An adult bedtime story…

Once upon a time there was a wise man.  This wise man travelled the world exploring new places and learning the mysteries of life.  One day without warning, and as if by magic, the wise man forgot who he was.  He forgot that there is more to life than power, money, sex and the relentless pursuit of success.  He forgot his wisdom.  He forgot his teachers.  He forgot the examples he had seen.  He forgot the lessons he had learned.  He forgot where he had come from.  This once wise man disowned himself.  He left his seat at the table, the table of the gods.

After a while the wise man tried to rediscover himself.  But, how would he do it?  So he tested everything he knew to be true.  He tried it all out on himself.  He lied, he cheated, he stole.  He doubted himself.  He doubted others.  And in the process, he began to rediscover himself.  Progress was slow and he wanted to be fast…  “Give me the fast-track,” he demanded.  But to whom was he making these demands?  From whom and from where did he expect the answers to come?

And then one day he ran into a fragment of himself.

This fragment was a broke-ass, unethical blamer.  This fragment was a nobody trying to be somebody.  People rejected him.  Money rejected him.  And the wise man felt sorry for him.  The wise man decided to help him.  But the unethical blamer said one thing, and did another.

In his quest to render assistance, the wise man began to fight with the unethical blamer.  He tried to convince him.  He was right, no matter what.  And the wise man (not so wise now) tried to prove that he was right and the fragment was wrong.

If only he could refute one more point.  Surely then.  Surely he would see reason? After all, was it not completely logical?  This fragment was so precocious, so irrational, so emotional, so fixated on being right.  But he was so wrong.  The wise man was sure of himself.

How dare he! The wise man raged…  does he not know WHO I AM? After all, he was the wise man.

No, the fragment could only see another fragment.  He could not see the wise man.  For the wise man could not see himself.  All the wise man could see was the fragment within him.

Then the goddess whispered to the wise man, “Transform the fragments into the whole.” For the goddess could see the wise man, and the fragments and the fragment reflection.  For his part, the wise man could not see the goddess, he could only see fragments.  This is because he had forgotten himself.

The wise man thought to himself, “I am nothing but a fragment, like all the other fragments,” and he gave up on himself and accepted his royal fragmentedness.

But the goddess did not give up.

The goddess knew all the fragments where beautiful and incomplete pieces of the wonderful, magnificent and awesome whole.  The goddess refused to give up and reminded the wise man that he was not a fragment.  But the wise man insisted on pretending he was a fragment.  And whenever the goddess demanded more from him, he wished the goddess dead.  He hated the goddess.  He wanted to run away from her.  After all, she reminded him of everything he had forgotten.

But the goddess was like nothing else.  She was like no one else.  She was…  spellbinding.  In her presence the wise man felt feelings he had long forgotten that were intoxicating.  He loved her.  He hated her.  He loathed himself.

He had, after all, forgotten himself.  He was not only a fragment, but was working night and day tirelessly to be the king of all the fragments.  Surely then.  Surely then.

You don’t become a god by killing a goddess.  The mere thought itself creates more fragments, let alone actually trying to do it.

The words of the goddess haunted the wise man.  “Own thyself.  You are not a fragment.  You are a wise man.  You are only seeing a fragment of yourself when you fight with the other fragments.”

And the wise man began to remember.  “I, too, can help other fragments become whole, but I can’t do this as a fragment.”

“Every fragment I fight with is a reflection of my own fragmentedness.”

“I cannot help other fragments, unless I, too, become whole and remember that I am a wise man, a whole, a fragmented god.”

“I remember. I was born in the stars.”

“I am made up of the same materials as all the stars.”

And then the wise man became wiser.  He transformed his fragments.  He sought out his fragments wherever he could find them…  and transformed all the pieces into a whole.

Then he became a great teacher.  A teacher of men.  An example to all the other fragments.

The wise man returned to his seat at the table with all the other gods.  Then he could finally see the goddess and his eyes opened to all the other gods sitting at the same table…

— The End —

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