Wisdom
I have a problem, and decide to seek out Wisdom in her mountain cave in order to ask her advice.
I walk out into my garden, which is neat and green, with a river running at the bottom of the slope. The river runs down the valley, through woodlands and out to the sea far beyond. I walk along the river bank, out through the wicket gate and take the path through the woods. This path follows the river for a little way then turns away from the water, and up the slope behind the house. As I climb the slope I stand still and trace the course of river with my eye, back to its source high in the rocky slopes above the valley. There, in a dark cave, sits Wisdom.
I climb slowly and reluctantly up the steep, pebble-strewn path. The cave entrance is dark and menacing. I summon my courage and go in. The deep dark smothers me like a black dog of trepidation. I go forward with an increasing feeling of depression. At first I feel my way, but slowly I am aware of being able to “see” in the eerie, indigo glow of the rock.
She sits in the centre of the cavern, bloated and water-fat, her flesh wobbling as she breathes, and her smug smile lording over my fearful approach. All I can see is that wobbling flesh, and the superior, white, perfection of her smile.
“Can I help you?” The voice is smooth, liquid, insincere.
I am angry. Why should this fat, idle, pathetic excuse for a person think she knows more than me? She, who hides herself from the world in this dark place, how dare she presume to give me counsel?
My thoughts echo aloud around the cavern, and her smile broadens as she hears my anger, and my shame at needing her advice.
“So now you’re in control. You can see right into my mind and hear my thoughts. Well, you fat idle slob, what are you going to tell me to do? You know I will have to do it, and you don’t care how much it hurts, just so long as you have the power to compel me to obey. I hate your power; and your tyranny; and your smug self-satisfaction.” This time I speak aloud, and pretend not to care if she takes offence.
“Come.”
She leads me to a stream running through the back of the cave and I feel compelled to look deep into its waters.
And then I see ...
This stream is the river than runs at the bottom of my garden. Here is its source deep in the crag.
I watch as the water runs through the hillside, spreads out across the valley, and draws in water from the cliffs and hills around its course. I watch as the water spreads out through the grass of my lawn, through the trees of the woodland below my house, through the plants and flowers of the valley down to the sea. I watch as the winter snows come, and summer rains fall. I watch as storms tear down trees and wash away houses, and the rich silt feeds the crops. I follow the water into the deer as it drinks from the stream; into the dolphin as it plays in the sea; into the people as they live and work, and play, and love, grow old and die. In that cavern deep in the hillside I see our water-rich world in all its beautiful complexity.
No longer compelled by anything other than my own desire to see, I turn to Wisdom. There she sits; the creative source of all that I see. The body, so bloated and fat before, now seems the still centre of all this fecund beauty. The stream itself is part of her, and her awareness flows with the water to every part of the world. The smile, so smug before, is now a smile of pure joy at the amazing intricacy of creation.
And my problem? She sees it all in its detailed splendour. Only small in her scale of things, but fascinating, nonetheless; worthy of her time and interest. She doesn’t know “the answer”, but she sees a myriad possible ways through. She tells me, in that rich, mellow voice of hers, that she also sees which route I will take.
Does she tell me? No.
Do I ask her? No.
I walk back down the hill and go to work, secure in the knowledge that wisdom’s water runs in me. Having seen the possibilities I will solve the problem in my own way; and Wisdom will know, and smile, and love the joy I give her in the trying.