Searching Out the Garden

It’s been a good day.

A remarkable day.

Momentous even.

And I have no idea why.

I’ve never seen him like this. It’s as though the entire weight of the world has just been lifted from his shoulders.

We’ve been working this site for the past three years, digging, dusting, meticulously cataloging every bone, fossil, or trace of anything the least bit out of place. For what? We don’t know. He’s never told us.

We’re located high in the Armenian highlands of eastern Turkey between Lake Hazar & the Karasu River. Four years ago a local Yörük came upon a newly formed opening in the Taurus Mountains. Slipping through she discovered an unfamiliar gorge. She collected a few fossils & artifacts to show to her family who in turn shared them with a local teacher.

Cut to the chase? Okay. So three & a half years ago he & I were sitting in a local café drinking tea. A messenger carrying a parcel found us & delivered it to him. Upon reading the attached note & taking a long measured gander at what was inside, he asked, “Are you up for an adventure?”

We’d known each other for the better part of a decade & had become fast friends. I trusted him implicitly. He didn’t need to ask.

Over the next six months, Emin & I made all the necessary arrangements & recruited our team. Now I find myself watching as my friend transforms into something & someone I’ve never known.

“Sit down, Emin, have some tea. It’s been a long day.”

He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t move from the entrance to the tent, continuing to gaze upon the vast field of work & today’s find.

I rise from where I’m sitting & move to his side, offering the cup I have just poured. He receives it mindlessly into his hands. His eyes are brimming with tears. I watch as one marks its way through the dust covering his cheeks.

Twilight descends & I begin to sense the wonder & awe washing over him. Still, I have no clue what has moved him so.

The stars emerge, their light unhindered by anything but the distant campfire for the evening’s meal. Several minutes pass before I break the silence.

“What is it? What did we find today?”

His lips tremble, parting ever so slightly before closing again saying nothing.

“We’ve uncovered graves before, most of them predating this one, all with bipedal, humanoid remains wrapped in the wings of raptors, flamingos, & cranes adorned with gemstones.”

“Carbuncle…, carbuncle,” he whispers from somewhere far away.

“Carbuncle? Yes, that was new. What does it mean?”

He falters for a moment & I grab hold of his elbow to steady him. He feels frail & ever so light. I help him to a seat. His movements remain feeble. Remarkably, not a drop of tea has been spilt by either of us.

He sits quietly, his eyes closed in an expression somewhere between agony & bliss. Finally he breathes, slowly & deeply, opening his eyes & beginning to relax.

“Carbuncle.”

“Yes, you said that. But what does it mean?”

“Ah, Judah, have you been with me all this time & still you do not understand?” All I can muster is a more quizzical look. “Judah, it’s carbuncle.”

I’ve not a clue.

“Judah, what have we found here?”

I shrug. “Graves. There have been a lot of graves.”

“No, no, no. Go back to the beginning. What is it we first found here?”

I pause, trying to remember. “Fossils of sea bream, sea bass & other fish.”

“Telling you what?”

“That tens of thousands of years ago there was a pretty healthy river running through here.”

“What was the next thing that got everyone excited?”

“A stone framework, as though for a massive gate, along with petrified wood, enough to confirm our suspicions.”

“How old was it?”

“Older than it should have been, tens of thousands of years older.”

Emin looks upon me with such a gentle tenderness. “We’ve spent over three years excavating this site, finding hundreds of graves, all carefully prepared, the fossilized remains showing signs of various maladies & injuries but also of herbs & spices traditionally used for healing. Only a few indications of permanent dwellings or shelter, but an abundance of remnants that indicate landscaping & fairly sophisticated agricultural practices. What do you think this is?

“A cemetery?” I offer, only partly in jest.

“Yes, but more than that. What would you say?”

I hesitate, somewhat reluctant to hazard a guess. But Emin offers no more help, so…,

“A garden?” It’s all I’ve got.

Emin leans forward a little, raising his hand, encouraging me to go further.

