The Death of Knowledge

I was born alongside humanity; I was the first teacher. I was nameless, a whisper, telling you to hunt I was nameless, a whisper, telling you to hunt, to consume, to move, to survive. You, humanity, begged me for more and I obliged. I was Prometheus, teaching the secrets of fire. You named me Confucius when I gave you morality, integrity and the Six Arts. Then I was Socrates, teacher of Western philosophy and professor to Plato. I sat in the blistering Indian sun as Adi Shankara and discussed Advaita with you. I was Isaac Newton, Emma Hart Willard, William McGuffey, and Maria Montessori. I have brushed against the minds of all the greats and instilled in them a part of me. I am Knowledge and I am dying.

My mind is slowly collapsing under the weight of all I know. If I die, all I am dies with me. I must pass my burden onto another, though I fear there is no one capable of enduring it. Most lose their sanity if they attempt to learn all I know. Others are blind to my presence in their refusal to accept truth. Only a select few are able to receive even a portion of my gifts. An heir seems impossible, or so I thought.

I have found a child heir, Louise. I was attending the Fifth Solvay Conference in Brussels as a man by the name of Albert Einstein when I came across her whilst walking back to my hotel. She sat alone on a park bench, a small thing who would resemble a flea in the land of Brobdingnagian, repeatedly brushing her long blonde hair behind her ears and straightening her white cotton dress as she gazed down the street.

"Are you lost, my dear? Where are your parents?" I asked the small child.

The moment her crystalline eyes met mine I knew she was the one I was looking for. Her consciousness was not contained within her mind. It flowed like wind and water through the open space, brushing against the minds of others, yet never harming their vulnerable thoughts and emotions. Some may have felt the urge to buy a sundae or perhaps they would find a butterfly more interesting than they usual, but these were just the signs of an innocent, untrained mind. I knew in that moment that she would receive all my gifts without hesitation or discomfort and treasure that knowledge throughout all her lifetimes.

"My mama is in that store over there," she said, pointing across the street, "but I like to watch the people walk by." Her nose crinkled as she stared at me in confusion. "I think I had a dream about you."

"Oh? Do you remember it?" As I asked this I slipped into her welcoming mind and prodded forth the struggling memory. The lines in her face instantly relaxed and she nodded.

"Yes sir, may I ask what your name is?"

"My dear, that is not such a simple question," I laughed at the confusion on her face, "for you see, I have many names."

Her confusion visibly increased and she asked, "How can someone have more than one name?"

"When you have lived as long as I, anything is possible." I winked.

"So what may I call you?" she repeated.

"Albert, my dear."

"Oh..." her face voiced her disappointment, "For some odd reason, I thought your name was Prometheus, or maybe it was Plato. Strange names, don't you agree?"

I looked at young Louise with a renewed surprise; none have been this aware of me before. She was indeed something special. "Strange, perhaps, but stranger that you should know these names."

The girl only looked more confused, "I do not know where I have heard them but I am positive I have. Do you know who these people are?"

"Yes indeed my dear, very well." My mind once again brushed against hers. She inhaled the knowledge I passed to her as if it were life-giving oxygen, as if the burden did not weigh a thousand worlds.

Her eyes widened in shock, "So it is you! I do not understand." She did look helplessly lost.

"May I explain?" After her nod of permission, I sank into her consciousness. I felt myself falling faster and faster, and then I was weightless. I showed her the story of my existence and I told her of my burden. I felt her heart contract when I told her of my pending demise. I fought the urge to sink deeper, too worried I would damage her mind, but she pulled at me. Century by century, she took on my burden.

Only when I gave her everything did I resurface. In front of me no longer stood a fragile child, but a wizened old soul trapped in a physically young body. Her eyes were no longer a clear blue but a hazy haunted gray. She held herself in a different manner. Her chin was raised in pride and her uncertain ticks and nervous mannerisms were gone, but she still had her smile. That smile capable of blinding the stars. She was not broken. She was wonderfully, completely whole.

No more words were exchanged between us; they were no longer needed. She returned to staring down the street and I walked away towards my hotel. I turned back to look at my heir just once. She was gazing up at the sky in wonder, smiling gently as a butterfly floated past.