The riverhead formed the Source. It was so named due to it providing life for Solarus’ farm; surrounding village; but most importantly, his family. The Source had experienced drought before, but no drought had brought such a surreal experience. When the draught occurred many days ago, Solarus was never distraught over the lack of provision. He didn’t look at the trickling stream that lined the bottom of a once vibrant tributary that sustained his life and worry at night.
Solarus never lost sleep.
No tossing and turning.
No bloodshot eyes in the morning.
Solarus took no care, especially when the trickle along the bottom of the riverbed ceased in front of his own two eyes. That’s right. Solarus actually saw the water stop flowing in the river.
It was and then it was not.
He simply stood over the river, watching calmly, knowing that the river would return, someday – soon – he rest assured. There must be a reason that such an occurrence issued. But a gentle smile spread across the face of Solarus as he looked at the empty river.
Then he walked away.
Everyone looked to Solarus for strength and support. No one really troubled him regarding the fate that had befallen the Source. His calmness seemed to spread a canopy over his family and the citizens around him. If Solarus was calm, then everyone around him figured there was no need to worry.
When people had troubles, they came to Solarus. He would sit and listen to their predicament. If they cried, his eyes remained dry. If they became enraged, he kept calm. At the end, he would exhort them and say, “It’s okay. Everything is going to work out. Do you believe me?”
Every time he asked that question people would reply, “Yes.”
“Have I ever lied to you?”
“No,” they replied. A smile would spread across their face and they would say, “I’m going to go now. Thank you so much.”
Solarus had aspirations. He just wasn’t sure what to do with those aspirations. He was comfortable in his community and received great joy from his interactions with the people. He daydreamed sometimes of what life could be if he were a king or a prince or a nobleman – perhaps a politician or poet or theologian.
Maybe a thespian – a thespian who had all the leading roles. One who performed in the center of the stage with the spotlight nestled solely on him. He would have all the thought provoking lines. All the funny lines as well. The other actors would appear in the background or stage left or stage right, with few lines. What lines they did have would only point to the greatness of the center staged, spotlighted Solarus.
Merchants were appealing as well. Merchants made big deals, bartering relentlessly with spice traders and sellers of scarlet and purple. He could finally afford all the wonderful things his wife secretly wanted but never asked for.
But those daydreams were not Solarus. Deep down, Solarus was quiet and contemplative and ever desiring to be humble and retain his quiet nature.
After many days had passed, Solarus walked to the lifeless river and gazed at the dried mud, which now flaked and left crack marks all throughout the floor of the riverbed. He stared at it intently, brooding over his thoughts, and the needs around him. And it was in his brooding that he arrived at his conclusion.
He would go to the source of the Source.
Solarus had many questions in life, and since his livelihood was fed by the nurturing stream provided by the Source, he decided to follow the river to its beginning and find the explanation as to why it had dried up. He called his wife and children to him and made his announcement. Since Solarus rarely asked anything of himself but always freely gave of himself, there was no objection to his decided endeavor.
Solarus’ eldest son asked to accompany him, but he was denied. Solarus told him that, “sometimes you have to journey alone in order to find the answers you are looking for. Sometimes answers refuse to uncloak themselves till one is absolutely quiet and intent on finding the answers. Other times, answers appear without your beck and call, but only at the oddest moments.” Solarus’ son dropped his head, but didn’t protest his father’s command. “Besides, it’s your responsibility to look after your mother.”
Solarus left the next morning, and walked for days. The sun beat gently down upon him during the day. His skin felt only gentle perspiration. Sometimes Solarus would begin laughing as a tiny sweat bead began to roll down his back. En route to his lower back, a cool breeze would blow and turn the warm sweat bead into a cool sweat bead. It would tickle even more as the chilled bead traversed his back.
At night, the moon bathed the ground in its shine. The earth was bathed in the moonshine, turning everything in sight to gray as Solarus made the rocks his pillows. He would stare up at the moon as the frogs and crickets serenaded his busy mind into a lull. His eyes would close and he would think of his wife, his children, his farm, his community, and just before he faded into dream he would realize…
… how blessed his life truly was.
Solarus enjoyed his meandering up the river. He had good health and a happy home. He felt grateful for the sun on his face and the breeze that gently buffeted his body. Despite the draught, the trees remained green and the bees busied themselves from flower to flower, collecting the precious pollen. With the ooey gooey feelings and the natural beauty that inundated his senses…
…what more to life was there?
And it was when Solarus’ mind pondered that question that he saw the beginning of the Source. When he arrived, it was just as he expected. He crawled into the riverhead of the Source.
Solarus sat in the dry, empty, crusted riverhead. It was the exact spot where three rivers met, converged, and became one river. One river journeyed from the east, the second sloped down from the north, and finally the last river trekked from the west. Solarus had not expected that the three rivers feeding the Source would be dry as well.
Solarus gazed up the river to the east, allowing his eyes to probe the length and depth and height of the dry, waterless, riverbed. He did likewise in succession to the other three rivers. They too shared the desiccated state of the first river. Mud would have been welcome, but parched earth and cracks in the floor were the only manifestations provided for his eyes.
To see what Solarus’ eyes saw would have left most deflated and hopeless in the sight of utter dearth. Life would have appeared to be over. Solely the entropy of misfortune would be the only provision afforded by the three rivers.
But in Solarus’ inspection he realized that each river exuded itself from a respective mountain. The mountains themselves were covered in snow. Probably ice, too, Solarus thought to himself. It would only be a matter of time till the gentle sun that had previously beamed its soft rays atop Solarus would turn into blistering rays that would melt the snow and ice, thus providing life and health to the three rivers that fed the Source.
Eventually the Source itself would regain its vitality. The trickles would turn into gushes of water which would build into steady flows of river. Soon the banks would be teaming with the issues of life for all who relied on the Source.
And it was in this thought that…
…Solarus’ easy smile returned to his face.
“Everything will be okay.” Solarus mused aloud. “All things are as they should be.”
Solarus considered pulling himself up from his seated position in the dry riverhead.
“Time to go home,” Solarus said aloud as he stood up, yet remained standing in the Source’s riverhead. Once out, he could walk down the river in the opposite direction he had come.
“Everything that can be done has already been done.”
And Solarus stood there, staring at the mountains. If he saw the trickle in the river cease before his eyes, he would wait till he could see the trickle rematerialize in front of his eyes.
It was and will be again.
Solarus stood…
…waiting.
“Everything that can be done has already been done.”
(c) 2008, Aaron Brown
