I'm tired.

So I'm going to bed. I may not write much tomorrow either.

Here's an old parable I'm moving from the comments section. A parable, about a twig...

Once upon a time there was a twig growing on a tree and it felt that it need not stick there as if it was just some stick. The wind blew by, the twig broke off and fell down and as it did it felt: "Freedom!" Yet it just hit the mud in the end and so it was a stick stuck in the mud. The stream rose, the twig floated away, when it did it felt: "See how I meander and bob, this way and that. Now I am choosing this but then, that!" as the rippling waters carried it along this way, then that. Finally the waters came to be still waters and deposited the twig on a bank where it happened to grow roots and so became a tree that felt a fullfilment it never could have chosen as a twig. The trees growing on the banks happened to see many a little twig float by that seemed to be feeling like twigs did: "See how I bob and twirl as I choose my way!"

The old trees knew that not every twig would be carried by the waters to rest on a bank. Instead some would wash out to sea, feeling that they were choosing their way the whole way, as that was the nature of twigs.

The End

[Related posts: Index I, Index II, Index III , To have a prayer..]