I find myself starting to get back into writing again; whether that will amount to much of anything is another question altogether. That said, a story this time which is meant for a particular someone who asked a question of me. My answer, such as it is, is that while there are moments when we feel lost, unwanted, or in despair, one should look toward the future …
Universities and colleges are the places where inquisitive souls gather for various reasons. Some have a goal, others seek one, and for many there isn’t a goal exactly, as it is, for them, more about the adventure offered.
For some, it is the chance to learn about a truth.
Seeking out a truth sometimes means a degree of risk. For some, that risk can mean taking their lives into their hands. For others, it is a challenge with some sort of chance that, in the end, the gain is far less than what has been risked. Truth, however, isn’t concerned with anything more than what it is.
Truth is, so it is said, its own reward.
That’s an interesting concept, when one thinks about it. To discover a truth can be the difference between having and losing, seeing and not seeing. Truth is, overall, a matter of perspective and understanding of the facts at hand.
Ian was seeking his own truth, one that seemed to have no clear point, no aspect to pin down, no moral to be consoled by. After all, the truth he sought was a myth, a legend at best, a figment of imagination; as a whole, a bit of wishfulness. The evidence was … mostly … clear on that point.
He’d taken a path which curled and curved about this truth, one that he was not alone in considering. The question of life takes many forms, after all, and in Ian’s case it was a path that brought a singular concern. It wasn’t a question of why things were or how they came to be. It was something more … specific.
The path had brought him here, to a place of learning, of faith considered and futures waiting for choices to be made, an oasis of learned thought, discussion, and, if one was willing to listen, miracles. While the entire campus was lovely this time of year, there was one place he’d gravitated to on his arrival, a place off among a grove of ancient oaks. Many a soul found their way there for various reasons, be it for a class or some sort of study. The red-brick building trimmed with white welcomed all within.
Learning was not always done in a classroom, nor was it always obvious when it happened. But if there was a soul to this hallowed ground, it resided within the Library. Perhaps, in that, one might find the answer one’s own soul searched for—if, mind you, that soul was willing to listen. More so if that soul managed to see what was right in front of one’s eyes. In this particular moment, Ian found himself sitting in a study carrel engrossed in a discussion with something of an enigma.
She’d been there in the library when Ian first discovered the place. He’d been there many times after and almost always found her waiting for him or arriving soon after. About his age, more or less, she seemed somehow to be wiser than her apparent years suggested. She pushed him to think, to imagine in their talks. She pointed him towards texts and concepts that he hadn’t considered but now couldn’t ignore.
Much like the blue lipstick she wore.
Other than that oddity, and that she always wore green, she was quite sure of the power of faith and of there being a Goddess. He envied her having that certainty, more so that she wasn’t lording it over him when their discussion inevitably turned in that direction: “Are you willing to accept she’s real?”
This was the one thing that Ian couldn’t quite bring himself to see. It was a question of faith, of being able to take things on something that didn’t have a logical explanation behind it. He considered the question for some time and then asked: “And … if she is?”
His companion was poking around in her shoulder bag: “Then doesn’t that mean there’s hope?”
“Isn’t that a bit of a stretch?”
She’d retrieved a green hairbrush and was working at combing her long straight ebon hair: “You’ve seen things I haven’t. I hope to see them some day. I’m kind of hoping that, some day, you’ll see what I know. Or, even better, that you won’t need to see.”
He couldn’t help the comment, she’d said this many times and he’d always replied the same: “But you haven’t seen her.”
Her answer was as straight as her hair cascading over her shoulders: “But I have seen the evidence of her. The truth of finding her is what you hope and believe in, Ian.”
Her brush had snagged on a tangle and he winced as she worked her way through it: “I … just would like a sign.”
The hairbrush found itself set on the table as she considered his thoughts: “Oh … I dunno … She works in mysterious ways, after all, and once you believe, the seeing doesn’t matter so much.”
He thought back over their conversations and a thought came: “Ever wanted to be an angel?”
Her giggle was somewhere between nice and naughty as she put the hairbrush away: “Nah. I’m happy with who I am.” A long pause followed. “Mebby I’ll be … sometime.”
The admission she shared was a dear one as she pushed her chair back: “Hopefully.” It was a surprise when she pecked him on the cheek before slinging the bag over her shoulder: “There’s always hope. At least, that’s what my sister tells me.”
As she turned away, Ian called out: “Rachel? See you tomorrow?”
Her green dress fluttered around her legs as she turned: “Yeah, I’ll be here. An’ you?”
It was a bit of a sloppy grin: “Hopefully.”
Above the reading gallery, a ebon-maned woman in red regarded the scene below as she mused: “I do hope he returns tomorrow my heart. He shows promise.”
Her heart nodded with certainty: “There’s always hope, Dear One.”
Her smile was warm as she turned back to him: ‘So there is … now … where were we?”
His chuckle was warm and welcoming: “Where isn’t as important as the hope found. And, for us, where is always together … at least I am hopeful.”
A discussion for always and bringing hope to whomever is willing to share.