A tribe called ignorance there once lived, their universe a box. No one knew what the box looked like on the outside or even why the box was there. On the inside there were bulges on the ground, pools of water, and a vast array of colour, a brown carpet and a chequered ceiling that quivered hypnotically. With this rather limited perspective the tribe began to strive for meaning, it seemed they all had a proclivity for purpose yet they often disagreed, violently in some instances.
“I think who ever made this [expansive flourish] must love t he colour brown as this carpet is the foundation of all and takes up so much space. If you truly are a follower of the maker you must wear brown, all other colours are evil and seductive”
Larry preached venomously.
“No I think the chequered ceiling is what’s important [gesticulating wildly as he disseminates saliva generously on an adoring huddle]; it inexorably speaks to us of good and evil. Once a month lets all dance around beneath its enduring gaze, one half wearing black the other in white and then once the dances reach crescendo we’ll hold a chess tournament in honour of the gods.”
Kenny would propose incessantly. To which Quentin would quickly quip,
“Your all fools, what proof do you have? Let’s keep drilling down and gazing up, were learning fast and becoming more and more powerful, we are our own gods”
So as time went on more ideas flowed out of this amazing species, some philosophies more wacky than others, some quite simply superfluous. But every revelation was relative; there was no gen of truth greater than the box. "What we need" pondered Joan "is an outside perspective." One day a man arrived, who seemed different, no one knew how he got in. This man claimed to have an outside perspective. He spoke,
“I made this box; I love you so love me and love each other”
Pretty soon after that he left. Some had a compelling sense it was the overture their ancestors had waited for. Many thought ‘is that it’. Surely there’s more to life than that they doubted, "what about all our ideas? What about the chess tournament!?" Frantic steps, furrowed brows, a loud lethargy. But like the man had said, apparently, ‘his yoke was easy’.
“Oh I like my brown clothes, and I’d just received the distinction of a second smear”
Larry said defiantly. Many of the tribe stuck to what they knew or even fused together old with new, keeping what suited them. Some brave genuine folk continued searching, still generating fantastic ideas still lacking that illusive legitimate claim to true knowledge. From the appearance of that weird and compelling man, the tribe called ignorance had been left with a decision.
His life would be passed on and written about. His message and those tagged on would of course be subject to the tribe’s interpretation. Like all their liaisons with the questions and answers concerning their universe, stifling senses fumbled first. But at least it didn’t have to be so like groping around in a dark cave any longer.
