The Ages of Knowing
He stood up, toddling to his left, then to his right; the lake shimmered in the afternoon Sun, the water at rest, peace in its stillness. He laughed and then lunged from the docks to explore what was below.
But, I cried out: “You are so young and full of life; be careful of the depths!”
As tall as me now, he bent down and gathered the scattered papers. He labored under the weight of his pack, the novels, notebooks, reference books: mountains of knowledge chiseled into sheaves of paper. He turned and stepped away to reach for another book on the shelf.
But, I said: “There is so much for you to discover; don’t forget what you already have!”
A long table stretched out before him, encircled by scholars, eyes and minds open to give him the answers books had failed to give: generations of insight, forged wisdom, keen intellect. Ready to begin, he raised his hand and commanded their attention.
But, I whispered: “See both the truths and the deceptions; guard your heart!”
Kneeling by by my side, he inclined his head and grasped my hand. The night called to me through the open window, the clouds shrouding and then revealing the stars and the moon in their allure. He wept and began to plead, calling with broken heart to the One Who is Highest .
But, I wept: “What knowledge will bring you peace: for you to know how much — I — have always loved you? No, it is this truth you must never forget, this truth that I have always cherished: from the depths of who I am, to the most secret places of my heart, I have always known how much that — you — have loved me.”
ed.20180103.01 (Public Draft)