“A farm?” I chance cautiously.

Emin gets a little more emphatic, actually rolling his fingers at me, urging me on.

I’ve got nothing. So he hints. “People came here, some of them dying from illness &/or injury. Some lived here long term but in temporary dwellings…,” he returns to the head nodding & finger rolling.

I’m really not sure about this. It sounds way too modern. But I suggest it anyway.

“A…, cooperative?”

“And? It’s not just an agricultural cooperative or commune…,” the gestures are really beginning to annoy me.

“C’mon, you’ve seen the graves, the kind of care these creatures received before they died, the care with which they were buried….”

“A…, hospice?”

Emin slumps back into his chair, spent from the effort & relieved that I finally get it.

Only I still don’t.

“But what was so special about today? Haven’t we seen all of this before?”

I really hate the depth of his sigh at this point.

“Not all of it. We’ve seen bodies buried, wrapped in the wings of birds, possibly to offer them the gift of flight & safe passage into whatever comes next. We’ve seen them buried with various stones, we’ve even seen one elderly female buried with all eleven we had found so far.”

“But today we found twelve.”

“Carbuncle. Really, I’m surprised you didn’t notice it. It is your namesake, after all.”

“What are you talking about?” Now I’m incredulous. My mind is spinning. I have no idea where this is going.

“Let me start at the beginning.” Emin settles in, leaning forward as though to confide something he has never shared with anyone.

“When I was a child, while my Nene was still alive, she would share with me stories of our people. One of the earliest she said was no more than a distant memory which by now had become myth & held sacred. It was of a garden & the woman who tended it.”

“She was beloved by all who knew her, the ancient Nene to all who entered into her hospitality. Over time many joined her & with their help the garden grew. She had only one rule, largely unspoken but universally gathered. All were welcome so long as they kept faith with one another. Betrayal in any form was taboo.”

“Of course, people being people, betrayal happened. I believe your Jesus once said, ‘Wherever two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.’ My take is slightly different. I have come to believe that wherever two or three are gathered, there will be an argument.”

“Disagreements arose. Betrayals happened. Repentance, forgiveness & amends were always possible but withheld. People were banished. Most of them were men, but some were also female.”

“In the Garden, the opposite was true. Most were female, but there were males as well. One of them was a gentle giant who was given the task of barring the gate to the exiles. It broke his heart to do so, even when they directed their vitriol against him. But when they spoke against Nene, he stood firm.”

“My Nene made me believe it was real. I wanted…, no…, I needed for it to be real.”

I sit mutely, unsure of what if anything to say, waiting for him to continue.

At last he gets up from his seat. He appears resolute & gestures for me to follow him.

“But, it’s almost supper.”

“This is more important. C’mon.”

He leads me from the tent to the little trail we take to the top of the gorge where we can see well beyond the site in all directions. The moon has risen & is nearly full. It is all the light we need.

As we climb, Emin, continues narrating to me, “Over these past years we have found gemstones of eleven different types: emerald, peridot, carnelian, rock crystal, lapis lazuli, amethyst, agate, jacinth, jasper, onyx, & beryl. Often we found several of only one or just a few types. Once, we found all eleven, arranged in a grave prepared with the greatest of care, love & reverence. That was Nene’s. But I knew there was one more. I needed to find it.”

My head swims. Tales from my own childhood churn through my brain, threatening to topple me. I press on, barely able to find my feet as I struggle to keep up.

“Carbuncle. That’s all we were missing. Today we found it. It’s your stone, you know.”

“What are you talking about, my stone?”

“Carbuncle: it’s the stone that represents the tribe of Judah. Did you not notice how the stones were laid out? They weren’t simply placed that way. They were attached to something: a breastplate made of animal hide. It’s the final resting place of the gentle giant they affectionately called, ‘Little Cherub’.”

He continues as though both climbing & speaking with a single thought. “There was one more thing about today: the wings.”

“All the graves have wings wrapped around the remains.”

