Crafted as a series of speculative dialogues, this text draws its inspiration from the sacred spring of the Church of Mary, also known as Panagia of Vefa, in Istanbul.

Prologue

Secrets buried in the many layers of the city of Istanbul will unveil themselves, one by one, as wishes come true. Don’t you know that the most hidden of these secrets is time itself?
If humankind, blinded by its own sense of superiority, can no longer see where the rodent haunting its spirit prowls, then it is time to quietly seep through and claim every place it passes, just like water.
The layers of the city of Istanbul swaddle time in cotton.
We believe that secrets commune with the soil, and that we can trace them wherever we set foot, guided by the pull of gravity. Well... that is how we are deceived, little by little.
You must follow water—and not the soil, nor the fire, the sun, or the moon.
Still, should you reach even one of the secrets, you may count yourself victorious. Perhaps what is called “beyond human” is not human at all. Not every being that receives a breath of soul is granted a conscience. Yet there are souls that do possess conscience, and they do not always take form in the silhouette of humankind.
So then, stop lending your ear to the scholars. Look instead to the calm, the transparent fragility, the boundlessness gathered around the water; to the beasts, the plants, the creatures, the particle, the fervor, the roaring flow; to the one who arrives first in voice and breath, and only then in form.
If speech is spell and silence is gold, then surely, we shall choose speech. We may not be here to enchant, yet we cannot promise not to be enchanted.

Beyond yesterday

Chief Handmaiden: Good morning, my Empress. Did you sleep well?

Empress: Lately, I find myself longing for the deep, unbroken sleeps I once had. It hardly matters, though; what truly counts are the calls and messages within the dreams, it seems.

Chief Handmaiden: Though you choose to disregard the effects of fasting, I’ve noticed it altered your sleep patterns. I hope my worries are unfounded, yet I fear that little sleep and the fasts you never miss might weaken you. May we speak about what could be done to restore your rest?

Empress: Enough of that for now; let us record my dream before I forget. I’ll tell you, are you writing? Ready? I am standing on the slope of a cliff so vast and majestic that I cannot see its ends. In the distance, I notice an eagle owl, too far to make out clearly, yet its haunting cry leaves no doubt. I cannot understand how, across such a distance, our eyes meet, but we speak through them. Its gaze repeats: “Somewhere around here, you will find it. Do not search for it.” In haste, I ask, “Find what?” That is all I can utter. It quickly withdraws and vanishes from sight. I try to move from where I stand, nailed to the ground as if by an iron spike, it takes all my strength. I manage two steps, barely keeping myself upright, grateful that my legs still hold me. My feet sink into water up to my ankles. The ground beneath is mud. I do not sink, yet...

Chief Handmaiden: The cliff, the owl, the mud... I’d like to take them as good omens, but each sounds like a harbinger of calamity. I can hardly keep up with your pace—what was the last thing you said, “I’m not sinking...?”

Empress: Yes...

Chief Handmaiden: May it end well, then...

Empress: I shall continue, but tell me why this constant fixation on good and evil? There is but one good, and it belongs only to those who live under the command and grace of Mary. To be among them, to praise and be praised by them, that is the only virtue. Since the day I took my oath, I have renounced my corporeal being. The acceptance that came with this renunciation is beyond all worth for me. We’ve spoken of this so many times; your insistence tires me. Let this be the last; do not bring it up again.

Chief Handmaiden: Of course, forgive me.

Empress: Very well, I shall continue then. I am not sinking, yet the feeling is so dreadful that I seem to have already accepted that I will never get out of there. Suddenly, I hear a sound: an ethereal hymn with many voices layered over one another, beneath which rise the pleas of women, children, and animals. All together, they cry out the same scream from a single throat. The power of their voices makes my head spin. When I look down, I see in the water my own reflection, and beside it, that of Mary. My image is clear, hers only a silhouette. She gestures for me to follow. I do. In my dream, I wonder, was it Mary whom the owl told me not to seek, yet to find? Then I think, no... perhaps it is something Mary herself wishes me to know. I keep following her trace across the water’s surface, my gaze searching every place, every thing it can reach. The moment I see her, I regain full movement in my body and begin to stride swiftly through the water. She is my guide, my companion, and so, I am not afraid.

