The Fool walked into a temple where a king was playing the harp. The chords sounded complicated and baffling, but the Fool felt his heartstrings plucked all the same, and kneeled down to listen to this music. The king didn’t even look up at his recently arrived audience, as he had his eyes closed in musical ecstasy.
The music made the Fool see colors that correlated with the plucked notes. It danced in his head and created colors that the Fool had never seen before. The music took him out of the reality of kneeling in front of this king with a harp.
A crash brought the Fool back to Earth and made the music stop too. A toddler was running unsure through the temple, clutching a banner of some sort and giggling past the ruins of a vase that had shattered over the stone floor.
The King reached out and caught the child’s arm before it could cause any more damage. The banner fluttered to the ground slowly. The baby seemed just as happy being held by his king as he did running wild.
This is my son, Solomon, the king said. He will surpass me in every way imaginable. He will be the very definition of wisdom.
I am known as the Beloved, the king went on, but my son will be even more loved than me. He will be the Peaceful One.
Solomon squealed with joy at that.
I tried to build a great temple, King David continued, but the gods have disliked my bloodshed, so the job will be up to Solomon here.
The Fool saw a giant human head on a pillar singing in an unknown language. The face was pale and ashen: dead. The beard was limp and spotty. The eyes were rolled back into the head. A single round hole on his forehead dripped blood. This was the giant that David had killed.
I miss my warrior days, David said. Solomon here will be better at administration than me. I am a warrior king; he will be a scholar king.
He sings the prophecies of the rest of time, David continued, motioning to the giant’s head, but it is unfortunate that no one knows the language that he sings.
The song was monotone, like a monk’s chant. A long drone of syllables. It seemed to go on without taking a breath, but of course, that made sense; the head was dead.
Butterflies gathered at the pool of blood and drank from it, their wings slowly flapping with different colors, shapes, and sizes. The Fool didn’t know that butterflies drank blood.
The banner on the floor wrapped around a staff that was sticking up out of the floor with one live leaf growing out of it. David held a wand with a lotus flower attached. It struck the Fool that King David was barefoot.
We are the subjects of many stories, David said. When you read our stories, remember that it isn’t the principle that you look for, but the actions that were needed. So many people look for the passive moral of the story and not the change of action that was needed to bring it into being.
Butterflies began to swarm the room. They were everywhere. They perched all over the walls and floor. They were coming in through windows and doors. They filled the room with colors and the soft breeze from their delicate wings.
Maybe these butterflies mean nothing, David said from behind a wall of butterflies. The butterflies were so thick it became black.