A great bear came out of his winter cave to see the sun rising pink over the still snow-patched fields and meadows.  The bare trees were dark against that brilliant light.  The bear was overwhelmed and had what he felt was a vision of true insight.  “Beauty is good,” he said to himself.

He painstakingly set to etch patterns in each claw using his other claws and gentle patient nibbles with his great jaw.  It took a long time.  The changes were subtle.  But when he was done he was an ordinary bear in all other respects, but each claw was truly beautiful.

In his rejoicing, he lifted a great log and tossed it, and felt the joy and glory of his strength.  “Strength is good,” he said to himself, and then improved his strength in the ways that even bears can do.  When he felt himself to be truly strong, even for a great bear, and with his claws truly beautiful, he went forth slashing and destroying.  He knocked down and ripped and tore and left broken trees and dying animals and dead men and women in his wake and horrible death and corruption.  In that way he became the first ogre and the grandfather of all that kind.

Moral:  Beware isolated beauty.  Beware isolated truth.

In a certain country there was a city that had a crown without a king and a throne without a monarch.  Elders ruled the place until a king should come.  The people were not just waiting, no.  Because in fact there was a test.  From time to time the elders would approach a likely candidate and test him to see if he was the new king.  The details of the test were not generally known, but the people did know the test was administered from time to time, though so far no candidate had been successful.  It was not known exactly what criteria the elders used.  They seemed to pay particular attention to the gleaming athletes in the gymnasia, but there were other ways too.  Again, the details were not generally known.

There was a man in that place who one day wondered why the king should not be him?  He was already fit but now he dedicated himself to athleticism and beauty.    He was frequently seen in the gymnasium, gleaming with olive oil, wrestling in the nude or hurling a discus or running.  He grew stronger and swifter and more handsome.  The people began to glory in him and as he did he felt the taste of kingship coming stronger over him.  But still no call from the elders came, so one day he went to them. (more…)

An ape scraped together some education and a chalkboard.  RULES, he wrote on it.

RULE NUMBER ONE: SHARE YOUR FOOD

He called the animals together and showed them the rule.  The lion had his doubts, but the ape reminded him that even kings were beneath the law.  By way of teaching the rule by example, the ape helped himself to generous samples of every animal’s food.

Later the ape gathered some tender shoots and was munching on them.  A number of animals who liked that sort of food gathered round for their share.  But “ah,” said the pe, and led them back to the chalkboard clearing.  There, written clearly under Rule Number One, was the following:

EXCEPTION ONE: Unless the Food is a Luxury.

Sharing is for necessities, the Ape explained.  Tender shoots are a delicacy, not a necessity.

The monkey objected, “you ate  most of my banana.   That wasn’t a necessity.”

“Oh, they are for apes,” the ape replied.  “But in any case . . .”  He turned to the chalkboard and wrote a new exception.

EXCEPTION TWO:  Unless the Food Requires Effort to Prepare.

“I had to dig for these tender shoots,” the ape explained.

“And I had to climb the tree for the bananas and you made me peel it for you!” was the monkey’s hot reply.

“I feel sorry for you, friend,” the ape said.  “But Exception Two didn’t exist back then.”

Moral:  the rules created by rule manipulators aren’t real rules.  The explanations they make aren’t real explanations.

Every day the flock trekked down all the way to the  river for a drink.  They went the same way every time; it was the closest point in the river, and the path had been trodden smooth.

One day, when they set of, an alert member of the flock said she saw some flickers of movement away off at their destination along the river.  The ram halted the flock for awhile and sniffed the air.  “Wolves, perhaps,” he said, and headed off the path into the rough country alongside the path to cross to a different point on the river.

At that, however, another member of the flock who was already showing signs of distress became even more agitated.

“You are breaking the norm!” she bleated.

Moral: We sometimes try to allay our fears with tried and trusted normalcy, when it is our normal course that has made us vulnerable to danger.

I dreamed Miss Swan went gliding along the sparkling water, white and sinuous and effortless, and as she came by Mr. Stork she gave a demure and graceful bob of her head.

Mr. Stork, he bowed.  His stilt legs pushed back and his stilt body pushed forward.

And just like from her, from him I had an impression of great beauty.  In his own way.  It was not curved and elegant.  It was angular.  But it was a real bow with real grace–his body lent itself to the essence of bowing–and it was distinctly like a stork.

Moral: achieve the glory that is yours.

G. once told us the rest of the story for the Emperor’s New Clothes.  It’s good.  I went back and it predicts Black Lives Matter.

I want to talk about the back story.

Swindlers come in, talk up their new clothes, tell lies about how only good people can see the cloth, and then social pressure and lies do the rest.  Everyone pretends to see it and half-believes that everyone else has.

You can believe that in a story.  It wouldn’t happen that way in real life.

Unless the court were already used to lies and  manufacturing opinions and fashion and trying hard not to be caught out with the wrong set of beliefs.  (more…)

The old mansion on the edge of the woods rambled on and on.  Room after room after room.  Passage after passage.

It was said to be haunted.

