Illapa in Greenland: A thunder god in the wrong place
Why Illapa has more to say on ice than you might think
Illapa stands on a patch of ice in Greenland, and Perusino stands beside him, trying not to shiver. A wind pushes cold air under his jacket, as if someone were secretly tipping ice cubes down his collar. The sky hangs low, gray, and wide, and the silence feels so tense, as if it has been waiting for its moment for a long time.
Perusino looks around. A few dark rocks jut out from the white. A strip of sea lies in the distance, looking as if someone had cut a fissure into the landscape. No village, no field, no tree that could dramatically topple over. This place feels like the last page of a coloring book, where by mistake only white remained.
Perusino: One sentence has to be said. You're in the wrong place.
The man next to him doesn't seem offended. Illapa, on the other hand, seems as if he's heard that phrase in a hundred languages. His gaze sweeps across the ice, as if checking whether the surface is even open to discussion.
Illapa: A judgment like "wrong" needs reasons, otherwise it's just breath in cold air that disappears immediately.
Perusino: There are plenty of reasons. There's no corn here, no roof, no market, not even a dog getting worked up. Thunder without an audience feels like a joke told into a pillow.
A short rumble rolls through the clouds. It's not a loud bang, more of a deep clearing of the throat, as if the sky were saying: I'm listening.
Illapa: An audience is something people invent to make themselves feel important by watching. Thunder doesn't need an audience, it needs tension, and that sometimes hangs in the air precisely where everyone is looking away.
Perusino: People like inventions. Especially those that keep problems far away.
Each step crunches because ice is never truly still. Beneath the snow lies a hard layer, and below that, dark water moves, slowly and secretly.
Perusino: Many people say, "Greenland is far away." Then the next sentence immediately follows: "Then it's not important." The sentence sounds convenient, but it makes me suspicious.
Illapa: Comfortable sounds like a blanket, but it is often just an excuse with good fabric, and excuses don't stop a storm.
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Perusino pulls up his gloves and tightens them over his fingers, as if fabric could help against thoughts.
Perusino: "Later" is the favorite word of people who don't want to touch anything today.
Illapa: That's exactly why I'm standing here, because later comes the moment when a quiet crackling sound suddenly sounds like a loud no.
Perusino stares at him, trying to see if anything is moving in that face.
Perusino: So this is a threat?
Illapa: A threat seeks fear, but a reminder seeks clarity, and clarity sometimes hits harder than any thunderclap.
Perusino notices that Illapa doesn't sound threatening at all, but rather like a teacher announcing a test and knowing full well that almost everyone hopes he's just joking.
Perusino: A memory of what?
The thunder god: To connection, because air is a rope that binds continents together, and water is the knot that cannot be impressed.
One name sticks in the mind because names are easier than explanations: Illapa.
The wind whistles briefly, as if testing the word. "Connection" sounds strange up here, almost too warm for this place where everything looks cold.
Perusino: The word "connection" sounds like school. Many people roll their eyes inwardly and pretend they understand everything.
The Thunder God: Eye-rolling is allowed, but seeing is better, because the world doesn't award points for an annoyed face, but only consequences for missed clues.
A grin spreads across Perusino's face. Cold weather doesn't foster humor, but at least it can't freeze it completely.
Perusino: There's one thing I want to understand. A thunder god belongs in the mountains, in thunderstorms, in rain. This place is like a refrigerator without light.
The Thunder God: A refrigerator without light is still full, and in the same way, this ice is full of movement, only quieter. Thunder doesn't belong in mountains, but in those places in the world where energy is pent up until it finally breaks free.
Perusino takes a deep breath before continuing to speak.
Perusino: A food analogy always works. Then please explain it so simply that even a tired mind can understand. Why does this happen specifically in this cold place up here?
Another rumble rolls, further away this time, like a large car on a road that no one can see.
The thunder god: Air doesn't stay obediently at the edge, water travels under ice as under doors, warmth creeps, cold presses in, and everything mixes, whether anyone likes it or not. A place is never alone, even if it looks empty.
Perusino nods slowly because the sentence sounds easy but still lands heavily in his stomach.
Perusino: So, in the end, it's about consequences, if I understand you correctly.
The thunder god: The consequences are a flash of lightning in the mind that says, "That wasn't just weather," and those who ignore it will later receive the bill without a friendly explanation.
Perusino: The trick is that you don't see the consequences immediately.
The Thunder God: People tend to think of the invisible as harmless, but the most dangerous things are often precisely those that work silently while everyone argues about loud words.
Perusino looks at the ice beneath his boots and feels how the ground, although hard, still doesn't feel safe.
Perusino: Most things here are invisible. Water moves beneath the ice, and the sky moves above. My mind is trying to stay still.
The thunder god: Silence is good, but alertness is better, because ice can look friendly and yet suddenly say "stop".
Perusino: My gut feeling says: "This is not normal."
