATER.

Here is part of a favorite story of mine I come back to in times of trouble and it moves me to the core: Set in an old English village, the woman Mary becomes friends with a blind man named Paul, “’Just by our fence, where our garden joins the orchard,” said Paul, “there’s a fallen tree lying in the grass, but it still has a bit of root in the ground and every spring it breaks into blossom and every autumn it bears apples.’ He spoke with awe, from the depths of himself, as only one man or woman in a thousand has the power to do. What did that apple tree mean to him, she wondered, and what did this orchard mean? Far more than it meant to her though she realized that each spring that she lived here it would mean more.” And Lucy, each time you come to your meditation spot it will mean more. And one day you will know the answer to your question. “Seek and ye shall find.” Search and you shall come alive, my dear Lucy.

Mercy, peace and joy,

Sophia

P.S. And remember our friend Kangaroo: “Still ran Kangaroo — Old Man Kangaroo. He. . . ran through the long grass; he ran through the short grass; he ran through the Tropics of Capricorn and Cancer; he ran till his hind legs ached. He had to! (Kipling: Just So Stories)