The Wizard – The Tale of the Child Within… by Fokion Triantafyllidis

The Wizard – The Tale of the Child Within
by Fokion Triantafyllidis
at Radio Highway Pirates

Once upon a night, when the moon was high and the forest lay quiet beneath a blanket of silver, the little night owl flew once more to the veranda of the old and wise wizard.
There he sat, as he always did, in his wooden rocking chair, listening to the whispers of the trees and the songs of the distant stars.
The little owl landed beside him and, as was her habit, spoke without delay:
“Wise man, tell me about age.”
The old wizard smiled, for he was always delighted whenever his little student came to him with a question.
“Ah, my little night owl,”
he said,
“people often give too much power to age. They believe that the older one becomes, the wiser one must be.
But look at me.
My hair is white as the snow upon the highest mountains, and yet I still know so little about the great mystery called life.”
The wizard gently stroked his beard.
“Have you ever noticed, little one, that when people speak of the great souls of old, they always imagine them at the end of their journey?
They see them as ancient men with long beards and tired eyes.
They think of Abraham, Moses, Paul, and kings from forgotten kingdoms – all standing at the end of their days.
But were they never young?
Did they never laugh, dream, wonder, and run beneath the open sky?”
The owl listened carefully.
“Many of the greatest creations of the world,”
continued the wizard,
“were born from young hearts and restless minds.
So believe me when I tell you this:
The child is the purest form of life.
The young dream of tomorrow, and the old often wander among yesterday’s memories.
But the child…”
The wizard looked up at the stars.
“The child lives only in the moment.”
The wind became still, as if it too wished to hear.
“A child does not carry the heavy stones of the past, nor does it fear the shadows of the future. It simply sees the world as it is…full of wonder.
And that is the gift from which we draw strength throughout our whole lives.
For inside every old body, a child is still breathing.
This child smiles at you from behind every wrinkled face and every silver head.”
The little owl tilted her head.
“So where should one look to understand life?”
she asked.
The wizard answered:
“Not only to the old and the wise. Look to the young. Look to the children.
For the child carries something that many grown souls have forgotten.
The closer you remain to the child within you, the closer you come to the secrets of creation.”
Then the wizard became silent for a moment.
“Have you ever wondered, little owl, what is so strange and wonderful about the story of Christianity?”
The owl blinked.
“There are many faiths in the world, and many carry beautiful teachings. But there is one mystery that shines like no other.
The story of Bethlehem.”
The wizard looked toward the stars.
“For in that tale, God did not appear as an old king upon a throne.
God came as a child.”
The little night owl opened her eyes wide.
“Think of it,”
said the wizard.
“All the old priests, the wise teachers, the prophets, and the mighty rulers – all their wisdom and all their years – and yet they bow before a child.
Why?”
He smiled gently.
“Because the greatest mystery is this:
God is a child.”
For a long while, the little night owl sat in silence.
She was so amazed that she forgot to ask another question.
She even forgot to thank the old wizard.
And when she finally found her voice again, the night had grown deep and the stars were shining brighter.
The little owl spread her wings and disappeared into the darkness, carrying the wizard’s words within her heart.
And it is said that from that night onward, whenever she saw an old face beneath the moonlight, she looked carefully, for she knew that somewhere behind those eyes, a child was still awake.