Tiresias

I have been haunted by the Indigo Girls lyrics about a dancer who has no legs, a writer who has no voice, and somewhere in that litany of beautiful contradictions I found Tiresias waiting. The blind prophet who saw everything. The man who became a woman and back again, and understood both. The person cursed with truth in a world that prefers comfortable lies. I did not so much write this story as recognize it. Some figures from mythology refuse to stay in the past because they were never really about the past to begin with.

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They say the eyes are the window to the soul, and mine are clouded; the ordinary world obscured by the veil of immortal influence. Instead of depth and detail, I see nothing but light and shadow—shapeless forms merging in an unfamiliar dance.

For many years, I relied on ordinary sight, seeing the world as others did. I recall the faces of my childhood: my shepherd father and my mother, the gentlest of nymphs. Had I known I would lose my sight, I might have treasured each smile and watched every sunset. Yet humans are always blind to invisible threads of destiny.

In the flush of youthful manhood, I was convinced that dominion over all was my right. I defied nature by ruthlessly striking at two hissing serpents. For my arrogance, the goddess remade me, compelling me into her service as a priestess. Observing the world through feminine eyes, I learned the true measure of compassion and kindness.

When next I encountered a pair of writhing asps, I knew to embrace the silent wisdom of restraint. For my transcendence, I was restored to my male form, though blinded to all but the influence of unseen hands. Cursed with one lifetime for each of the seven years I spent at her side, my eyes now reveal only the twisted fates of faces I can barely fathom.

The sighted doubt that there is more to the world than meets their eyes; they prefer to trust a lover’s gaze over the certainty of prophetic betrayal. I was once as they are, assured my eyes saw the whole of reality. Consumed by visions, I remain shackled to the inescapable course of providence, condemned to bear my eternal regret. Amid the skepticism of kings, I continue to proclaim truths that only destiny can confirm.