Ten of Pututus

I wandered through a small village today and heard the most fascinating story repeated many times.

It started with a woman in a little shop who told me about a mountain overlooking the village. She told me how important it was to the people who lived there and shared a story about it that had been told to her when she was young. Later, I stopped to buy something to eat and somehow the mountain came up again. The man there told me almost the same story, although his version had details the first woman hadn't mentioned.

By the third time, I started paying attention. Everyone told it differently. One person emphasized the history. Someone else told me what his grandmother had taught him. Another shared how his ancestors helped name the mountain. Their lives were different. Their personalities were different. I'm sure there were a thousand things they would disagree about.

But this mountain story belonged to all of them. By the time I left, I realized I had heard one story carried in several voices. No one had gathered everyone together and decided what they should say to me. It was simply something each person carried individually because it was part of belonging to this place.

As I walked away, I looked back at the mountain and understood that I would never see it quite the way they did. I had only been there for an afternoon. For them, it was part of home.