Parable Of The Drowning Man

New Orleans, 2005, Katrina
A man stands on his roof
as the flood waters rise

a woman in a canoe paddles up

says to the man

"get in, the water is rising fast"

the man says

"no, God will save me"

she paddles on

a short time later a boy

in a 4-stroke motorboat comes along

"mister" he says "you gotta get in here"

the man says 

"no, God will save me"

the boy leaves

the water rises

it covers the mans feet

he hears the pulsing of a helicopter

a coast guard search and rescue team

shouts down

"HEADS UP, WE'RE THROWING DOWN A LADDER"

the man says

"NO, GOD WILL SAVE ME"

and after some argument

the helicopter flies off

to the next rescue

and the waters rise

and the pious man

is washed away

in the tumult

and the churn

In Heaven

the man stands before God

the man says

"God, I strived to live a devout life.

My faith in you never waivered.

Why did you forsake me in my hour of need?"

and God says

"I sent you two boats and a helicopter.

What did you want?

A gilded invitation!?"

A Parable About Balance

There once was a woman who lived on the Line.
On her left,
A lake of lava and fire spit.
On her right,
Miles and miles of glacier ice.
But on the Line the woman lived.
A fertile stretch where she survived.
Never venturing far into the heat
Nor becoming friendly with the freeze.
She lived on the Line.
Between the hot and the cold.
But the Line was narrow and confined.
She was sometimes bored, felt pressurized.
But if she strayed too far away
Her flesh would either singe or numb and gray.
So, she lived on the Line.
And learned to find contentment
With simple living
On her slim strip of land.
Between the fierce flames
And the futile frost.

A Parable About Obligation

There once was a woman who lived in the village of the singers.
They sang in the sun.
They sang out the day.
They sang in births.
They sang out deaths.
It was a happy village, productive and joyous.
The woman was one of the most beautiful singers in the village.
She was respected and a vibrant member of the community.
One day word came from the neighboring village of the silent.
The woman's parents had died.
The woman made the journey to the village where she was born to pay her respects.
As was custom the woman held vigil,
for three days and three nights in her parents house,
surrounded by her parents friends,
she sat in stuffy silence,
and all around her was but dour grief.
Her throat ached to sing.
But that was not the way in the village of the silent.
The three days and three nights passed.
Her parents mourned in accordance with tradition.
The woman left and returned to the village of the singers having done her duty.
She swore never to return.

A Parable About Rejection

There once was a boy who lived in a village.
The boy's mother and father were tailors and owned a shop.
The shop was very successful and the boy's mother and father were very busy.
They wanted the boy to be a tailor also.
But the boy did not want to be a tailor.
Sewing and pleating and hemming and cutting.
It all bored him.
It was all he knew.
What the boy really wanted to do was be a smithy.
Work metal over a hot forge.
Heat and shape ore dug out of Mother Earth.
Each year the local blacksmith took on an apprentice.
This year the boy begged his parents to put his name in for consideration.
Loving him, they did so.
The time came for all the prospective apprentices to show their potential.
Each boy and girl that wanted to be a blacksmith took turns on the bellows.
Took turns with the tongs.
Took turns with the hammer and the anvil.
All the boys and girls went home and awaited the blacksmith's decision.
The boy was not chosen.

Time passed.
The boy worked in his parents shop mending and patching.
Patching and mending.
Unfulfilled and disconsolate.
One day his mother looked up from her work and spoke to her son.
"I always wanted to be a tailor.
As did your father.
To make fine serviceable clothing
that kept people warm and happy.
Doors were not always open to us.
We went through many struggles
to acquire this shop of ours.
For every disappointment
there is opportunity.
You are only defeated
when you stop seeking."
His mother returned to her work.
Inside the boy seeds of new dreams split
and began to grow.

