There is a story told among the elders about a young traveler who came upon a village so beautiful it seemed touched by the hand of the gods. Every wall was painted with brilliant colors, every path was lined with flowers that never wilted, and the air smelled of honey and song. The people welcomed the traveler with smiles that seemed to promise safety forever.

The traveler stayed, enchanted. Days turned to years. But one morning, as the traveler leaned against a painted wall, a section of the plaster fell away — revealing rot beneath. She saw that the flowers were made of silk and that the honey scent came from burning resin.

Shaken, the traveler went to the people of the village to share what she discovered. The people of the village spoke softly:

“We keep the paint fresh so no one sees the truth. The truth is too heavy and too painful.”

The traveler realized at that moment she could no longer rest in the painted world. And so, she left, walking beyond the gates, into the wild hills.

The land outside was not painted. The walls were stone and soil. The flowers bloomed and withered in their own time. The air was filled with wind, smoke, and the smell of rain. It was not perfect, but it was alive.

There, in the unpainted world, the traveler met an old one — Saturn, they called him. Saturn handed the traveler a walking stick and said:

“Now you walk in the land of integrity. Here, what is strong will stand. What is false will fall away. And your task is not to decorate the world through illusion, but to build a life that can carry the weight of your soul purpose”