Chief Handmaiden: I was just about to ask if you were frightened; pardon me for interrupting. You know how your dreams affect the rest of your day when fear finds its way into them. It takes quite some time for you to shake off their spell. I sound as though I am complaining; perish the thought. It is only that I know how sensitive you are about appearing strong, as you’ve always insisted. Fear, after all, is the most formidable enemy of strength. Once it sinks its claws into a person, it envelops them like a creature with too many limbs; rough, possessive, stripping them of their freedom. Yet the moment one realizes they have done this to themselves, they rise again with the ferocity and resolve of a beast unleashed from its chains, all the while lamenting the time spent in captivity. The briefer the lament, the swifter the return of strength.

Empress: When fear takes hold, time itself transforms. Have you noticed how wisely animals use their time when they’re afraid? For humans, too, faith exists so that time may be used well. By time, I mean the span of a human life. Perhaps that’s why, when I saw Mary, I felt as though I had come face to face with eternity. Just seeing her silhouette made me experience infinity itself. I wonder what life would be without time? Or if it were never torn apart into night and day? I could never choose just one; only sun, only clouds, or only the moon... We need them both as much as we need water. It would not be life without seeing the stars and moonlight, without feeling the sun that stirs the gardens to life. Nature and its cycles deepen our sense of time. When it should be enough to simply move in rhythm with them, why do we try to command time itself? Of course, I didn’t question any of this within the dream; your words about fear just brought it all back to me.

Chief Handmaiden: Shall we return to your dream? I keep wondering whether, by wandering into thoughts that spiral endlessly, we drift away from the message.

Empress: I ask that you speak without forgetting from whom the message comes. Would Mary ever send a message that fails to reach its mark? She would never allow us to stray from it. So long as your faith remains fresh. We are human, after all; sometimes we are caught off guard. Perhaps you’ve just found yourself in one of those moments. When I followed Mary without fear in my dream, I rose from the water. The fear, the anxiety, the tension of the beginning had all given way to calm. I was walking, feeling beneath my feet the heat of the soil; arid, cracked from thirst, its hardened fragments curling and breaking apart, its wholeness lost. After a while, the walk became difficult. Just then, I saw a well. I was about to reach it when the scene changed; suddenly, a place by the sea appeared, very close to home. I can’t tell you how comforting it felt to see familiar places again.

Chief Handmaiden: Mary, blessed with grace, points to a familiar place. It is time to act. The location of the well must be found.

Empress: Wait, it is not over yet. She spoke to me. My excitement left me breathless for a moment. Mary, standing by the well, said, “Gift this healing water to your people. Bless the soil with its flow, enrich the gardens, and remember me.” My tongue went numb, and even if it hadn’t, I wouldn’t know what to say. She is the one who knows, after all; she does not doubt my faith and sees my heart.

Chief Handmaiden: I can see how much peace this good news brings you. I await your orders for preparations.

Empress: We must be very careful! In harmony with the flow of the water, just as it is... Respecting the silent witness of its currents, guided by it, grateful for its healing...

Yesterday

Maria: If I don’t tell you right away, my heart will burst, mother! I’m so excited; I can’t wait to see what you’ll say, how you’ll make sense of what I’m about to tell you.

Mother: Let’s gather what’s ready to be picked from the garden; we must finish before the day is half over. Let’s hurry so it’s done on time—the taste of what’s freshly picked is like no other. Once we put things in order and lighten our load, I’ll listen to you with all my heart.

Maria: You’ll be surprised, and a part of you will grow anxious when you realize we are among the chosen. Perhaps we’ll rethink some things together... or maybe you’ll be frightened and back out.

Mother: You’ve certainly dressed it up, Maria. It’ll be hard to wait, but I’ll endure. I just hope all this talk is worth it.

Maria: It will be; you’ll see, and there’s even more. Once you hear it all, we will never be who we were before. We’ll have to reconsider our place and our deeds in this fleeting world. We’ll never be the same again, mother. You always said, “Always seek the truth, and if ever you must choose between your faith and the truth, choose the truth.” Now a door has opened to a truth worth pursuing.

