Angie, however, belonged to the middle: she was neither one of the reckless youths nor the ironbound elders. She carried a small, secret jar of river-water in a pocket of her robe and sometimes set it on the stones and watched the light from the lamp slide across its surface, catching a hidden world in the glass. The jar gathered tiny refracted things, overturned glimpses of sky and root; in the jar she kept a memory of color that the cave refused to admit existed.
Once, near the end of Angie's life, an apprentice—now an older figure with the same small jar at her hip—asked her, “Did you mean to start this?” deeper angie faith allegory of the cave 20 updated
Deeper Angie: A Faith Allegory of the Cave (20—Updated) Angie, however, belonged to the middle: she was