Our own parables
Amelius Publishing House Discussion Board: Toward the Light: Our own parables
Have you ever found yourself trying to explain some aspect of TtL to other people, needing perhaps a parable to clarify the subject ? I have - and would like to start a conversion with our own parables. I start out with one of myown:
When trying to explain why evil and darkness continue to exist and at times dominate, even after light's victory over darkness, and the writing of TtL, I use the following:
Imagine a lake, to which many small streams lead water from mountains and surroundings. The lake is placed in an area with a lot of heavy industry, chemical plants dumping chemicals into the streams, a nuclear plant dumping nuclear waste, and the lake has grown to be extremely polluted, nothing can live or grow there. One day a new government takes over, and decides to ban dumping waste, and the plants are shut down. From that time on, the streams coming from the mountains lead clean water to the lake, and slowly, over a long period of time, the lake itself becomes ever cleaner, and the fish begin to return.
But it will take long before the lake is entirely clean.
Morten
And another one (and by the way, I intended to start at conversation, not a conversion - that would probably be a bit too much...).
2. parable:
There was a mountain, a beautiful mountain, that was so high, that noone had ever been to the top, or even seen how high it was. The beauty of the mountain was known far away, and many people would come from afar to look at its sides. Some of those who saw the mountain sat down to paint it, to the best of their abilities. Some times, mist covered the sides of the mountain, and the painter would then think that the mist was part of the mountain itself. Some painters preferred to paint it from the northside, some from the south-side. Some painters had failing eye-sight, but nonetheless desired so much to tell about the beauty of the mountain, that they would sit down and paint anyway. And all of them, when returning to their villages, would show their works of art, and many would claim their piece to be the best portrait of the mountain. At times, people would debate the portraits, and even quarrel about which one had the best liking. Some would change their paintings when they had returned - yes often, other people would add to or subtract from the paintings, to 'improve' them.
Long time passed, and many portraits were made, some resisted the passing of time, while others were forgotten. But all were they portraits.
Such are the religions of the world. Portraits, painted by more or less able painters, but never more than portraits, of that beautiful mountain of light and truth that is our Father and his realm.
Then what is TtL, you may ask: I'd say it's a portrait as well, but painted by the best painters from a village high up on the mountain side, from where a group descended, to give to all of us in the lowlands a better and truer impression of the mountain, in all its beauty, than ever seen before.
Morten
Your parables are paintings in their own right, Morten - they are simply lovely! And useful, too. It has always been easier to make our ideas understandable with the aid of parables, Jesus knew that. So keep them coming!! Hopefully there are others out there who have played with the theme of "modern" parables?
Love,
Ulla
This is parable about . . .
. . . you decide for yourself
Detail from a painting by Dusan Kadlec
ONE SINGLE TEAR
I am walking in the night looking for answers,
longing to end the turmoil inside me - what am I to learn
from such sadness and despair . . . what am I to learn?
SCENE I :
My desire speaks . . .
My soul is a warm mass of light,
that I would hold in my arms,
if I knew where to find her.
~
No text, no drawing or map
exists to outline the way there.
~
A gap exists on the line from my mind to my heart,
that warm mass of light belongs inside me,
I feel an emptiness where she should be . . . within me.
In my path is a stranger, walking closer, I search her face,
Trying to discern in her form, a clue as to where she is
coming from . . . where she is going.
~
Suddenly, she steps towards me and speaks, this is unexpected
as I know that I am alone, walking on a darkened street,
creating this apparition in my imagination.
SCENE I I :
The request . . .
The waves in my heart crash behind my eyes
as I look into her face, her words lingering before me
she asks me to cry one single tear for all of humanity.
She says, "shed this one tear for the key ",
"I have no tears to give" I say,
"I am dry in this desert of despair".
~
She speaks softly and looks through me like glass,
"then go and understand that your sadness is for yourself,
there is no kindness in your hurting, no sharing in your pain,
no giving in your anguish".
~
I ask this phantom,
this creation of mine - which substitutes
for the living soul I seek,
"where are you in the world?"
"where may I find you?"
~
"Not in the stranger's face and not
in the form of a living woman" she says.
SCENE I I I :
Weeping without tears . . .
"Then I am lost" I say to her,
directionless, I sit down by the road
and to begin to weep without tears.
The stranger's voice whispers within me,
"the first tear must be for the heart - all hearts -
this is the key!"
~
Breathing in with a shudder,
I look to the sky in my anguish,
I feel the rain coming . . .
The first drop falls on my face
and I begin to cry, letting go,
I begin to cry for every heart.
~
At once - I am free from my pain
And I know the stranger's name.
As she enters my soul,
She is Forgiveness.
EPILOGUE
I hear the answer in a song . . .
If you could see - all of the faces,
Of all of the people, who have ever lived before
What would their eyes say, what would their faces tell us.
~
If you could see - every tear that has ever been cried,
Rise like an ocean before your very eyes
Every tear, every single tear
~
One river flows from the Mother,
One river flows from the Father,
All rivers go to the ocean
And one comes to know
unconditional love. unconditional love.
~:':~
'Diamond' Jim, 1998
It's beautiful, Jim.
love Morten
Reading the parables - it left me without words - only emotions....
I think, that's why nobody else gave any comment - they are simply wonderful!
Thank you both!