A Parable About Addiction

There once was a boy who had a pet rat.
He'd play with it after school and on the weekends.
Sometimes the boy would take his rat with him to the movies hiding in his hood.
Other times the rat would come with him when he rode bikes with his friends.
Once the boy tried to take the rat to school with him.
His English teacher spotted the rat in his pocket and sent him home.
The boy and the rat were friends.
They had fun together.
Time passed.
The boy and the rat became increasingly inseparable.
Over time the boy spent more and more time shut up in his room playing with the rat.
They made mazes out of toilet paper rolls and shredded kleenx for hours.
Sometimes the boy would stay up all night with the rat watching TV.
He stopped doing his homework.
He stopped hanging out with his friends.
He stopped going to school.
One day the boy locked his bedroom door and refused to come out.
After the first day the rat was very hungry.
The boy, loving the rat, offered his flesh for the rat to nibble.
Days passed and the rat ate little chunks out of the boy.
The rat got bigger.
The boy got smaller.
Eventually the rat ate the boy all up.
The rat, now large and bloated, slunk out of the house looking for another boy to be his friend.

A Parable About Contentment

There once was a woman who lived alone in a one bedroom apartment.
She had a job that she liked.
Enough money to pay her bills, save some, and spend some.
She had friends that she would do things with but no best friend.
She went to a gym that she liked and where she felt included and challenged.
Occasionally she would volunteer with various non-profit organizations.
She liked reading, good TV, and  nice restaurants.
She had a bulldog named Bosco who she loved.
She enjoyed her life.
Sometimes her family would pressure her to start a family of her own.
Sometimes her friends would inadvertently do the same.
And perhaps that's something she might like.
But perhaps not.
She kept on doing the things she enjoyed.
She was fulfilled.

There are no requirements for a happy life.
No checklist for contentment.
No formula for success.

We all walk our own path.
All paths lead to the mountaintop.

A Parable About Patience

There once was a man who worked for a large corporation.
The corporation was very powerful.
The man had worked there for a long time.
He was a good man.
He had ascended to a high position through hard work and a kind heart.
Although the company was not evil it was not good.
It had the potential to be good and the man did good wherever he could.
His boss was a bad man.
Corrupt, greedy, and cruel.
The boss would sabotage the man's work.
Force him to stay long hours.
Work on complicated projects with no chance of success.
The boss would berate the man at every opportunity.
Ridicule him, belittle him, revile him.
But the man persevered.
He did not let the aggression or loathing of his boss affect him.
He did not take it personally.
He did good work and made a difference.
Time passed.
One day the boss had a stroke and died.
The man became the new boss.
The corporation did great things.

A Parable About Relaxation

There once was a young man who lived in the town.
But who loved the woods.
He worked in a counting house.
At a small wooden desk.
Amidst many other small wooden desks.
He inscribed ledgers all day long.
He balanced books and kept accounts.
He did not like his work or dislike his work.
He felt a reserved apathy for what he did.
Cloistered as he was in the church of numbers.
He felt the humdrum was his destiny.
He could remember a time when he had ambition.
He could remember a time when he had dreams.
But that time seemed far away.
Separated by days and days of record keeping.
He was shackled by routine.
Restricted by the comfort of gainful employment.
One day his grandfather passed away after a long illness.
It was sad.
But not so sad for his grandfather had lead a long and colorful life.
His grandfather left the young man a cottage in the woods and a year's wage.
The young man quit his job in the counting house.
And went to live in his cottage in the woods.
He spent a year there.
Some days he would simply wander.
Soaking in the quiet of the woods as the leaves gently rubbed together ushered by the wind.
Other days he wood make a fire.
And cook stew from carrots, wild mushrooms, and rabbits he had snared.
Others he would find a lonely pond and sit silently all afternoon keeping it company.
He rarely saw anyone.
He rarely missed a soul.
The cool and calm of the woods gradually purged his bone-deep fatigue.
The young man felt ambition and desire kindle anew within him.
After a year the young man returned to the town.
And he saw it with fresh and lively eyes.
No longer did he see the intersecting streets as criss-crossed ropes in an inevitable net.
No longer did he see mundaneness and foreboding.
Upon his return he saw only opportunity.
And the possibility of triumph.

