The Death and Rebirth of Wisdom
Wingwises are tiny owl-like creatures who make their nests in a heavily guarded forest of the psyche, surrounded by a fence of cactus spikes and thorns. They are made up of equal parts wing, mask, and idea. The problem with this kind of genetic structure is that even the best ideas have a way of falling apart, especially as they grow bigger and more complicated.
Of course, no one expects the ideas that these little birds fly around whispering into people's ears to ever disintegrate. Thoughts, words, language systems, cultures, religions, and constitutions all hold up a lot longer than people do, so it can seem like they will last forever. And besides, people sometimes live their whole lives to uphold an idea, so that idea had better be made up of sturdy stuff--otherwise what's the point?
Needless to say, it can come as a pretty big shock to people when some ideas (and the wingwises that carry them) just don't fly anymore, and, of course, it's a sad business on the wingwises' end too. But there are always new generations of wingwises being born, and they are always arranging the old disintegrating ideas of their elders in new, better adapted ways.
So this story isn't meant to be a complete downer, because the point is that the death of an idea isn't an end. It's just a transition. New wisdoms will rise from the ashes of the old wisdoms. That's what these tiny idea birds are telling me, anyway.
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