Thura stared at the young man dismissively, as if he was pulling her leg.
“Come on, Odigo. Be serious.” Thura demanded.
“No, seriously. How do you see yourself, Thura?” Odigo asked and let the question sit for a few seconds. “I mean, I’m not trying to be super mystical here, but have you ever thought about that?”
Thura’s eyes immediately went back to the waves on the horizon that slowly grew as they approached the shoreline. She noticed that the waves did not crash against the rocks but that their movements were more like gentle massages as they washed over the smooth boulders in eternal repetition.
“Sophia told me that what I see is not as important as how I see,” Thura responded, seeming to avoid Odigo’s question. “To be honest, I did not fully understand everything she said, but I have been thinking about that one line more than anything else.”
“What does it mean to you?” Odigo gently prodded.
“I don’t know,” Thura said. “Maybe I have spent so much time trying to figure out where I stand in relation to what I see around me that I have missed how I see myself and others. I see a girl who has figured out that she no longer has the same ideas and beliefs as those around her. I see a girl who has grown and matured and found something more than what she grew up within. What I see are unenlightened people who will never get it.”
The young woman paused as if continuing to reflect on the question.
“I mean, I would go up to my room and light dozens of candles and open my window so the light would shine out into the dark street and on the people that walked below,” Thura continued. “I would sit there and think about how little they knew and wonder how they could go on living each day without questioning anything. They were like sheep. I sat perched right above them, shining my light on them, and thinking how backward and uninformed they were for not seeing it. I even lit every candle in my house before I ran away. I wanted my father to see it and realize I have something he needs to discover for himself. But I essentially left him and everyone else to figure it out on their own while I ran ahead in my arrogance.”
Attempting to lighten the tone of the conversation, Odigo carefully responded.
“She’s quite a wise woman, isn’t she? That Sophia,” Odigo said. “And good for you, for not just dismissing her words, but wrestling with them. If you don’t mind me asking, Thura, if you were able to go back in time and do it again, how would you see them differently?”
“I have been thinking about that quite a bit,” Thura began. “I have been thinking about the people of Patrida. And not to overdo the metaphor, but what if some of them had their own candles at one point that they carried around? What if their candles once burned brightly but eventually burned out? I know this sounds silly, but what if they didn’t have another candle to replace it? What if others had their candles blown out for some reason and didn’t have a way to light it again, so they put the candle in their pocket? What if no one ever gave them a candle in the first place?”
Thura paused as if contemplating her next words, still watching the waves wash over the shoreline.
“I don’t know,” she continued. “When I start thinking about it that way, it seemed pretty ridiculous that I would sit above them in judgment, surrounded by a room full of candles, while watching them walk around aimlessly below. I guess what I am saying is that if I went back, I would leave my room and walk with the people. And instead of looking at my light as a way to elevate myself and show everyone how superior I am for being the only one who is shining bright, I would walk with them and share my light.”
“Mmm. Wouldn’t that be a sight to see,” Odigo said. “Not just one window along the Monon illuminated, but the entire town shining brightly. There is something really beautiful in that, Thura, accepting people as they are and joining them on their journey. It sounds like what you are saying is that you would give everyone the benefit of the doubt because we don’t know their individual stories or what they have been through or what they are currently going through.”
“That is exactly what I am saying, Odigo,” Thura responded. “But as I sit here and think about it a little more, there is still a part of me that believes some people deserve to walk in darkness, no matter what their story is or what led them to that point. Some people are so toxic and hateful. They don’t deserve my light. They don’t deserve anyone’s light. And to be honest, no light will help them anyway.”
Odigo did not immediately respond, but he could feel Thura’s eyes trained on him, awaiting his response.
“I agree, Thura. Some people are toxic and hateful,” Odigo said. “They may even appear to be too far gone. I completely understand your perspective, and I can’t imagine what it was like growing up in Patrida. I can’t. In my short amount of time there, I could not believe how dark it was and how everyone was so content in not questioning anything.”
Putting a hand through his hair, Odigo turned to face the young woman.
“Here’s the crazy thing, Thura,” Odigo said. “That sun, right there in front of us, will eventually rise and shine on Patrida the same way it’s shining on us right now. It doesn’t make a distinction between those who deserve its light and those who don’t. It keeps rising each day and keeps shining on everyone, regardless of who they are. Whether they deserve it or not, or whether they change or not, it keeps shining.”
Thura turned her head away from Odigo and stared into the distance.
“Thura, listen. You don’t have to agree with a person to walk along- side them,” Odigo said. “It’s not your responsibility to change them. You can’t do that. You can’t change Patrida. You can’t walk someone else’s journey for them. They have to find their path and take their own steps. But by walking with each other patiently and listening to each other’s stories as we go along, there’s always the possibility that we might discover something we never expected to find.”
“Like what?” Thura asked, still looking away from the young man.
“Like each other’s humanity,” Odigo responded.
Thura remained silent and stone-faced. While a person could have easily misconstrued her posture as angry or frustrated, Thura meditated on Odigo’s every word. She turned her attention from the distant horizon again to the shoreline below.
