Good Grief 117

I came home from work. It had gone ok.
But I continue to struggle to describe any of this.
I had been to a meeting and when I got home my friend texted and said 'you seemed better today, was it real or a front?'
I actually find it very hard question to answer
I think that the levels and the layers in which we operate mean that we can hold both, and probably many other, states.
On one level it was a front, on another, it was real enough.
And beneath it all is this deep, unutterably deep well of something other.
It remains fathomless.

As I lay crying this morning I had the palms of my hands over the wells of my eyes. The waters spring up from the depths of somewhere else regardless and flow endlessly. They flow upward and outward and I just seem to be their conduit. A living well.