“Can I change the course?” The child asked.
“Of course,” said The Prophet. “But why do you want to switch your course?”
“Cause we’re going in the wrong direction.”
“How’s that Child?”
“Well, the white house I’m seeking is over there, in front of me. It’s before my eyes, and Mr. Whale keeps moving away from it because he’s floating westward instead of northward.”
“Mr. Whale is cruising correctly, Child.”
“No, he’s not,” The Child said and sat up from where she had been lying, on Mr. Whale’s back, and caught hold of his dorsal fin. “There’s nothing wrong with my eyes. You just want to prolong my journey.”
“For whatever reason, Child?”
“Can I change the course or not, Prophet?”
“Of course, you can.”
“I haven’t taken a walk on the water since we left the cove. I think I’ll take a walk.”
“Then, I’ll leave the lily pad here and see you there. I don’t need it anymore.”
“Sure, Child.”
She tweaked Mr. Whale’s dorsal fin; he turned and started cruising northward with her on his back.
“That’s funny, Mr. Whale,” The Child said after she’d been cruising on his back for hours. “The more we cruise toward the house, the more it disappears.”
The sun began to set; the starless sky darkened; the ocean waves roared, and Mr. Whale stopped cruising.
“Are you tired, Mr. Whale?” The Child asked. “Me too. I have no idea where we are.”
“Child?”
“Prophet, where are you?” The Child shouted.
“On your starboard side, Child, walking westward.”
“But how can that be? Mr. Whale and I were going northward.”
“Child, I haven’t changed my course. You have just cruised toward me.”
Shalom,
Pat Garcia
