three wise menpublished: 2011-05-13
One day, they all died: the three wise men whose knowledge she had been destined to call on.
The first wise man gave her a soul, then planted the seed of will into it. She was no longer an empty shell. But neither was she carefree.
The second caressed her body, called it a temple that she was allowed to inhabit. Her shoulders could carry the weight of her world, he explained. But only of her world. Beware the woes of others, the greater world could break your back.
The third wise man gave her a voice. She could now share her thoughts with others, through laughter or through screams.
Yet each of these wise men withheld from her the ownership of these possessions. They remained theirs and only for her to borrow, whenever necessary. And so it was that she was to return to them, again and again. She had never considered they could die. Who could she turn to for her will, her body, her voice? It was then that she consulted the one wise woman. She wanted to hide her head in her lap. If only she could return to where she had come from, if only she could change her destiny. “My child,” said the woman with a smile of relief, “they make you feel strong. But you have become cynical, your muscles are tired, and you do not hear any voice but your own. I wonder, sometimes, whether there is more wisdom in weakness.”