The Great Lord and His Sons

There was once a great lord. His realm was peaceful and prosperous. He had five sons, and he gave thought to how they should be raised.

He had not been raised to rule himself, as he had elder brothers. They had all died before their father, so the rule had fallen to him. So it was in his mind to raise them all to know what it is good for lords to know. He saw that it would be best for his realm if any one of them could take up the rule of the realm, govern rightly and judge fairly.

Yet his aunt had married the lord of another realm, and had had many sons. They had all wished to take the place of the lord their father when he died, and so had schemed and plotted and killed, and in the end gone to war on one another. All had died, in assassination or in war, and the last at the hands of his people when he claimed rule over a land broken by war. The lord of that realm now was the the great lord's aunt's grandson, and the power in the hands of courtiers ruling in his name. So it was that the great lord saw that it would be best for his realm, and for his family, if none of his sons should greatly desire to succeed him.

The Wise Child

There was once a village. The village sat on a road, and there was much traffic through the village as people travelled along that road. This brought wealth, as travellers stayed at the inn, and sometimes a traveller would decide to stay in the village longer, setting up a home and establishing a livelihood. Most of the villagers came from families who had lived in the village for generations, or who had married in from nearby villages.

In one of these families, there was a child. The family, and the child, were walking through the village one summer's day, greeting other families as they passed them in the street or walked past their houses. They passed the house of the local minister, and exchanged pleasantries as they were working on their garden. They passed the cottage of the teacher in the village school as they were hanging laundry, and complimented them on their work. They passed an elderly couple who were taking a similar walk, and respectfully exchanged greeting. They stopped at a village shop, and bought bread and cheese and fruit for lunch, and stone bottles of various drinks, and packed them in a basket they had brought, with a brightly coloured cloth they used for picnics; and the parents bought their child a wooden toy, and they exchanged news and gossip with the shopkeeper.

Then they passed a dyer's house, with great tubs in the yard, and the family stirring the cloth to be dyed, and they said nothing. The child asked, “why do we not greet them, as we go about our business and they go about theirs, and compliment them on the vivid colours and patterns they make on cloth?” The father replied, “that family came here from far away, and they are not like us; they do not worship as we do, and we cannot trust them.”

The child thought for a moment, and took out the cloth from the picnic basket. “Did they not dye this cloth, that we bought and use on days such as these? Do they not drink the same water we do, and also use it in their work?” The parents could not think how to respond, so the child took the cloth and turned to the dyer's family, held it up and said, “see this cloth you dyed; we will be using it today when we have our lunch, and it is wonderful to be able to picnic on such bright, happy cloth. I am glad that we could get such pretty cloth.” The dyer's family smiled, and thanked the child for their praise.

The Marvellous Fudge

Three friends, who loved to cook, were experimenting one day. They found themselves making a most marvellous fudge, the likes of which they had never tasted. Worried it was a fluke, they tried to repeat the recipe, and found they could reproduce it without great difficulty. Indeed, each attempt became easier, and produced gradually better results.

At once, the friends knew they had found something special, and wished to share it. They disagreed on how to do so, however.

The first friend approached everyone they knew, telling them how wonderful the fudge was. They spoke with such enthusiasm, however, and offered the fudge with such insistence, that people thought they were deranged, and very few accepted the fudge.

The second friend committed themselves to make all the fudge they could, and gave it away without comment. People accepted free fudge offered casually, and marvelled at it, but could appreciate it only occasionally when they came across it, as they could not reproduce it.

The third carefully wrote down the recipe, with detailed instructions. They experimented further, and made notes on what difference was found in the fudge with variations in the recipe. They made more fudge, of course, and offered it to people – but when people expressed appreciation for it, they offered them their recipe, and their notes. They even offered to help people when they tried the recipe for themselves.

And some of these people did try to make it, with help or on their own. And many succeeded. Some of those that succeeded shared the fudge in the manner of the first friend, and some in the manner of the second friend, and some in the manner of the third friend.

Written May 2016

The Test of the Cup

A young man sought to join a spiritual community.

He arrived one afternoon at the great house which held the community, and was met at the gate by one of the members. The young man told her of his spiritual journey, of his studies of the teachings of great sages and prophets, of how he was called to a spiritual life with this community.

“You can only reach our house through this garden,” said the woman, leading him through an iron gate. They entered a walled garden, with paths and trees and shrubs and benches and green lawns.

They walked through the garden, passing a gentle fountain in a wire cage, and a pond filled with fish and plants. She showed him a small cabin, saying, “you may stay here until you leave the garden. Inside you will find a bed, and food, and drink, and books to entertain you, and paper to write down your thoughts. Anything you write, you may take with you when you leave, if you wish. But beside that, remove nothing from the cabin.”

She then led him back through the garden, to a stone pedestal in its centre. On top of the pedestal was a simple wooden cup. “To leave the garden and join the house, you must bring to the inner gate this cup, filled with fresh, clean water,” she told him. “You may not take the cup into the cabin. If you wish to leave by the outer gate, you may do so at any time, but will never be able to enter the garden again. You are welcome to stay as long as you wish.”

With that, she left, and the young man sat down on a bench near the pedestal, to think about how he would fill the cup. He considered, and walked again through the garden.

What You Will

Long ago, just as now, there was something. Something that drove people to be better, to learn, to understand, to act morally, to be compassionate, and much more beside.

To some it gave inspiration, and they built and invented and wrote and sang, and it was called Genius.

Some it drove to help others, to bring aid to the suffering, to protect and encourage, and it was called Love.

To some it opened the mysteries of nature, and they learned why the leaves are green and the sky is blue, and it was called Insight.

To some it spoke as if with words, advising on the right way to live, and it was called God.

And others called it by other names, and felt it in other ways besides.