“Do you think those boulders have always been that smooth?” Thura asked, not expecting a response. “Or, do you think they had rough and jagged edges when they first fell and hit the ground?”
Believing he had already spoken too much and knowing exactly where Thura was heading with her questions, Odigo decided to join her in silent observation.
“They broke off for some reason at some point in time,” Thura said. “Every single one of them. Can you imagine standing here when that happened? Can you imagine standing here as this cliff crumbled away into hundreds of massive, broken boulders, each of them falling one right after the other and lining the shoreline?”
“That certainly would have been something,” Odigo said, hoping that she would continue with her line of thinking.
“Yeah, that would have been something, alright,” Thura snapped right back. “But if we had been standing here when they first fell, you would have never convinced me that those jagged rocks would one day be made perfectly smooth. I would have never believed it.”
“Why’s that?” Odigo asked, waiting eagerly for what he had been anticipating.
“I mean, look at those boulders above the shoreline,” Thura said. “See how broken and uneven they look? It is hard to believe they are exactly like those below. There is no difference whatsoever in their composition. But on the outside, the only difference is the gentle flow of water that patiently and persistently washed over them. We do not see their subtle changes from day to day. But sure enough, week after week, month after month, year after year, as the waves keep washing over them, they change. They completely transform. They do not look anything like they did when they first fell.”
The two sat silently watchi
ng wave after wave wash over the boulders. The peaceful and perfect rhythm of the water was an invitation. A chorus accompanied every ray beaming from the sun and resounded across the expansiveness of the morning sky. Everything that surrounded Thura and Odigo was a voice. Every note, every cadence, every harmony was holy. Every rock lining the northeastern shore seemed to be crying out as they, too, joined creation’s song. Thura moved down on the ground next to Odigo under the tree, consumed by goodness and overcome by awareness. With tears in her eyes, Thura reached for Odigo’s hand.
“I think I finally get it, my friend. It all belongs together,” Thura cried. “My struggle through the weeds and dense brush early this morning led to this opening. It was like I was in my own story, told with every step forward. When I pushed through the obstacles holding me back, I began to see the light. I watched my first sunrise, and then through your wise words, realized that this light shines on every person, no matter who they are.
But it wasn’t just that. I realized how arrogant and judgmental I had become. I sat above others and hoarded my light while watching them stumble around below. Maybe if I had gone down to the street and walked with them and looked them in the eyes and listened to their stories, I would understand them better and begin to see them as human beings.”
Thura stopped and took a deep breath, turning her attention one last time to the boulders and waves below.
“My problem is that I have not believed people can change, so I gave up on them,” Thura confessed. “I ran away because I wanted more for my life, and that is fine. But I also ran away because I viewed Patrida as a lost cause. I believed every single person there was a lost cause with no hope.
However, as I sat here throughout our entire conversation, I was mesmerized by how the waves covered those giant rocks time and time again, patiently transforming them without any judgment. They just kept washing over them.”
Odigo closed his eyes as he listened. He gently squeezed Thura’s hand.
“But it was more than that,” she continued. “I heard what sounded like a choir. Everything around me was singing. The sun. The waves. The trees. Even that little bird that shared its song with me earlier. They were all joining together in one song, Odigo. And I could see the gentle and loving invitation of the waves continually beckoning the rocks to join the song, as they are. That is when it hit me. The invitation is not only for the rocks. The invitation is for everything and everyone. And these waves are all around us. They surround us and patiently wash over us to smooth out our sharp and jagged edges. But they are beckoning us to join creation’s song together. Just as we are.” “That is real freedom, Thura. The ability to see the world as it is without needing to judge it. To see its every part and embrace its frailty and brokenness. To discover its naked beauty and love it any- way. Sometimes even despite itself. I’m not sure anyone could have said it any better,” Odigo said but hesitated a moment before asking Thura the most challenging question.
“So, what about your father? Where does he fit into all of this?” Odigo asked.
“I don’t know,” Thura replied, “It is so much easier when we talk about it abstractly, even poetically. It is easier when we do not have to put a face on it. And that is the crazy thing. I can visualize myself walking alongside faceless people on the Monon. But, when I start thinking about specific people, like my father, I start to question everything.”
“Do you not trust that he too can change for the better, Thura?” Odigo gently nudged.
“I want to,” Thura confessed. “But while I truly believe there is something divine patiently washing over my father and working to transform him on the inside, it is so difficult when I do not see any evidence of him changing.”
“Do you remember the first night that we met?” Odigo asked.
“Of course I do. How could I forget it? Why?” Thura replied.
“That night, when you heard someone approaching from around the corner, and you hid in the storage closet, who do you think was standing on the other side of that door?” Odigo asked.
“I have no idea,” Thura said but wondered what Odigo knew that he had not shared with her before.
“It was your father, Thura,” Odigo said. “He was the one standing on the other side of the door. I watched him from my cell window the entire time.”
In stunned silence, Thura stared at Odigo without knowing what to say in response.
