Simana’s Diaries – 23 – Süt Ak Göl 2

The surface of the lake deepened once more following the tremor that had just occurred. As Simana gazed, she began to see the lives carried by the droplets of light. When she fixed her gaze on a being, she saw it not as a figure trapped within a single moment, but in all the layers of its existence.

Within the same gaze, the delicate and vulnerable breath of a baby, a child’s curiosity as they try to make sense of the world for the first time, a young person’s exuberant and aimless enthusiasm, the invisible burdens weighing on an adult’s shoulders, and the weary yet resigned peace of an elderly person—all stood intertwined, inseparable from one another.

But these states did not follow one after another. They did not succeed one another. None gave way to the other; none arose in the wake of the other. They all existed simultaneously, in the same place, and within the same truth.

Simana did not retreat; for she now possessed the insight to carry what she had seen. Time was not a path for humans to walk; for a path requires a beginning and an end. Yet here, the beginning and the end touched one another—indeed, they passed right through one another.

Time was not a line extending beyond the human being, but a circle turning endlessly within the human being.

A spiral… And as a person believed they were moving forward within that spiral, they were actually merely drawing closer to their own center, curling inward toward their very essence.

When Simana turned her gaze toward the lake’s shore, she realized that the scenes that had just moments ago seemed like mere images were, in fact, different layers of this spiral.

Golden sandals glide across the lake with a heavy, silent grace; the spirits within them were neither striving to reach a destination nor returning from one.

The beings roaming the foothills of Mount Sürö, despite being in motion, were not going anywhere; they were merely sustaining their existence.

Ancestors walking along pearly-white beaches—talking to one another, falling silent, smiling—yet none of these actions were measured by the passage of time.

They were all part of the same system. None was disconnected from the others, nor was any dependent on the others.

They were all different facets of the same truth.

As Simana gazed upon the perfection of this arrangement, she sensed a subtle, almost imperceptible lack within that perfection. This lack felt as though something that should have been there had failed to find its place.

When she turned her attention back to the surface of the lake, she realized that not every drop reached it. Some changed course at an invisible boundary as they approached the lake; some turned back just as they were about to touch the surface; and others vanished without a trace, as if they had never existed.

The peace that filled Simana took on a new form for the first time. It did not turn into fear, nor did it remain as pure tranquility. Rather, it transformed into a realization—like becoming aware of the weight of a truth—that made room within a person. The lake did not accept everyone… This was plain to see.

For a soul to reach this shore, merely having lived was not enough. Having breathed, having spent time here, having suffered or rejoiced—none of these, on their own, were sufficient. For this lake accepted only those who had carried the meaning of their existence. And to be accepted, simply living was not enough… One had to harmonize.

What Simana saw was so clear that it left no room for debate: some spirits had merely existed in the world, but had never truly touched anything. They had never felt gratitude for the shade of a tree, never noticed the presence of an animal, never understood the flow of water, and never felt the burden of another human being. They had lived, but they had never formed a connection. And those who did not form a connection could not reach this lake. Because this lake was not merely the source of life; it was also the place where the meaning of life was measured.

Just then, movement appeared once more on the surface of the lake. From within the light, a figure emerged, rising as if it were the water itself, and Simana recognized her before she even saw her. Mrs. Kübey…

It wasn’t far away; there was no distance between them, only one difference: one saw, the other knew.

The leather gourds in her hands did not look like ordinary vessels; they were part of an invisible cycle, bearing the traces of years, births, deaths, and returns. As Mrs. Kübey leaned over the surface of the lake, the water responded to her movement by filling itself into the gourd. This filling was not an act of taking, but rather an answer to a call.

Then he took a drop from the flask and held it out toward Simana. He said nothing.

When Simana caught the drop in her palm, the first thing she felt was a profound intensity. It was as if this tiny drop contained not just a single life, but all the possibilities, all the fractures, and all the encounters that life would carry—all compressed together within it.

This vibration between her fingers was the quiet yet resolute beginning of an unspoken name, a life yet to be lived, and decisions yet to be made.

At that moment, Simana realized that this drop was no ordinary spirit and understood why it had been given to her. It was not merely an essence drawn from the lake, but also a response to what had been offered to the heavens. The spirits of the sacrifices had reached the heavens, a path had been opened, and that path had been filled with a balance that must not be left empty. Therefore, this drop was not a blessing, but a response and a trust…

This drop was meant for the newborn child. It would be placed on the child’s lips, blend with the child’s breath, and grow alongside the child.

