The Courtyard
There is a fable of our time that is yet to be written. But its form is familiar to you:
Beasts are ravaging the territory.
Ever more precise measurements of the beasts’ movements have failed to slow their progress. Some with high walls argue that collective efforts to slow the beasts will harm security of those inside so nothing should be done. Those outside the walls are fighting to be allowed to fight.
Intended heroes assemble in a courtyard. They have met before. Once again, each has brought their pledge of what they will do to bring the beasts down. As a roll is called, each hero steps forward to declare their weapon: they sparkle with technology, innovation.
The caller doesn’t call my name. It’s already been decided I have nothing to offer. I step forward anyway, into the space I can reach. In as loud a voice as I can, loud enough for me to hear it, I open my hands and — in the beat where the name of what I carry goes — I say “I bring the past.”