“He knew it was you behind the door,” Odigo continued. “And it was obvious that he wanted to open it up. But he stood there, not quite sure what he should do. I could tell he was in a lot of pain, though, because he kept wiping his eyes as he leaned against the door.”
“That could mean anything, though, right?” Thura pushed back.
“I don’t think so,” Odigo said. “I think he heard our conversation, Thura. And I think he had already heard me tell you the story of Dipsa as he stood around the corner. I can’t say that he heard it for sure, but by his demeanor, it sure looked like something moved him.”
“So what are you trying to say?” Thura pressed.
“Honestly,” Odigo responded. “I believe the waves were already washing over your father, even though you couldn’t see it. And if I were to guess, Thura, I’d say they’ve been washing over him for a while. And while you may only be able to see his sharp and jagged edges right now, maybe you need to trust that he’s in the waves. Who knows, maybe he’s starting to hear that song, as well.”
CHAPTER 16
The late morning dew still covered the shoulder-high broadleaves lining each side of the ever-winding game trail. Ochi followed closely behind Sophia, who appeared to have been swallowed time and time again by the consuming vegetation. But the old woman navigated through it as if she knew exactly where she was going. For his part, despite being soaked from hours of brushing up against the wet flora, Ochi raised both hands and imagined the plants were people patting him on the back and giving him high fives as he walked past them. With Sophia not having said much to him as she pressed forward along the winding path, he did his best to remain preoccupied and in good spirits.
To their relief and without much warning, the brush spat them out into an open area where the sun rose above the trees and provided enough sunlight to dry out their damp clothing.
“Do you know where we’re going?” Ochi asked.
“Of course, we are heading to Salome,” Sophia said.
“Yes, I know that,” Ochi countered, “but you’ve never been there. So, I’m curious if you know exactly where you’re going.”
Sophia, being especially evasive but playful, responded.
“Generations of animals have used these trails,” she said. “Do you know why?”
“I don’t know. Tell me,” Ochi said matter-of-factly.
“Look around. See the fruit from this tree?” Sophia asked, pointing at the tree they were standing beside. “Hundreds, maybe thousands, of animals have traveled these same paths because they knew there was sustenance here.”
“Okay, well, that didn’t answer my question at all,” Ochi said in a somewhat frustrated tone. “We haven’t talked for a couple of hours, and the first thing you do is give me some sort of puzzle or riddle to figure out. Are we still doing this? Is it time for another lesson, mother?”
“What is your plan, Ochi?” Sophia asked as she turned and faced him directly.
“You know my plan,” Ochi said. “It’s to get Thura back and return home to Patrida.”
“Oh, you are not ready for that,” Sophia retorted while turning away from Ochi dismissively.
“What is that supposed to mean anyway?” he barked, raising his voice.
“Come here, Ochi,” Sophia instructed.
The old lady handed her son the walking stick she had picked up a few miles back and had been using as they walked through the brush. “What do you want me to do with this?” Ochi asked curiously, but still a bit on edge.
“I want you to take this stick and draw a circle in the ground arou
nd this tree,” Sophia said.
Ochi tilted his head in disbelief and stared at his mother.
“Please, Ochi. Be patient and trust me in this,” Sophia beckoned.
The man took the stick with reluctance. He began carving a large circle in the ground about fifteen feet from the tree’s trunk while muttering to himself under his breath.
“You think this is good enough? You like the look of this?” Ochi yelled out sarcastically as he connected the two lines to form a perfect circle with the tree centered in the middle of it.
“Yes, yes. This will do just fine,” Sophia responded surveying his work. “Now, grab a piece of fruit and have a seat against the tree. I will be back shortly.”
“Wait! What? Come on,” Ochi frustratingly blurted out. “I really need to get to Thura, and I don’t have time for more of this being alone thing.”
“Son, you do not realize it right now, but you are not ready for Thura. You are not ready for Patrida. Sit down,” Sophia instructed sternly.
Ochi dejectedly sat down, leaned his back up against the rough bark, and watched Sophia slowly limp away into another overgrown animal trail.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Ochi mumbled.
Already bored before Sophia completely disappeared, Patrida’s defected leader took the walking stick and tapped it next to his out- stretched feet. After a few minutes of tapping, he yawned. Several minutes later, he began to talk to himself.
“I wonder what everyone is doing in Patrida right now? I wonder what Tyran is doing? I need to talk to him again,” Ochi whispered while pushing the stick into the ground. “I need to talk some sense into him. Prodido isn’t good for him. Prodido isn’t good for anyone in Patrida. Maybe everything will die down before we get back there.”
Ochi’s mind continued to race wildly among unknowns. But it was Sophia’s question, once again, that nagged at him. The old woman certainly knew how to keep him off balance. He had not thought at all about any sort of plan. He did not know what would happen once he saw Thura for the first time or how she would respond to him. He did not know what he would say to her or how he would get her to come home. He did not know what he would say to Father Prodido or Tyran if they confronted him. He did not even know what he would say to the people of Patrida. Since Thura left on her own accord, there would not be any sort of reckoning or retaliation against their supposed enemy. He had no idea how the townspeople would react to that information.
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