by North
These ancient stories are not set in stone.
Historians and psychologists will tell you how to think.
How to interpret.
How it’s meant to be interpreted.
These stories were set in stone, thousands of years ago.
Words—not meanings—recorded and saved in stone.
Not meant to last.
Not meant to be held by your hands.
Your hands have held stories easily understood by the modern eye.
You’re not used to it.
It makes sense.
You are not the intended audience.
I’m sure the true audience would never search for something as shallow as meaning.
Nobody wrote this story for you to tell others how to read it.
Nobody wrote this story for you.
Never for a moment think it’s not a blessing that you can read these words.
Never for a moment forget that it’s wonderful that you can search for meaning where there is none.
It’s wonderful, and yet you still search for meaning.
You cannot say whether there was ever meaning.
You are not the target demographic.
You are thousands of years away from being the target demographic.
It’s a way of feeling privileged, really.
Narcissism, in its way.
Everyone feels that they know how everyone feels.
Not even I can judge how they all feel. I, even less than they can judge me.
As I judge you, you shall judge me.
And may both interpretations be condemned by the other as entirely false.
So you can finally understand what I’m saying about these stone stories.
And ignore it and still interpret interpretations as you like.
And that is the real blessing.
The blessing of mortal errors and decisions that they accept as fact.
The blessing of flaws treated as perfection.
The blessing of individuality and having separate interpretations.