Love
Susi
That is exacly true, thank you morten and jim, you have given much light and after reading your parables and poems I was left with a warm feeling in my heart and much joy. Thank you.
Mara
A small story....
A nation of people lived in a country, where no pure and clean water could be found. Some lived in a sandy area, where oily substances mixed in with the water giving it a bad taste. Others lived on the steppe. There, the water had a salty taste to it. Others again lived near the swamp, where rotten trees and leafage polluted the water, giving it a terrible smell. All water was more or less poisonous, and clean water existed only far away in the mountains.
Due to the difficult access to the water, special groups of people had formed, that did nothing but find and distribute the water - extracting it from the underground, or perhaps refining swamp-water through complicated processes. These people were usually proud, and arrogant. They all claimed that they had the best water to offer, and many claimed that no cleaner water could exist.
Because the water was not clean, many people felt a deep thirst, but when they talked about it, they were persecuted by the people who found water. Some were imprisoned and some were even killed, and people started doubting their own ability to feel the difference between the pure and the impure. The pressure to drink and be content with the impure water was great. Many would be sick and miserable from the polluted water, many would quarrel, all would suffer but only a few had the courage to challenge the water-finders and talk about the thirst they could never quench.
One day, a small group of people travelled up to the mountains. They camped by the shore of a lake, and one went to drink some water. And when he felt the taste of the water, he was overwhelmed by the deepest happines, for it was the purest, the most healing and wonderful water that he had ever tasted, and he knew, that this was truly pure water, knew, that this was what he had been longing for all these years, for he recognized it from within his being. He ran to the others, they all came to drink, and they rejoiced - for they knew, that this water would bring peace of mind to all their families and friends, indeed to their entire nation. They knew that many people suffered deeply from drinking the impure and poisonous water of the lowlands. They understood that that was why there was so much fighting, so much misery.
They took rich supplies of the water with them, and returned to their villages, assembled the water-finders and told them: 'Here, we have found pure water, purer than anything that exists in our nation. Please taste it, and spread it to our people, so we can all benefit from it, so we can live better lives'. But the leaders would not taste it. Not take the cup that was there right in front of them, to the mouth and drink. Not admit that they themselves felt an unquenched thirst. For they had so long preached, that their water was the purest that could exist, and by their pride, they kept the people that followed them in misery. They gave them impure water for pure water and abandoned them to their thirst. For they would not bend down to taste, indeed, they would not bend in any way.
The small group of people tried to tell about the pure water in many places and they served it to their families and friends. Only few would go against their own leaders and taste it, but those who did felt a deep happiness, for they recognized the water, and they now knew that the water truly existed where they had felt only doubt before.
Slowly through the years though, many individuals got to know the pure water, and many people in the different villages felt convinced, that something better than their oily, salty, muddy water existed.
And, seeing that their leaders would not take the lead in bringing the pure water to the people, some started building a channel that could lead the pure water from the mountains to the lowlands.
They will have to pass many obstacles, but everyday more people are joining to help them, ever more people are digging through the hard rock, and the barren land, and when one day, that channel has been made, then the purest water will be available to all the people of the nation, to everyone, even in the remotest parts. And it will be enough to quench the thirst of everyone, for there is water in infinite abundance.
The poetry of this thread is soaring towards heights which offer to us a wonderful view of the landscapes below...
There really is not much to say - no words to describe the essence of your parable on God's gift to humankind, Morten. It can only be experienced - felt in our innermost soul. The master parable-teller of all, Christ himself, must be proud of you. Your images are just as strong and vivid as his own.
I hope many will read this story.
Love,
Ulla
Thank you so much, Morten, this has brought me much happyness into a difficult time. What a truly wonderful parable.
I hope you will enjoy the following - hmm, perhaps it's not really a parable - story.
"A man had found some rare seeds, which he kept to himself; he feared that others would not acknowledge their worth and would laugh, and he feared that they might be stolen and he not get the credit for having found them. He carried them in his bag and from time to time on his lonesome wanderings when he found more seeds he picked them up and found place for them in the bag. As time passed the bag became heavier and heavier, but he still would not ask for help in carrying it, and refused to share the seeds with others.
After some years he could not carry the heavy bag any more and fell to the ground. As he lay there desperate, he cried out for help, but nothing happened, no one answered. Then he saw a small child playing nearby, but he felt nothing, and the child did not look at him.
He lay there, as the cold set in, and suffered his way through the winter. He lay there, as the rain of spring fell upon him, and suffered the humidity. Summer came, and he suffered the burning sun. Fall, and he suffered the hurling winds and thunderstorms. He lay there for seven years, through cold and wet, warm and windy. One day he saw the child, now a playful boy, and felt like smiling, for he remembered his own childhood’s playing. The child looked at him with curiousity in his eyes, before continuing his play.
He lay there for another seven years, suffering all the hardships of the changing seasons.
Then he saw the boy, now a young wonderful man coming towards him. He heart filled with happiness, and he called him and asked him to help him get up, and to help him carry the seeds – but then when he looked for his bag, it was gone. It had been hardened by the cold, softened by the wet, dried up by the warm and finally torn apart by the wind, and the seeds had been dispersed.
Instead, his son took his hand, and helped him to his feet. Together they walked to the nearby house where the boy lived with his mother. Beautiful flowers were all around, for the seeds had spread out all over the area and the three of them could finally embrace."
Regards Morten