Three figures sit around a quiet fire in the misty ruins of a forgotten monastery. Two speak like mystics. The third, a clear-eyed logician, joins them.
First Mystic (Quote #1):
"Only when the clock forgets time can the silence finally speak."
He gazes into the fire, as if time itself might unspool in the smoke.
Second Mystic (Counter-Quote):
"It is not silence that speaks, but the echo of time remembering itself."
His voice is soft, yet certain — like a feather slicing the sky.
The Logician:
"You're both saying nothing. Clocks don't forget, and silence doesn't speak. You're stringing metaphors together without meaning. It sounds profound, but it's empty. Language isn't wisdom just because it floats."
The two mystics pause — not surprised, not offended.
First Mystic (smiling):
"Truth measured is truth silenced. To define the flame is to miss the warmth."
Second Mystic (nodding slowly):
"Logic walks in straight lines. But the sky is round, and the stars don't march."
The Logician (rubbing his temples):
"That doesn't even— you know what? Never mind."
The fire crackles. A breeze passes through. The mystics close their eyes, serene in their circular nonsense.
Time passes — uncounted, unmeasured — wrapped in flame and mist.
The Logician (taking a deep breath):
"Perhaps there is something in the warmth of the flame you speak of... Even if the words evade strict definition, maybe there's a feeling beneath them that logic can't grasp?"
He pauses, staring into the flickering fire. The dancing shadows seem to pull at his thoughts.
First Mystic (softly):
"When logic's compass falters, the heart's needle finds its true north. To measure meaning is to miss the forest for the trees."
Second Mystic (smiling knowingly):
"And the stars themselves do not explain their light — they simply shine, inviting you to behold the mystery."
The Logician (eyes narrowing in wonder):
"Could it be that meaning is not a thing to grasp but a space to enter? A silence that speaks, an echo that remembers?"
His voice trails, caught between doubt and revelation.
First Mystic (nodding):
"You have touched the edge of the unknowable. Words falter there, but the soul whispers."
The Logician (slowly sinking back):
"Yes... yes. I feel it now. The unspoken truth beyond logic..."
A long pause. The fire crackles louder.
(Moments later, the logician's eyes flicker with a dawning awareness — not of truth, but of absence.)
The Logician (quietly, to himself):
"But wait... What is this truth? When I try to hold it, there's nothing but shadows and empty echoes. Have I... been convinced by words that mean nothing at all?"
He looks up, face a mixture of amusement and exasperation.
First Mystic (chuckling softly):
"Sometimes the journey through emptiness is the most profound path of all."
Second Mystic (grinning):
"And to find nothing is to find everything — or so the tale goes."
The logician laughs, shaking his head in resignation and delight.