“Tell me, Voran. What is the most beautiful thing a man can mold and form, though it is not of his own creation?” How many times had he pondered the same question while sitting half-frozen on the banks of their river of a morning? “His own life,” he said. “To make his own life beautiful, what must he do?” It came to him like floodwaters, overwhelming. “A human being can only become truly human if he lives for others. That way, the way of love, is by necessity the way of pain. Shared pain. Co-suffering.”
