Well of Arimathea I met them, believers on
Pilgrimage, across wilderness, along Dead
Sea shores, places holy to them, listening
To teachings of this prophet, or so they
Called him. For those following him, they
Believed more, such discussed amongst
Themselves during first few days of journey,
Breakfast of figs, bread unleavened, skins of
Pure-pouring water from my beloved well.
Upon mountains trails we climbed, sunlit
Vaporous clouds, faint I felt, engulfed in
Spiraling radiance, voice spoke to me, not
As prophet or god, but as friend, of ageless
Wisdom and love, touching my heart as
Thirsty travelers visiting our well. From
Rocky heights, uplifted I became to crystal
Fount, his hands reaching mine, “Yemina,
Come sip from flowing streams.”
Water flowing over his sandaled feet, I
Knelt before him, living fount of divine,
Inner thirst I never realized, earthly well
I had attended hundred times, in this
Moment all revealed, holy spirit welling
Within, our eyes meeting, all-consuming
Light, heart shattering, soul healing, from
These flowing streams I drank, by his
Presence I had been transformed.
“My Lord, I am no longer myself,” I stated.
This he knew before I realized. “What
Calling awakens your heart?” he asked.
Visions of healing I received, those stricken
With illness and infirmity, those of greatest
Need, I stood one with Christ. Call me not
Disciple, ask me not about sermons or
Salvation, for I am Yemina, bearer of healing
cup, come sip from flowing streams.
Whilst spiritually based, this is my interpretation of
the account of the “Woman at the Well.” Yemina was
blessed with singular vision: divine healing.