Between Truth and truth

Truth sat quietly, not upon a throne but upon a low stone worn smooth by the passing of feet and years. Truth did not shine. Truth did not shout. Truth simply was.

From the far side of the horizon, Knowledge approached, robed in numbers, footnotes, diagrams, its hands full, its eyes bright with certainty.

“I have come to clarify you,” said Knowledge, earnestly. “I have measured the world, tested its edges, named its patterns. I can make you useful.”

Truth smiled, small and patient.

“You may make me usable,” Truth replied, “but do not mistake that for making me whole.”

Knowledge frowned, for this was not the answer it expected.

From the shadows between them, truth (small t) stepped forward, ink-stained, provisional, carrying pamphlets and policies, speaking in confident tones.

“I am what the people need,” truth declared. “I am simple enough to hold, clear enough to obey, stable enough to build upon.”

Truth looked at truth with tenderness. “You are my child,” Truth said. “But you are not me.” truth bristled. “Without me, nothing functions. Without me, there is chaos.”

“Without me,” Truth replied gently, “there is certainty without wisdom.”

At that moment, Time arrived… not walking, not rushing, but unfolding. Time did not speak at first. Time rarely does. When Time finally opened its mouth, its voice was layered… young and ancient, urgent and slow.

“I have seen this before,” Time said. “I have seen Knowledge crowned, truth legislated, Truth ignored.”

Knowledge stiffened. “I am not arrogant,” it protested. “I revise myself. I learn.”

“Yes,” said Time, “but only when you are allowed to fail.”

truth shifted uneasily. “And what of me?” it asked. “I keep the world moving.”

“You do,” said Time. “But when you forget that you are temporary, you become dangerous.”

Silence settled between them.

Truth rose from the stone, not taller, but clearer. “I do not belong to any one of you,”

Truth said. “I pass through Knowledge, I am simplified by truth, and I am revealed…

Slowly… by Time.”

Knowledge bowed its head. truth loosened its grip. Time smiled, which looked very much

like patience. And there, in that quiet convergence, something shimmered, not certainty, not doubt, but understanding.

And may you be blessed as you stand among them, between what is known and what is told, between what works and what is true, not finished, not lost, but becoming.