“I am on a mission from the Queen to know of your symbols,” she told the important looking person who found her in the quiet entryway of the holy building she was in.

“Well that tells you how much the Queen Faithful knows of our beliefs!” the bearded Imam bellowed. He seemed in a good enough humor.

“Actually,” she clarified, “it’s my own ignorance. Please do not judge her harshly for my lack of understanding.”

“Indeed, it’s something in too short a supply.” He looked at her, to gauge her offense. When he saw that none was taken, he added, “Ironic though, since the lands bound to Mystery share the Great River. In my view, its too important to be split like a log for burning, and that’s why none of us benefit from it.”

“I never thought of that before.”

The Imam laced his fingers behind his back and breathed deeply. His chest expanded and his eyes lifted with innocent pride in her humility. “On a mission from the Queen. Hmph. Unlikely you need anything from me other than pastries and safe passage.”

“But I do wish to know of your,” Marguerite paused, “beliefs, since there’s no symbol for them.” Her voice trailed off.

The Imam looked at her more seriously now. “Are you really inspired by a mission for the Queen, or would a mission for the unity of humanity be more to your liking?”

“The Queen seems to wish well for all humanity. Its the trolls she wants to unite against.” She herself was mournful now. She wondered if the Imam noticed the tragedy of uniting against something. Something unpleasant, yes, but still part of nature.

“What I am asking you is, are you really here serving the Queen as an emissary of Faithful or is your soul moved within its depths for a unity much more than can come of pursuing things, like with your journeying?”

Here, Marguerite noticed, was her first encounter with what she knew right away must be true of a life of journeying. In the salty winds off the Sea of Meanings experiences take on an emotional intensity. It gave her the sense of being caught in an undertow, like being pulled out to Sea, but internally. She noticed the walls of the Imam’s house of worship felt womb-like, very comforting and rich with empathy in its very walls.

She wondered how close she was to the Sea. Probably quite close. Its waters were not called holy the way Source was, but she could not help but wonder how they had come to be as powerful. The lives of humans transformed them into complex stories. She had heard another of the Queen's guards refer to journeyers needing to be prepared for the spell of the tribes, or the curse of the civilized. She knew of magic, which she wondered about too, and this was not it. It was a sense of reality bending to connect with the emotional qualities of the moment.

She felt fascinated to pursue the intensity of this place. The Imam's invitation to unity as a way of being was sincere. He seemed to recognize the Queen's kind of unity, and by extension Marguerite's, as ironic. Should unity itself really be a messy process, an endless pursuit?

The Imam waited patiently. She struggled between acknowledging the irony and accepting the hard truth of another stop with no symbol. Either it did not bode well for her mission, or it was a puzzle.

“It’s very generous of you to welcome me. Your place of worship is very inviting in how warm and spacious it is. I am just at the beginning of my journey and have many questions."

“Very well,” he said.

“I do have one question more for you.”

“Yes.” His posture changed to that of an instructor. He tipped his head as if looking over the top of invisible spectacles and watched her intently.

“Why are there no symbols or pictures of any kind on the walls? I can only see a bit into that voluminous room, but there I see only cushions lined up on the floor.”

“Our prophet Mohammed insisted that idols have no place in worship. When one has a clear perspective on what it means to achieve unity within humanity, idols are a distraction.”