It was Friday, and Günther agreed to wait until Monday.
Sunday I jumped on my cycle and rode to Matrimandir.
There I told my whole story and said: “Lord, you say that we do things together, a collaboration between you and me. Well, if that is so, prove that it is real, and help us out of this deadlock.”
I received a bath of light and calmed down.
Back home I made tea for Günther and asked very gently: “Are you sure that this time the washers will stay in place?”
Günther took the cylinder and demonstrated with the rod that was attached to the cylinder how it moves, up and down. At the third push, we saw with utter surprise that the cylinder became loose, opened up with the upward movement and tightened again with the downward movement, which created a pressure that moved and turned the washers.
Only now did we actually examine the cylinder itself, and notice that the screw-thread in the cylinder wasn't deep enough, and simply did not hold the parts together when under pressure.
The Pondy cylinder would indeed work perfectly for one year. Now for the first time we finally had water without worries.
It was in fact a bit strange to have so much luxury.
And the intensity of the many days of learning how to work with the windmill and make sure it functioned correctly did not only give us the experience of having become one with the windmill and the waterwell, we had merged our identities with it, and it made us masters of the windmill: it would not be able to trick us again.
We had learned our lesson. The robust, beautiful cylinder became an ornament in our little house. But more so the symbol and reminder to always remain attentive, and make full use of all the tools that the Creator has given us.
If we do so, life indeed becomes an adventure that takes us from horizon to horizon.