Mother: Then let the waters stop for now; the chores can wait a while. If I set off before hearing you, it would eat me up inside. You were always like this, even as a child; you could never keep anything to yourself, always wanted to share right away. You talked your fears away. Did you somehow know that once spoken, fear would vanish? If you did, how did you know? How did these things come to you? I always admired you; I’ve learned so much from you. Come, sit with me, my dear. Tell me...

Maria: I saw her, mother, I was graced by her power!

Mother: Now, don’t rush. Tell it slowly, word by word, my dear...

Maria: It was a night of raven-dark, a frost so sharp it shook my bones. I was so cold that my hands grew weary from rubbing them together; after a while, I realized I couldn’t even feel my fingers. I was in the garden, or so it seemed. Then, after a few steps, the moon appeared, its light falling only upon our house. By that light, I found my way there. I was about to knock on the door, but for some reason, I hesitated. A voice inside whispered that the one opening the door would not be you; it startled me. Still, I decided to knock. Just as I reached for the knocker, the door swung open. A shaft of light poured out, so bright it blinded me. Then the light flooded everything; I couldn’t see a thing. All I could do was follow someone’s steps, without thought, without will. She led me into the small room and told me to sit down.

Mother: Take a deep breath, calm yourself a little before you go on.

Maria: Ah, how can I be calm, mother? She was sitting right in front of me. I couldn’t make out her face through the light, but I knew it was her. We sat in silence for a while. I could only hear my heartbeat; even if she had spoken, I felt I wouldn’t have heard her. My senses had abandoned me, and I had surrendered to not being in control of my own body. Then she began to speak.

Mother: So she speaks too. How blessed are you, Maria? You are one of the chosen; I knew it, I knew it.

Maria: She spoke in a voice more soothing than anything I’ve ever heard, murmuring:
“You must know now, you’ve reached the age of understanding. You must tell everyone about the sacred spring beneath this house. Whoever hears of its grace must come... Do they seek truth? Do they pray for health? Do they long for peace? For love, or to be loved? Do they wish for a child? Do they ask for strength to endure? Do they seek to preserve their faith? To attain wisdom? To learn how to face their fears? To find freedom? To reach everlasting peace? Whatever they desire, let them first ask it of the Lord, then offer their intention to the water. A church shall be built here... It will flourish with the blessing of the water’s healing power. Waste no time, speak of this swiftly. This calling knows where it must reach. Let what has arisen in your heart come into the light.”

Mother: I knew it... I knew the water in the well in our garden was blessed. I tried it many times myself. Do you remember, my dear, how women used to come here, sorrowful, anxious, without hope? You were so little then. They must have heard somehow, and they would come to the well to whisper their troubles, weep in silence for hours, and pray for relief. I couldn’t make sense of it then, I didn’t believe... not until women began returning, saying their wishes had come true, their grief had lifted. That’s when I made a wish myself; I whispered it to the well, drank its water, and felt it in every part of me. My wish came true not long after.

Maria: We never spoke of this before, mother. Why didn’t you tell me?

Mother: I kept it to myself, my dear. I feared the spell would break if I spoke of it. Many times, I was on the verge of telling you, but I held my tongue. I knew one day it would be revealed to you; it was meant to find you. And now it has. Let’s make ready at once. Tomorrow, we’ll deliver the good news that has been bestowed upon you.

A Moment in the Present

Reyyan: You probably don’t believe in these things, but I go twice a year. You’ve never heard it from me before because I don’t really talk about it. Once on my birthday, once at the turn of the year. I pretend those two moments, those two beginnings, each grant me one wish. I first ask it of the universe, then I make my wish at the sacred spring, offering it to the healing power of the water. It’s a bit like a vow made for truth to manifest, but thankfully, there’s no sacrifice involved. When their wishes come true, some people hand out sweets or sugar; I understand them too, in a way. It’s just not my way. I don’t think of balance in terms of giving and taking through objects, exchange, or weight; I think of it through feelings, self-reckonings, states of the soul. I never calculate. And I’ve never seen calculation bring anyone real benefit. I simply release my wish to the water, surrender to its flow, drink a little, and imagine it fulfilled. That’s my ritual. Once you go, you’ll find your own ritual too, I’m sure. But you have to go early, by dawn. On the first day of the month, people flock there like ants, queues forming all the way down the road. Come by whichever route you want, but my way of getting there is a ritual in itself. You know where I mean, right? Just behind the Istanbul Textile Traders’ Market.

