Goracio Monologue: “The Three Voices”
I took dates for the road, not knowing they were offerings. I sought wisdom, not knowing it walks barefoot and waits beside trees. The dust was kind to me, until I ignored its whisper.
The first voice came from wood—
a tree groaning in wind,
its pain not metaphor, but memory.
It said: “Stop. Something wounds me.”
But I was in haste,
and haste is the first exile.
The second voice came from beneath—
ants humming in the soil,
a colony halted by gold.
They said: “Help us. The earth resists.”
But I was in pursuit,
and pursuit is the second blindness.
The third voice rose from water—
a fish, swollen with stone,
its eyes wide with plea.
It said: “Heal me. I swallowed suffering.”
But I was impatient,
and impatience is the final silence.
Three voices.
Three chances.
Three refusals.
And each time, another received the gift:
honey from the hollow,
gold from the ground,
a diamond from the deep.
I, Dinar, seeker of wisdom,
found only the echo of my own refusal.
O dervish, you listened.
You heard the tree, the ants, the fish.
You heard what I called nonsense.
You heard what I called delay.
You heard what I called distraction.
Now I know:
Wisdom does not shout.
It murmurs.
It waits.
It suffers in silence
until someone listens.
Here it is the full story:
The Story of Dinar and the Dervish
Taking a few dates with him, Dinar left his home and set out on a journey in search of wisdom.
Soon he saw a weary sage walking ahead on the dusty road. They spoke briefly and decided to travel together.
Before long, they came upon a tree swaying and creaking in the wind. The sage paused, listened for a moment, and said:
“The tree speaks. It says: something is hurting me. Stop and relieve me of my suffering.”
“I’m in a hurry,” said Dinar. “And besides, how can a tree speak?”
They continued on. A few miles later, the sage said:
“When we stood near the tree, I thought I smelled honey. Perhaps there’s a wild beehive in its hollow?”
“Then we must go back!” exclaimed Dinar. “If we’re lucky, we’ll take some for ourselves and sell the rest along the way.”
“So be it,” said the dervish, and they turned back.
But when they returned, other travelers had already arrived and taken a great deal of honey from the tree.
Dinar and the sage resumed their journey.
Later, they came upon a massive anthill, humming faintly. The sage pressed his ear to the ground, listened, then rose and said:
“These ants are building a colony. Their hum is a plea for help. They speak in the language of ants: ‘Help us. We’ve hit a strange obstacle that blocks our digging. Help us remove it.’ Shall we help them—or are you too busy?”
“Brother, we have no business with ants and their obstacles,” said Dinar. “I must seek wisdom.”
That evening, as they camped, Dinar realized he had lost his knife.
“I must have dropped it near the anthill,” he said.
The next morning, they retraced their steps. They didn’t find the knife, but near the anthill they saw several people in dirt-covered clothes, sitting on the ground before a pile of gold coins.
“This,” they explained to Dinar, “is a treasure. We just dug it up. We were walking the road and decided to help the ants. Turns out, the obstacle was gold.”
Dinar cursed his impatience.
“If we had stayed here last night, O dervish, you and I would be rich,” he lamented.
A few days later, the travelers reached a river. They sat on the bank, waiting for the ferryman and admiring the scenery.
Suddenly, a huge fish surfaced and stared at them.
“The fish is speaking to us,” said the sage. “It says: ‘I swallowed a stone. Catch me and give me healing herbs, and I will spit it out and suffer no more. O travelers, show me compassion!’”
Just then, a boat arrived. The impatient Dinar shoved the sage aboard.
They crossed the river, paid the ferryman a copper coin, and went to rest.
The next morning, they heard news. The ferryman had become wealthy overnight. He explained:
“At nightfall, I was about to finish work and go home, but I saw two travelers on the far bank and decided to wait and ferry them. Not for money—they looked poor—but for baraka, the blessing given to those who help strangers.
After I tied up the boat, the fish leapt from the water, thrashed its tail, and tried to grab a leaf from a riverside bush.
I picked the leaf and placed it in its mouth. The fish immediately spat out the stone and dove back into the water.
The stone was a massive, glittering diamond of immeasurable value.”
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