The Thunder God: Normal is a word people use when they hope the world will stick to their plan, but weather doesn't sign contracts.
One look from Illapa is enough to make it clear that hope is not a law and the world does not follow vocabulary.
A gust of wind shakes the hood. Snowflakes fly sideways, as if they had decided to take notes during the interview.
Perusino: Many people imagine Illapa as angry. For many, lightning signifies trouble, and thunder sounds like punishment. This image is firmly etched in their minds.
The thunder god, Illapa, seems more like someone sorting tools than someone going berserk.
The thunder god: Anger is a brief spark, but thunder is work, and work means: building up pressure, releasing it, rearranging it. Noise is merely the sound that remains when people ignore the meaning.
Perusino: Work doesn't sound like a heroic tale.
The Thunder God: Heroic tales love glamour, but tidying up doesn't make the roof shine, it simply keeps it over your head, and that's exactly the point.
Perusino laughs loudly, although the air immediately tries to freeze this laughter.
Perusino: A child next to me would ask: "Should I be afraid when there's a bang?"
The thunder god: Fear is a warning system that says, "Stay awake," and that is exactly wiser than immediately playing brave while the heavens are already casting their vote.
Perusino: Then fear isn't embarrassing.
The Thunder God: It's only embarrassing when adults pretend everything is harmless, even though their hearts are already racing.
A cracking sound in the ice is approaching. Perusino automatically takes a step back, feeling his toes protest with every movement.
Perusino: Your head says, "Everything's fine." Your gut says, "Better be careful." Which one is right?
The Thunder God: The gut is often right because it doesn't make excuses, but simply reports what it feels.
Perusino: The gut wins far too often. The gut wins even when it comes to sweets.
The Thunder God: Sweets are honest, but consequences are more honest, because they come even when nobody wants to think about the topic anymore.
Perusino exhales slowly and watches as his breath disappears into the cold like a small cloud.
Perusino: One phrase keeps coming back to me: "Too far away." The phrase is like a blanket under which one hides.
The thunder god: Ceilings are thin up here, and wind finds every edge, for distance is not a wall, but only a path.
Illapa leaves the sentence as if it were made of stone and needed no further explanation.
Perusino: There's plenty of wind here.
The thunder god: That's exactly how it is, and that's precisely why a hint sometimes comes as a rumble, because whispers are only lost in the wind.
A moment of silence arises. It is not a comfortable silence, but rather a silence that listens and notices everything.
Perusino: A question for everyone reading this and thinking, "This doesn't affect me." What would you say?
The Thunder God: A single sentence can suffice if it's well-placed: Everything is connected, even if your everyday life acts as if it were an island.
Perusino: One sentence is rarely enough. Adults usually need three sentences and an excuse.
The Thunder God: The second sentence reads: Distance is not a wall, but only the good feeling of being able to close your eyes.
Perusino: And the third set?
The Thunder God: Attention is work, but this work is easier than later standing in awe before consequences that no one can quickly repair.
Perusino looks up at the sky and tries to see what is moving behind the thick clouds.
Perusino: Illapa, one thing remains. A thunder god acts here like an unwanted guest at a birthday party. No one invited him, but everyone notices his presence.
A low growl from Illapa answers, closer than before, not threatening, but rather stern.
The Thunder God: False guests are often the only ones who say the cake is on fire while everyone is still clapping, and such guests are inconvenient but useful.
Perusino: A problem would be a strong word.
The Thunder God: A problem is a small word that describes big things, and that's exactly why it's so often downplayed.
Perusino swallows once, because the next thought is heavier than the cold.
Perusino: One more question. What should a person take with them from this place if they are sitting in a warm city?
The Thunder God: An image fits: An ice cube in a glass melts even though no one is looking, and in the end everyone is amazed by the water, as if it had invented itself.
Perusino: An ice cube is small.
The Thunder God: Many small things change a large glass, and a large glass tips over faster than you think when enough drops come together.
Perusino nods cautiously, because the image is suitable even for people who have never seen an ice field up close.
Perusino: My feet are complaining. My toes feel like small stones.
The thunder god: Patience suits stones, but toes are not heroes, and cold does not negotiate.
Perusino: A return route would be appropriate. A concluding sentence would be good.
The Thunder God: A clear sentence fits at the end: Attention is the first step, and without this step everything remains just noise.
A brief nod from Illapa acts like a stamp on the conversation.
Perusino turns and trudges toward the shore. He glances back one last time. The man is still standing on the ice, calm, heavy, and alert. A distant rumble rises across the sky, as if someone were placing a period that no one should miss.
Warmth waits below not like a gift, but like a task to be completed later. Words, too, wait to be retold. A mind can repeat them, a gut can retain them. Illapa lingers in thought like a name that doesn't need to be spoken often to stick. Illapa also lingers like a sound you don't ask for, but understand nonetheless.
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