A Parable About Childhood

The boy ran weeping into the forest.
Fleeing the oppression of his parents.
Tears blurred his eyes.
Rage clouded his mind.
After a time the boy became tired.
He found that he was lost.
He drifted.
Out of the shadows stepped a tall old man.
The old man wore a long dark cloak and a broad brimmed hat.
And had one cold eye.
The Wanderer.
"You know me."
The boy nodded.
"Come."
But the boy could not. He was afraid.
After a pause the old man held out his hand.
For although he was rarely kind he was very wise.
The boy grasped the long, cool, strong fingers and they walked together.
The old man lead the boy to a dark and deep pool.
"Look."
In the pool the boy saw a vision.
He saw himself as a young man
Then a turtle, old and kind, with the land nestled on its back.
He saw himself as a man not old or young.
Then, at the murky bottom of the sea, an enormous serpent with its tail between its jaws.
He saw himself as an old man.
Then a fearsome wolf, crazed and wild, chasing after the moon.
He saw triumph and failure. Heartbreak and joy.
The old man dipped a cup into the pool and the vision disappeared.
"Drink."
The boy drank. The vision faded from his memory.
The old man refilled his cup and drank as well.
"You are small and the forest large."
The boy nodded. He knew it to be true.
"But each leaf brings life to the world tree."
And the Wanderer was gone.
The boy, no longer lost, returned home.
For a time contented.

A Parable About Connection

Long ago men were shapeshifters.
They could change from bear to wolf to hawk back to man.
They could hunt the plains and ride the winds with their animal brethren.
But there was danger.
The longer a man stayed in the form of an animal, the more of himself he lost.
If he wore the shape of an animal for too long, that is what he became.

There once was a boy who liked taking the form of a bear.
He had few friends.
His parents were often away.
He felt most comfortable in the company of animals.
Or alone.
He would spend long afternoons napping in caves.
Long evenings pacing the quiet forest floor.
Long mornings patiently fishing the river with his large paws.
One winter he got tired of the village and its people.
He took his bear form and hibernated with his bear friends.
Safe and warm in their den.
When spring came the bears awoke and they were hungry.
They knew he was a boy, they smelled it, and tried to eat him.
He fled.
He roamed the forest hungry and disoriented.
Eventually he came to a bush sprouting unripe berries.
He began to eat, the bitterness outdistanced by his hunger.
Suddenly there was yelling and the barking of dogs.
He was surrounded by hunters from his village brandishing spears.
Slowly and painfully he shed his bear skin exposing the boy he was.
The hunters returned him to the village where his parents were glad to see him.
Time passed and the boy became a man.
He made friends and started a family.
But inside the bear always lingered.
And he never truly felt a part of the village.

A Parable About Isolation

There once was a boy alone on New Years Eve.
He had many friends.
And places to go.
But no gilded invitation.
So, stubborn and forlorn.
The boy sat in his room.
Alone.
And sulked.
Wishing his friends had made more of an effort to include him.
To cater to him.
Pamper him.
Faun on him and make him feel special.
In his room he resented and stewed.
Quite lonely and sad he waited for something outside to prompt him to leave.
Even though he very much wanted to leave.
He did not know that sometimes, included or excluded.
Invitation or ignorance.
You must make the first step out into the world.
To see the smiling faces of friends.
To feel the wind on your cheek.
To hear the whisper of spring turning into summer.
Life cannot seek you out.
If you have shut out the world.

Boys Become Men

Once, when I was a young I played by a creek. I was with my friend Todd who, as I look back, was not much of a friend. There were many ducks and ducklings playing along side us, enjoying the sunshine and the water. Todd picked up a stone and threw it at a duck. He missed and threw more stones. Seeing him I threw stones as well. We missed all our throws. I did not want to hit a duck or hurt a duck. I did it because Todd was doing it and he was the type of friend who would call me wuss or weak or scared or dumb and tell me to go home if I did not do what he wanted me to do. There was also, I am ashamed to admit, a perverse pleasure I found in throwing stones at ducks, the anticipation of one of them being hurt or killed and I would be the one that caused it. Even so I do not think I actually tried to hit the ducks with my stones. Maybe that is selective memory but I do not think so.

Todd and I threw stones for some time. The ducks were not scared away which puzzled me. Eventually, inevitably, one of Todd's stones found it's mark breaking the neck of a large brown female duck. We stopped immediately, asking each other if it was dead. It floated to the shore, neck bent at an impossible angle. We stood over it staring.

Her eyes were glazed and the water running off her feathers made her look as if she wept. She closed then opened her eyes slowly and repeatedly. There was blood, how much I do not know, it mingled with her wet brown feathers. I had no doubt that she would die, I had no doubt she would suffer until her death.

The bottom dropped out of my world and I was sick. I did not feel powerful as part of me, I think, expected. I felt cruel and was disgusted by my cruelty. I turned on Todd berating him for what he had done. Asking him how he could do such a thing, he calmly reminded me of my compliance and I was shamed. We walked home in silence and never spoke of that day or that tortured duck.

