Seen from there, where we stand now will appear more or less like this: a still island rising out of a foamy, mist-shrouded mass. A small piece of land that transcends its immanence through the sea. Our presence here has been shaped above all by the principles the water lays down. The Mirror of the Source -Speculum Fontis- offers us a watery framework where languages and figures assume a more fluid state. We swim in it, we dive into it, linger by its shore, and at times drift far into it. And should we drift too far, we may find ourselves encountering you - hello in advance.
We might not lose sleep over unpredictability, yet for some time we have felt that we are standing at—or have already crossed—the threshold of (in)evitable disasters, destruction, and perhaps extinction. We therefore wish to share with you a few important pieces of information we hold, for the record. We would like to present, in three points, the things we hope will survive, should the land we wander one day sink with a staggering rumble, or the waters rise and consume the story of our island:
I. Saffron Ink Translation Guide
Brief explanation: A translation method activated by water, a step-by-step recipe for conversation.
When communication reaches an impasse, Crocus sativus, or saffron, may assume the role of a mediator through its therapeutic qualities. When the plant’s crimson knobs meet water, a unique channel opens, facilitating the transfer of meaning across different realms and sentient beings. In this way, it acts as a translator between two parties who do not—or cannot—speak the same language. The experiential method of the islanders can be described as follows:
i. Wake before sunrise. Open the window and let the breeze in. Boil a cup of water, pour it into a glass jar, and let it cool slightly. Then add a pinch of saffron. Cover the jar with a cloth. Sit facing it. Watch as the saffron releases its ink into the water.
ii. A language barrier, an emotional impasse, or a lack of communication between you and the other might have led you to try this method. In such a case, the person who wishes to work with saffron ink must first find absolute silence. Once you reach that moment, close your eyes and compose a letter in your mind. Then dip a thin branch into the saffron ink and transfer the letter from your mind onto paper. When you are done, let the ink dry.
Pour water at room temperature into another jar. Place the letter you wrote with saffron ink inside and close the lid. Your words will slowly dissolve and mingle with the water.
The translation process has now begun. Deliver the jar to the receiver.
iii. When you receive a translation jar containing a letter written in saffron ink addressed to you, go to a place where you can be alone. Stay away from bright light and noise to calm your senses. Sit in silence for a while. As sunset approaches, open the jar and take out the letter. You will see that the paper is blank, as the ink has already dissolved in the water. Slowly drink the remaining water (the text). Continue sipping, unhurried, until it is gone. Remember to take a few deep breaths along the way. Since the translation is completed not in your mind but in your body, it might elicit a response beyond language. You must remain open to it.
We recommend that the content of the letter remain sealed in your heart.
If you wish to respond, you may call the sender, meet them in a park, or return to the beginning and repeat the process.
II. Pine Cone Counter
Brief explanation: The opening and closing motion of a pine cone, awakened by water, forms a portal that remains open for a limited time.
Before sharing how we receive support from pine cones, we would like to emphasize that it is a matter of sensitivity. First, we kindly ask you to promise that you will not bring the cones to extinction by permanently disrupting the cycle of pines through excessive pruning, and that you will intervene should anyone attempt to do so. The cones used in this process must have fallen naturally and be completely dried. We must not trigger destruction through untimely intervention.
If everything is clear so far, we may continue.
The pine cone counter is a tool to turn to when in need of a healing slowness. When a new crack appears in the earth’s metabolism, or when we find ourselves breathless amid heavy traffic, it opens a portal and grants us a little time. How that time is used depends on the person, but you may keep this principle in mind: this is an opening-and-closing cycle activated by water.
How do we use the counter?
We begin with a dried cone that has fallen to the earth. We need to stir movement in the cone; this is how a tiny portal is opened. When the spiral structure, cellulose, resin channels, and lignin meet water, the moistened cone begins to quiver and slowly closes. This phase is of great significance, for it is when the portal is at its strongest. You may take the cone, its scales tightly clasped, into your hand and step into the portal. At this point, some hold it in their palms and fall asleep; others remain still, without a blink. As the cone dries, it begins to open once more, and its trembling scales urge you to release your hand. Now is the time to let go. The cone has returned to its original state, and the portal is closed.
There is even a cone circle on the island, specially dedicated to this practice, whose origin cannot be determined. Those who wish to activate the counter to help bridge certain distances or mend certain voids come here and borrow a cone. Some prefer to choose their own pine cone. You may come across islanders spending days wandering the forest floor in search of a cone. Should you one day stumble upon a moistened, closed pine cone after the rain, we hope you remain open to considering it a key or an invitation.
III. The Book of the Yeti Crab
Brief explanation: When ashes of burnt trees scatter and cover the seabed, the yeti crab emerges. We offer it a book, and with its long claws, it composes a text beneath the water.
Our canoe rides around the island may have caught your eye from afar. This has long been how we cultivate our awareness of the sea. Two people board a canoe; the one in front settles on the edge. This person doesn’t paddle; they put on a snorkel and lean forward until their head and ears are submerged. Meanwhile, the one behind paddles, guiding the underwater course of the person in front. After the first round, they switch places: one takes up the paddles, and the other moves to the opposite edge. That is how we make our observations.
In recent years, during our trips, we began to encounter a worrisome scene. The ashes of trees burned in summer-long wildfires started arriving on our shores with the etesian and north winds. We saw the seabed shrouded in black for months. We were unsure of what to do until we encountered the claws of the yeti crab reaching up beneath the ashes.
We had never seen those long, hairy claws before. This species, which we came to know as the yeti crab, normally lives far below in the depths of the ocean, in waters warmed by volcanic activity. The ashy seabed is its natural habitat. When it was carried here by currents linked together like a chain, the changing temperature and composition of our waters allowed it to feel at home. At least, this was the conclusion we reached, and we decided there were lessons to be learned from it. We prepared to deliver a book to the crab.
We made the book from blank pages at our binding workshop and went to the shore where we had first seen the crab. We told it that we needed its voice and submerged the open book.
The next morning, the two of us returned to the spot. The book remained where we had left it, beneath the sea, and shapes traced in ash had formed on its pages. Our friends brought the book to the library, taking great care not to disturb the forms. We tried to decipher its message using the translation method described earlier, and I believe we succeeded. That day, we had promised to keep it to ourselves, but the yeti crab told us that, at this stage, we could share its words:
Objective! Sky-water
Those who were diminished unite in the sea
[...]
Objective,
in sustaining life without separating it from death
[...]
Inscribing the union on the map of the sky,
Objective! In the reflection of this inscription upon the water...
Note: The expressions in italics are quotations from Nilgün Marmara, taken respectively from the poems “Olmayan Günlerdi...” [The Days That Never Were] (p. 14) and “Hedef” [Objective] (p. 35) in her book titled Daktiloya Çekilmiş Şiirler (1977-1987) [Typewritten Poems (1977-1987)] (Everest Publishing, 2023).