This story may be different from when it was first told, or maybe this is just the way I heard it. Even more likely is that it just floated into my mind one windy afternoon while I daydreamed about finding my way to Wrightson Peak using only Polaris, the North Star, as my guide. Regardless, I think it’s worth telling because it speaks to many things.
Long ago, two men, elders of their respective villages, stared at each other across the crystal blue surface of the freshwater lake that separated their communities. As they stared, each had the same thought: how much better it would be to have dominion over the entire lake and not have to share it, to be limited to only half.
Each watched the other over many days, then weeks and months. Finally one day, as barely a whisper of night could be heard, their eyes locked. Silently, they moved in unison. They untied their canoes and paddled out to the middle of the lake, determined to decide the issue once and for all.
As fate would have it, however, both had misjudged how quickly evening would come. Suddenly, a battle was out of the question. Instead, some say, it was as if they had suddenly forgotten all that had led them to this spot. Above the lake was a starry sky. Mars and Jupiter shone brightly. The men were captivated by the beauty and began excitedly pointing upward though each was already fully familiar with the constellations and the two glowing planets. After all, they had seen all of this so many times since childhood. Still, they were both awestruck.
No one can remember who spoke first, but they began to share tales of how each had used the night sky to navigate far from their homes and onto the sea. And one finally said, “Let the two of us explore together.” The second quickly agreed and added, “I have a most knowledgeable man in my village. Perhaps you have one like him in yours. They can draw us many maps.” “Yes,” replied the first. “In the morning, let yours come across the lake. On the following day, our mapmaker will come to you.”
And so it came to be that the two villages began working together and soon they made their way north, where more wonder awaited. They followed the stars and the planets. These were their guideposts to the future and to understanding a world where gateways continued to unfold.
One thousand or more years ago, the Arawak of what is now Venezuela sailed north into the Caribbean. Like all mariners until our current time of electronic magic, they found their way by using stars as pointers. Among the places they found is the island of Bonaire, some 50 miles away. On its northeast coast they came upon a cave with a wondrous view of the sea and the sky. It became home for a simacan, an ancient astronomer.
It was there that he identified stars, planets and constellations and painted them alongside depictions of tides and currents. All were necessary for travel back to the mainland and to other nearby islands. The Arawak culture soon spread throughout the region. Economies were established over vast distances. Coupled with the Arawaks’ limitless determination, the stars led the way for these folks just like they had for others all over the world.
In times of strife – which seem to occur more often than not – our differences become focal points. That’s when, more than ever, it’s good to remind ourselves what we have in common. And, one of the commonalities that has never known distinction among nations is how studying and using the stars propels everyone forward.
It’s forever fascinating to travel to faraway lands in search of new food, colors and lifestyles only to find how similar we really are. On a recent trip, walking through a small town on a small island, my guide asked me to describe how it was different from Patagonia.
We’d looked at several old homes filled with tiny kitchens, bedrooms just big enough for one bed, with walls covered with paintings and mementos. In each, I smiled every time I had to duck while crossing a threshold. “We’re all the same,” I said, “except we’re a bit taller.” I learned that even in hardship, the people who had lived here had clearly been resilient. I knew all too well that my family’s history was no different.
I stood there and wondered how their lives, as well as my own, would have been different if just a few more people had found a way to meet in the middle of a lake to admire the stars. The key, then, as well as now, is to be willing and able to see and hear the message and then agree to follow it together.