Kleio: You have come again. Why?
Interlocutor: I have become because I seek your grace, I seek your wisdom and your knowledge. I would humbly hope that I may see even but a fraction of all of humanity’s past you keep in your chest.
Kleio: So you have come to be tormented…by me. I am your mistress and you are my needy and passive worshiper. Worship then! Get down on your hands and knees and pray, beg, plead, weep like the dog you are. That you would think that I would give you a single truth, to think that you can even comprehend a fraction of the knowledge I carry. You are an arrogant and pathetic man. Weep, extol and be hurt, knowing that I will never give you the light!
Interlocutor: Why then did you seduce me? You have lured me into your cave with promises of knowledge understanding, and then cursed me like Cassandra – unintelligible – and only you can understand me, and yet I cannot understand you. I scrape, dig, plough and pierce. I weave, knot and tie, compare and review the shreds of history that we collect in our Houses and yet, not a single truth seems to have been borne out of this endeavor, not a single lesson to be garnered, and all warnings have gone unheeded. Like knowing the future, knowing the past gives insight into the future, yet it seems no one can hear, and no one will listen.
Kleio: Your plight moves me. And believe, I do not do it because I hate you, but because I love you. Your cause is too great for you, and you are too few to stand up to those who mislead using your knowledge, who lead more women, children and men to death, misery, starvation, disease… Your work seems to do more harm than good and you cannot be trusted to be a guardian of that knowledge, but merely an announcer.
Interlocutor: But have we not understood more about our past, our real time as human beings, have we not helped shed the shrouds of control and found some freedom from the knowledge of ourselves?
Kleio: What do you think?
Interlocutor: I think we are but children, born into a prison of our culture, society and history, and while some of us have maybe seen these bars, and possibly even seen the face of our geoliers, we do not know who runs the prison. Those who have left, have never come back. History is our emancipation, but emancipated people cannot return. So, we must remember prisoners, and our thinking as prisoners, and then think of how each prisoner is different in their prison. An escape plan will only be understood by those who are from a place that can understand it. But once we are gone, and free to live in the wild, naked and free in our minds we run so far and fast from our jail that we may not remember the way back.