Boys can be cruel and often are. They must learn compassion. If they do not they may become cruel men. And cruel men are fearsome things of little use save destruction.

A Parable About Longing

There once was a boy who fell in love with the night.
When the sun went down he would feel a pull at his heart.
He loved the comfort of the dark.
The caress of the shadow.
The warmth of the gloom.
The expanse of the black unknown.
But the night is elusive.
And the boy was a boy.
He would take long walks at dusk while the night gathered.
Until his mother would call him in for supper and bed.
He would stand at his window and stare out at the dimness.
But would soon weary and fall asleep.
Time past and the boy's heart began to ache.
He craved the ink of midnight and the silver touch of the moon.
He did not enjoy his food or the child's games he played at school.
He yearned.
One night he was awoken by the dry mutter of his curtains in the wind.
And as he looked out his open window desire and fear clashed within him.
Desire won.
The boy swung one leg and then another over the sill and gently leaped to the ground.
As the boy walked into the dark,
shadows fell around him,
and out of the gloom, a whisper:
"I have missed you so."

A Parable About Pain

Long ago there was a plains village.
A number of huts clustered around a central cooking fire.
In one of the huts there laid a boy with a demon inside him.
Most of the time the boy laid there still and was cared for by the village.
Sometimes he thrashed about.
Sometimes he would get up during the night and cause trouble.
He would light huts on fire.
Or release tethered horses.
Or spoil food.
Or trample crops.
Or start fights with other boys.
And still the village took care of the boy.
They knew it was not the boy but the demon that did these things.
Time passed.
The boy became a young man. He became stronger.
The nights he would get up from his cot and cause trouble increased in number.
Still the village cared for the young man but fear and tension grew.
One night when the boy was sleeping the village held in a meeting.
There were discussing whether or not to send the young man out of the village.
The night was dark and the moon was full and red.
The fire light danced along the faces of the villagers. Worry and sadness in each one.
Out of the darkness walked an old man, bent, walking with a stick.
The old man smiled with much joy. "You have a demon in your village."
"Yes, there has been a demon in our village for a long time." the villagers replied. "We do not know what to do."
"You are in luck" the old man replied still smiling radiating joy and peace.
He hobbled into the young mans hut.
The next morning the young man walked out of the hut clear eyed for the first time since he was a boy.
The demon was gone.
Time passed.
The young man was a great asset to the village.
He had a green thumb.
He was a great rider and hunter.
He was kind.
But something lingered.
There was something the villagers could not quite banish.
They feared the demon might return.

A Parable About Fear

There once was a boy who lived in a theme park.
He was afraid of roller coasters.
Deathly afraid.
He thought he would fly out.
He thought he would hit his head.
He thought the harness would break.
He thought he would get puked on or hit by another rider.
He thought he might lose his shoes or the change from his pocket.
The speed and the steel scared him.
The largeness and the power scared him.
He was content with funnel cakes and tea cups and log flumes.
He spent years of his life avoiding the biggest things in the theme park.
Until his fifteenth birthday.
He had a summer birthday and there were lots of tourists in the summer.
On the day of his birth the boy went to see the jugglers.
And the costumed actors.
And the magicians.
And went to eat his favorite thing. Nachos.
Standing in the nacho line he felt a tap on his shoulder.
He turned around "Hello" said a dark haired girl.
"Um, hi." He said lost in her deep dark brown eyes.
"You're getting nachos this early?" she said
"Um, ye-ye-yeah"
"You shouldn't eat before you ride roller coasters."
"I don't...actually."
"Never?"
"No."
"Want to try?"
Lost in her eyes and her hair and her beautiful smile he said "Today...maybe."
She grinned. She clutched his hand and ran to the nearest coaster.
The Guillotine.
Waiting in line his heart pounded.
He sweat profusely.
The girl noticing this said nothing simply smiled and squeezed his hand.
They were finally sat and harnesses in the roller coaster.
The ride started on a climb as they all do.
The boy's panic grew to a fever pitch.
At the top of the first climb the boy thought about death.
About dying.
About ending his own life to forgo what would come next.
But those thoughts were fleeting.
And seconds after the car took the plunge...
The boys smile was big.
Joy and Thrill filled his heart.