“Not wrapped around. This one was different. They were attached, as though to give him flight & safe passage while he was still alive.”

“You’re not saying….”

“I am saying. Get on up here. I want you to see something.”

I climb up next to him at the summit. He turns me facing to the southwest, pointing his finger in front of me.

“What do you see?”

“I…, I don’t know,” I stammer. “What am I supposed to see?”

“Just look. Let your eyes settle in.”

I stand there, trying to see something, anything, my eyes sliding in & out of focus, until falling from the moonlight into the shadows…,”

“What is that?”

“Look through it. What do you see?”

“Karasu…, & the Euphrates.”

“And through that one?” he asks, shifting his finger to the left.

“The Tigris,” I breathe, practically reduced to a whisper.

“And?”

There are two more shadowy trails, but they don’t seem to lead anywhere.

“Pishon & Gihon, the lost rivers…. The Garden of…, of Eden?” I’m about to collapse.

“Not the Garden of Eden. The Garden of Nene. The distant memory passed down in story through tens of thousands of years, become myth turned into sacred.”

I collapse to the ground cross legged. I simply cannot stand any longer. Emin sits down next to me, his hand resting on my shoulder.

“What happened?” I ask numbly as though all of this was suddenly making sense.

“People. Eventually there were enough who wanted the garden & everything else for themselves. They overran it & in doing so lost it.”

I sit here in a stupor, doing what I can to reconcile these revelations with all the stories from my childhood Sunday School classes.

“Please understand,” Emin, consoled, “women can get into just as much trouble as men. It’s human nature. Just as it’s human nature to try & pin the blame on someone else.” He looks at me & gives a sly wink, “Maybe a little more so for us guys.”

I sit shaking my head, trying to make sense of it all.

“Paradise lost. It really happened,” I mutter. “Tragic.”

“That’s just it,” Emin interrupts. “It’s not lost. It never was. We simply forgot.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Most don’t, it would seem. Though we do manage to recognize it from time to time, even as we fail to remember what it is.”

I’m not even going to try to make sense of that. I’ll just let him continue.

“I didn’t want to find the Garden because it was paradise. I wanted to find it to confirm my suspicion of what paradise is.”

He waits for me to say something. Now it’s my turn to do the head nod & rolling of the hands gesture. Payback can be sweet.

“It was never about the place. It was always about the space between & among us. People are always trying to figure out some new innovation—be it political, technological, or other. We’re always trying to create paradise when what we need do is..., simply enter into it.”

“O…kay?”

“Yeah, I used to think like that—seventy virgins, an end to suffering, tears, illness, pain, death & taxes.” He gives himself a slight chuckle. “I no longer buy into that. It’s not something new, some grand innovation we need in order to create our utopia. The innovation we need is rather something as old as the first moment one of us decided to care about another.”

“O......kay?” I’m beginning to feel like a “please-continue” meme.

“It’s not about the place. It’s the space—that space between or among us where there is grace & a welcome for any who desire it. A space in which we find that bond where the only betrayals we ever encounter are accompanied by the hope & desire for healing & reconciliation. That space where it’s not about what we can take for ourselves but about being there for one another.”

We continue to sit quietly, taking in the view, reflecting on all that we have been through, & I find the truth of it sinking in. What Emin has described to me is precisely what I have with him. Moments like these are our own little utopias.

And then I hear him sigh, not one of bliss but rather resignation.

“I have found it, confirmed it, & can even trust in the truth of it…, though I doubt I shall ever experience it.”

I look at him dumbly. Once again I have no idea.

“Autism. I don’t pick up on social cues. I don’t know when that space actually exists between myself & someone else, not even really with you. I can bear witness to all those times I see it among others, but I can only hope & trust that it exists for me as well.”

We stay there quietly a little longer before getting up to descend once more to camp & a meal by now long cold. I feel my eyes brim as I watch him walking in front of me. A single tear makes its way across my cheek to dangle at my chin before dropping to my filthy shirt…,

...& I understand.

This space between us is perfect. At least for this moment.