Who are the wise? Does experience make us wise? Authority? Knowledge? Power? No. The children are wise, but we are not. We save face and call that wisdom. We boast of wisdom while advancing in pride. We point to what we have -- mere things clutched in our hands -- as evidence of our wisdom. What foolishness! The children, liberated by their vulnerability, are wise. We, paralyzed by our vulnerability, are fools. Their innocence bestows wisdom upon them. Our experience denies us wisdom. They accept love readily, while we preclude it. They embrace wonder, while we reject it. They recognize possibility where we turn our heads and shut our eyes. They strain to hear, hushed; we turn up the volume, shouting. The children fear the dark, and wisely so: who knows what it may hold? But we flatter ourselves while fearing the light: we know exactly what it holds and we flee from it. The children want to be seen, while we dread being seen. They draw together in the light to play; we scatter like bugs. The children err without judging, but we judge in error. Who are the wise?
Posted on: Sat, 17 Aug 2013 03:30:00 +0000
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