Thus hushed Zarathustra

http://artgio.com/austelung/2006/d-2006-asedumdazaratustra.htm

Love is like a butterfly:

a single flap of it can change the world;
just as a butterfly flies from flower to flower,
love may waft from man to man;
a man – abuzz with love – feels "butterflies in his stomach".
Jessica Rosner
Thus hushed Zarathustra
© Christof Wahner 2010

On an early morning Zarathustra rose up to the mountain villages, because once again he had enough
of the lowland. The ascent was more arduous than a few weeks ago, so that it had thoroughly taken
his breath away as he reached the hills and came across playing children there. One of them called:
"Zarathustra, well, what are you doing here? Will you maybe play with us?" Zarathustra, however, did
nothing but uttering some sounds difficult to understand, so that another child called: "But Zarathustra,
you are being so speechless, whereas otherwise you are always a Grand Master of the noble words!"
Zarathustra was gasping away. The child waved and said to him: "Well, come and just sit down to us.
Do you know what we are playing? We are playing fruit salad, a kind of 'musical chairs'. And I am the
plum. But this is not bad, because we are all fond of each other. Well, therefore we are playing. If we
would not be fond of each other, then we would not play with each other. But you, great Zarathustra,
you certainly know all this much better since you are such a well-known philosopher and philologist."
In view of these words Zarathustra began to alternately nod and shake his head, before he expressed
an audible "Eh?". One of the slightly older children now helped Zarathustra along and said: "Meanwhile,
after informing ourselves, we know that the Greek word philía means 'love' and 'friendship', and logos
means 'teaching' and sophía means 'wisdom '. If now, for example, geology means 'teaching of earth',
then philology means 'teaching of love'. And philosophy means, logically speaking, 'wisdom of love'.
A wisdom is still even much more than a teaching. Right?"
Zarathustra felt with great dismay that he had succumbed to an outrageous deception. Indeed, he had
indiscriminately taken over much more from the thoroughly botched mindsets of the lowland inhabitants,
definitely more than it should be dear to him. The speechlessness which arose now in him stimulated
himself to even more indignantly alternate between nodding and shaking his head, so that words like
logology, logosophy, logophilia and logopedia wavered around in his mind wildly and woozily.
The talk of the children made sense, indeed, it made thousands and thousands of times more sense
than the talk of the so-called scholars, although the course of time made himself become one of them
and made him even imagine himself being considerably more independent than most of the scholars
who are always busy with questions like 'What can I know?', 'What should I do?', and 'What is man?'.
And just at that very moment, as these questions were wobbling through his head, another child asked:
"Well, great Zarathustra, what do you mean? Do not all the important questions in life have to do with
love – that is: what or whom we love, how we love, and for what we love? Is that not true?"
Thereupon Zarathustra nodded clearly, but equally clearly he felt how lonely he and his soul had become
in the loveless lowland, where the so-called reason established a merciless regiment for quite some time
in the name of the progress of mankind and at the expense of the wisdom of love.
Now he did not endure staying with the children any more, particularly since the meanwhile sharp sun-
light blinded him and it seemed as if the children had to do enough with their game and preferred to be
undisturbed. But far from it! When Zarathustra had risen slowly and first made preparations to leave,
one of the children spoke to him "Show us at least that you love us, before you leave us!" and stretched
its hand towards the great Zarathustra. At the same time a butterfly fluttered along, because it scented
Zarathustra's approaching tears. Unlike the children, however, Zarathustra had not the slightest idea
that tears are the very finest food for butterflies. As soon as he raised to expel the butterfly, one of the
children signified with a gentle "sh-sh-sh" and with a slightly raised hand not to refuse oneself towards
the winged jewel.
Finally, when Zarathustra kneeled down on the meadow in all silence to embrace and cuddle the children,
the butterfly enjoyed its delicious feast of love in the face of the Grand Master of the noble words.
Thus hushed Zarathustra.