It was said to lead to treasures if you went in far enough.

It was said that deep in, it led to other times and other places.

One boy went exploring far in and came to a peculiar double door.  The door was ornate and carved round about.  It led to what looked to be a large dark hall.  Not a passageway.  A hall in the old manorial sense.  But it was hard to see because the room was nearly pitch black.  There may have been, the boy was almost certain he saw, a gleam far off.  Some intuition told him that through the hall was the way to marvels.

But it was nearly pitch black and as he progressed a little way he discovered it was full of obstacles.  Things  lying on the ground, furniture, whatever it was, he kept tripping and falling.  Worse, he didn’t know where the other side was.  But Determination.  Grit.  Willpower.  He pressed on.  When he fell too  many times, he groped his way back to the opening doors–thankfully he’d left them open–and fell again and tried again.  Over and over, because Never Give Up.  He might still be there today, except along came another boy.  That boy had brought a light.

Comment: This is a story about a lot of things, but one thing it is about is grace.  Or revelation, which is a form of grace.  Only the Light will get you through.

A man who read stacks of books needed a new bookshelf.  After some thought, he found the a space for the shelves on one end of a room.  They fit perfectly.  He put the shelves up and filled them with books.

But he had put them up in front of cupboards, which he could no longer get to.

Moral: Think about the problems you could be creating, not just the problem you are trying to solve.

A castle builder decided to get really analytical.

“Statistics show,” he said, “that 95% of the part of the castle defenders use in combat is the top 5 feet.  But the lower parts of the castle are the great majority of the time and the expense of building.”

He mused.

“Think of how much more effective I can build if I skip straight to the only useful part instead of being blinkered by hidebound traditionalism.  I will call it The Castle in the Air ™!”

Moral: Numbers are no substitute for wisdom.

A boy was set to watch a flock. After awhile he saw a peculiar thing come creeping over the hill toward the flock.

It had a sheep’s skin and wool, slightly askew. But it walked strangely low the ground. There were glimpses of what seemed to be darker fur down below. It seemed to have sharp teeth. And its eyes were set straight ahead like a predator.

It’s hide could appear tilted a bit because of a spine condition, the boy reflected. The same spine condition could cause a peculiar walk. The darker fun could just be mud. The teeth, well, the animal is far away, perhaps I am mistaken. And wouldn’t it be wonderful if some few animals in the flock had far-away binocular vision like a predator the better to see predators sneaking up? Finally, who am I to judge? I must be charitable.

So,

“Sheep!” the boy cried.

A crow with a malicious twinkle in its eye suggested to a goat kid that it come play in some sewage run-off.

“But that’s sewage,” the kid said.

“Look on the bright side,” replied the crow.

“Well . . . it’s organic, and mostly water. I’d be 80% bathing in a stream. This is fine!” And in the kid went.

Moral: The wise man looks on the bright side of circumstances he cannot help. The fool looks on the bright side of circumstances he can.

A troop of monkeys occupied a copse of trees one day where a path led down to a river.

A pride of lions used to take the path every day and were shocked when suddenly they found themselves under a rain of flung sticks, monkey poop, and rotten fruit.  Ducking, dodging, and growling, they  hustled off.

The monkeys loudly congratulated each other on their victory.  They then started to discuss the lions’ countermeasures.  Some said the lions would lie in wait at night and slowly try to pick off the monkeys.  Some said the  lions would sprint through in terror.  Others said they would just suffer the monkeys’ abuse.  The trees soon rang with the angry chatter of a hundred different arguments.

The next day, the lions came casually along the path as normal.  When they came close to the copse they cut away from the path and made a beeline for another point on the river, equally convenient.  Their new route kept them out of range of the trees.

Moral:  ???

Comment: This fable is meant as a companion to the fable of the Harassed Aurochs.  The lions were too strong and too indifferent for what they did to be considered a surrender.  It was masterful indifference. (more…)

A particular hunter took it into his head that if he could bell a few aurochs, the herd would be easy to find whenever he wanted.

The hunter persisted in his efforts for days. And mostly for nights. Night after nights the aurochs would find the hunter slowly creeping up on them with muffled bells and would have to flee or drive him off.

The nuisance wore on and on.

One bright morning an auroch cow made her way through the herd to the lead bull. She had a complacently bovine look on her face. Indeed, she looked smug.

“At least we can get some sleep,” she announced to the bull. “I have the answer.”

“Go on,” said the bull.

“By the hunter’s village there is a large pen. Let us go into that pen every night. The hunter will always know where to find us, so he will have no need to harass us with his sneaking and his bells.”

Moral: Surrenders are not solutions.

Then the voice spoke from the high mountain, commanding, “Build!”

And so they built. (more…)

The buffalo calf told his cow, “Mother, isn’t it kind of those wolves to always go with the herd, protecting us from our enemies?”  The buffalo cow upbraided him, “Son, they are looking for the old and the sick to kill and eat.  They are not protecting us.”  “Then they are the enemies,” he said and straightaway charged out to trample them, whereon he was slaughtered and devoured.

Moral: Know your enemies.