On Things Spiritual
Oct. 17th, 2022 10:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
doldoniusOnce upon a time, there lived a poor country boy, and his family couldn't make ends meet no matter how hard they tried.
'I guess it's time for me to leave for a big city, like all other poor country boys in our village did,' he said to his father.
'So be it,' the old man said, 'but first I want to teach you three important lessons. See that pit over there?'
The boy looked as directed, and saw a hole in the ground, and it was huge.
'I want you to fill it to the top with river mud, and make haste, you lazy bone!' his father ordered.
So the boy made a wicker basket, and spent the rest of the day running down to the river and crawling back with the basket full of heavy mud.
By the end of the day, the hole in the ground was full of mud, and the boy dirty, exhausted, and hungry.
He asked his father for food, but only got the usual small piece of bread.
'That,' his father said when he finished his bread, 'is the first lesson. No matter how hard you work in a big city, your job won't make sense, still leaving you dirty, tired, and hungry. Now go to bed and get ready for the second lesson.'
The boy's body ached all over, so he didn't get much sleep that night, and in the morning he felt even more tired than before. Still, he got up and went to his father for more instructions, as an obedient son he was.
'Now, my boy, get this thick stick and go to the well. Whenever anyone approaches the well, hit them with this very stick, and hit them hard.'
The boy didn't know what to think. Could his old father go crazy overnight? But then he remembered the yesterday's lesson that didn't make sense and then did, and went to the village's well. All too soon he came back without the stick and badly beaten.
'What happened?' asked his father casually.
'Everybody fought back,' said the boy sobbing, 'and then the village smith took my stick and hit me so hard the stick broke, so he took an even thicker stick and beat me up with that one!'
'That,' said the father, 'was the second lesson. No matter how strong you are, many people in a big city will be stronger, and somebody will surely have a bigger stick.'
That night, the boy didn't sleep at all, fearing the last lesson and guessing how painful it will be. Still, in the morning he struggled out of bed and came to his old father to receive the third lesson.
'I know that you're tired, and I know you hurt,' his father said, 'but I urge you to be fully awake and attentive, as this final lesson is the most important of all.'
With that, the old man grabbed a brush and began swaying it vigorously in the air. And so hard and long he swayed that the old brush finally broke, and pieces fell down onto the earth.
'Why did you do this, father?' the boy asked, as puzzled as never was he puzzled before. 'Why haven't you even asked me to do this for you?'
'Because,' his father grinned panting, 'this is a long, boring, nonsensical, yet vaguely mystical story full of silly attempts at parables that will keep city boneheads coming to your Spiritual Growth Seminars for ever and ever and ever!'
'I guess it's time for me to leave for a big city, like all other poor country boys in our village did,' he said to his father.
'So be it,' the old man said, 'but first I want to teach you three important lessons. See that pit over there?'
The boy looked as directed, and saw a hole in the ground, and it was huge.
'I want you to fill it to the top with river mud, and make haste, you lazy bone!' his father ordered.
So the boy made a wicker basket, and spent the rest of the day running down to the river and crawling back with the basket full of heavy mud.
By the end of the day, the hole in the ground was full of mud, and the boy dirty, exhausted, and hungry.
He asked his father for food, but only got the usual small piece of bread.
'That,' his father said when he finished his bread, 'is the first lesson. No matter how hard you work in a big city, your job won't make sense, still leaving you dirty, tired, and hungry. Now go to bed and get ready for the second lesson.'
The boy's body ached all over, so he didn't get much sleep that night, and in the morning he felt even more tired than before. Still, he got up and went to his father for more instructions, as an obedient son he was.
'Now, my boy, get this thick stick and go to the well. Whenever anyone approaches the well, hit them with this very stick, and hit them hard.'
The boy didn't know what to think. Could his old father go crazy overnight? But then he remembered the yesterday's lesson that didn't make sense and then did, and went to the village's well. All too soon he came back without the stick and badly beaten.
'What happened?' asked his father casually.
'Everybody fought back,' said the boy sobbing, 'and then the village smith took my stick and hit me so hard the stick broke, so he took an even thicker stick and beat me up with that one!'
'That,' said the father, 'was the second lesson. No matter how strong you are, many people in a big city will be stronger, and somebody will surely have a bigger stick.'
That night, the boy didn't sleep at all, fearing the last lesson and guessing how painful it will be. Still, in the morning he struggled out of bed and came to his old father to receive the third lesson.
'I know that you're tired, and I know you hurt,' his father said, 'but I urge you to be fully awake and attentive, as this final lesson is the most important of all.'
With that, the old man grabbed a brush and began swaying it vigorously in the air. And so hard and long he swayed that the old brush finally broke, and pieces fell down onto the earth.
'Why did you do this, father?' the boy asked, as puzzled as never was he puzzled before. 'Why haven't you even asked me to do this for you?'
'Because,' his father grinned panting, 'this is a long, boring, nonsensical, yet vaguely mystical story full of silly attempts at parables that will keep city boneheads coming to your Spiritual Growth Seminars for ever and ever and ever!'