As this realization expanded in Simana’s mind, she looked again at the hand holding the drop and, for the first time, felt the magnitude of the burden carried by this tiny entity.

This child was not merely going to be born; for being born was only the smallest part of what he saw here. What truly mattered was whether this drop would one day return to this lake.

And this transformation would not happen on its own.

Simana recalled the spirits that had just returned to the lakeshore—those who had lost their way or vanished before reaching the surface… Was their absence a punishment? Or was it another chance? They had lived in this world, breathed, perhaps rejoiced, perhaps suffered; yet they had never truly touched anything. They had neither acknowledged the existence of a living being, nor felt gratitude for the shade of a tree, nor understood the flow of water. They had existed but had formed no connections. And those who formed no connections could not reach this lake.

But if…if one were to perceive every living thing not as separate from one’s own being, but as part of it; if one were to accept the shade of a tree as a gift; if one’s heart were to tremble at the gaze of an animal; if one were not merely to observe another person’s burden, but to learn to carry it alongside them…only then could this drop return to where it began.

When Simana reflected on this truth, the nature of her inner peace shifted. She had now become aware of both acceptance and a sense of responsibility for life within herself… She looked again at the drop in her hand and realized that this tiny vibration carried within it thousands of possibilities. If this child were to merely exist in the world, this lake would remain closed to her. But if she could turn every moment she lived into a connection, honor the rights of every being she touched, and feel herself as a part of everything that exists—only then would that drop be able to return to where it began.

Simana slowly raised her head. Süt-Ak-Köl was no longer a lake standing before her eyes. It was a place of measurement—a place that weighed existence against its own essence, without judgment or punishment. And it was only when a person realized they were living in accordance with that measure that they truly began to live.

As Ms. Kübey’s presence slowly faded, the lake grew still once more; the light continued to spread with the same softness, the majesty of Mount Sürö rose unchanged, and the golden sandals continued to glide silently across the lake. But Simana had now found her place within this order. The drop in her hand not only connected her to the world but also bound her to this place.

When she closed her eyes, the descent began anew… The light slowly faded, giving way to a familiar darkness. There was no longer a void; there was the scent of the earth, the sound of the night, and the faint murmur of a distant wind. Simana’s body regained its weight, and when her knees touched the ground, she realized this was a return.

When she opened her eyes, she was on the shore of the lake deep within the dark forest. The water was black again, deep again; but now, as she looked at it, there was no sense of the unknown—only a feeling of recognition. The voice of the water spirit was not heard this time; for what needed to be said had already been said. Simana slowly stood up, clenched her hand tightly, and felt that the droplet was still there.

We walked on… The trees grew sparser, and the moisture in the soil diminished. As we approached the camp, sounds from afar grew clearer: the intermittent crying of a baby, the hushed conversations of women, the crackling of the fire as it was stoked anew…

When she reached the front of the tent, she paused for a moment. She didn’t look at the threshold, but she walked past it. As she stepped inside, the warmth hit her face; those inside looked up, but no one asked a question. Because simply looking at Simana’s face was enough to hear the answer.

Gökçe Kız was tired, but her eyes were open. Her baby lay in her arms, in a silence that suggested she hadn’t quite adjusted to the world yet. Simana approached her slowly, knelt down, and watched them for a while without doing anything.Then she opened her hand. The drop was there. But it was no longer just a light—it was a distinct presence; its vibration was more regular, its existence more certain. Simana moved her fingers slowly, cradled the drop between the tips of two fingers, and leaned toward the baby’s face.

The inside of the tent fell silent at that moment. Even the sound of the fire receded. Simana brought the drop close to the baby’s lips and paused for a moment. She knew this was not merely a ritual, but a way of forming a bond. Then she let the drop fall into the baby’s mouth. She whispered softly, “Be blessed, and remain blessed. May you be blessed wherever you are, wherever you go, Akkız…”

The baby’s breath changed for a moment; her chest rose slightly, then slowly fell. Her eyelids fluttered; it was as if she were remembering where she had just come from, then gently letting go of that memory.

Simana stepped back. Something inside her had come to a close. She looked at the baby. It was no longer just a child. It was a trust.

And this trust belonged neither to Simana nor to her mother nor to the tribe; it was a responsibility entrusted to her very being. This child would chart her own path with every moment she lived, broaden that path with every being she touched, and one day—if she could walk that path with dignity—she would be able to return to where she began.

Simana stood up. As she stepped out of the tent, she looked out into the night. The stars were in their usual places. But now, as she gazed at them, she saw not so much the lights as an existing order. And within that order, she saw humanity’s place.