Sezen: I think I might’ve gone once, years ago. I vaguely remember it being closed that day. I heard it’s open only on certain days, apart from the first. Of course, I don’t believe in such things... but then again, why not? Nothing I’ve ever believed in has done me any good anyway. And you know how I am; when I do believe, I cling to it, give myself over entirely, make others believe too.

Reyyan: Oh, I know. You’re as stubborn as you are persuasive. I’ve yet to see someone you couldn’t convince.

Sezen: I’ve never thought of it that way. My stubbornness is not to convince anyone. It’s because I believe, and because I want others to believe too. It’s a kind of invitation to play together.

Reyyan: No one cloaks what they do as elegantly as you do. You wrap things in such beautiful reasoning that I always end up wanting to believe you. Then I remember how long I’ve known you, so long that maybe it goes back further than I think. Could it be I’ve known you from another life? I’m certain we knew each other before.

Sezen: Oh, really? Do you think that’s possible? Of course, it isn’t, but let’s say it were... For what reason? Who were we to each other? What place did we have in each other’s lives? These are the first questions that come to mind. The more familiar it feels, the harder it gets; no surprises left. I think there are only two reasonable things that can keep a relationship alive: curiosity and compassion. First, you’re curious; you want to know the other, to learn their routines, see how they react, measure their feelings. A few things catch your heart; there must be more than one. Then you start to feel compassion for those few things. And if they touch something from your own childhood, you’re done for; the compassion only deepens. That’s when the compromises begin.

Reyyan: And isn’t that exactly when you should stop? The moment you start compromising, you’re no longer yourself.

Sezen: That’s where it all gets stuck. You start to turn into the other person; slowly, almost imperceptibly. By the time you notice, it’s already too late. Then comes the unraveling, the end of duality. And then; oh, the hymns to solitude.

Reyyan: That’s exactly why you always suffer in relationships.

Sezen: Why’s that?

Reyyan: You dissect and overthink everything so much that there’s no time left to actually live it.

Sezen: You say “just go with it,” but it doesn’t work that way...

Reyyan: I’m saying just let things flow a little. They don’t say “flow like water” for nothing. Water takes in whatever crosses its path and embraces everything it meets with generosity. It gathers, and when the time comes, it shares. Yes, its anger can be frightening, but its nature is beyond questioning. It’s the vastest of all memories, carrying a piece of every living thing. That’s why the sacred springs are so precious, a gift for us. I don’t want to sound insistent, but let’s go to the Church of Mary.

Sezen: Do I only get one wish?

Reyyan: Of course not; you can make as many as your heart desires.

Sezen: But which one should I choose? Our lives are so compressed that we can hardly breathe. We don’t even know what to grieve anymore. Every day we choose a sorrow out of sorrows, a burden out of burdens. And the list is so long we can barely keep up. It feels almost shameful now to wish for ourselves when the country is in such pain.

Reyyan: You’re so right, but still, I’ll say this: you don’t have to choose. Wish for both—the country and yourself. One can’t really exist without the other.

Sezen: All right then. We’ll go, we’ll make our wish, we’ll tell the water about ourselves, and wait for it to find its truth.

Epilogue

Every being should have the right to fulfill, in peace, the time it has been granted. Let us create a space for those who believe they’ve been left alone in the universe—a space that assures them they are no longer alone. In this space, let there be no ownership. No one should believe they can possess a place, a being, or a life. Let there be no ruling thought, no ruling power. Let us be accepted as we are: fluid beings, like water. And let us, in turn, accept the other. Not every wish should come true. Only those spoken with reverence and purpose should find their way to truth. Let there be no “after” to everything. Let there be no after-virtue, for instance. May it never take hold in our space; let it play far away, or better yet, not play at all.
Let there be seepages instead, and may all that seeps through mingle and merge with what has seeped before.