Welcoming the THREE WISE MEN

 


Welcoming the Three Wise Men

I brought them home today—
three quiet elders painted in flame and dust,
their eyes carrying whole pilgrimages
in a single, unblinking gaze.

It felt less like choosing art
and more like recognising old companions—
as though the soul, in its private language,
had whispered, These are yours.

Each face, weathered by wandering,
held a different lesson:
one, the warmth of a road well-walked.
one, the fierce clarity of truth.
one, the soft power of stillness
that does not need to speak to be heard.

And as they settled into their place on the wall,
the room changed—
not brighter, not louder,
but deeper,
as if a temple had quietly unfolded
in the ordinary corners of a home.

Perhaps this is what we truly seek—
not the object, but the echo;
not the painting, but the mirror;
not the holy men,
but the highest ideals we hope
are still alive within us.

Tonight, the three of them watch over us—
not as gods, not as relics,
but as reminders:
that wisdom walks in many forms,
and we invite into our homes
only what already belongs
to the inner life we are trying to build.

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