Words are not wisdom. They are the wind.

They carry memories in smells and sounds,

That appear like welts on paper.

Words are the wind:

Set sail and they will carry you,

Go against them and they weigh you down.

Words are the wind. Whispers. Not wisdom.

If you visit the temple of the Oracle of Delphi, you will find carved on the entrance: gnōthi seautón. Perhaps the wind had whispered these words as it hummed through the carved scratches in the wall. Right into the unaware ears of the visitors who walked into the temple. Perhaps it wasn’t even the Oracle who had carefully crafted these words on the walls. Maybe it was some scoundrel graffitist. Some young floater in a toga skipping Pythagoras’ very first geometry lesson.

Perhaps we don’t need to look too far for contradictory advice.