That which we do not understand, we can either choose to fear, or we can choose to learn.
Through stormy waters the little boat rolled, steered by a captain fearless and bold. His crew trusted him with life and soul, to guide them to their sea borne goal. The raging waters were alive with fury and froth, dooming them like flame for moth. But the captain steered into towering breakers with steely nerve, in his determination he did not swerve. Amidst this maelstrom there was a sudden lull, the wind ceased, with no sound, not even a gull. The captain turned to his mystified crew, all honest men through and through. “I have failed in my sole task”, said he, “we have fallen foul of the furious sea“. “I tried to steer us true and clear, but now the end is near“. “Father and sons alike forgive this old fool, my arrogance has led you to this fate so cruel“. And with these last words the winds began to blow, and the seas again rocked the boat to and fro. So the legend of the captain is told, a story as young, as it is old. But as the boat never made it ashore, the truth of the tale can never be sure.
Go home to seek out the second tale hidden in plain view and create order from disorder.
My life is my own and I must tread my own path, as I see fit. It is not without concern that I do so, for every step taken can put me in the path of another. Do I cover their tracks with my own? Do I divert my path to run parallel to theirs, or away from theirs? Or do I step across their path, and continue on my way? How many paths will I cross? How many will I trample, or follow? What if I should meet a fellow traveller still forging their path? Should we join forces, and make a united path? Or walk side by side, jealously guarding our own, supposedly unique, path?
The sword is a cursed thing. A wise man only uses it if he must.
“Gracious,” exclaimed Clara. “My God,” exclaimed Lisa. Both women stared, agog, at what appeared to be a curio shop right out of Arabia, planted directly in the small ex-Council house in the middle of a small English suburb, lost in a big English city. There were vases of all shapes and sizes, of all colours and designs. There were stuffed monkeys, lemurs, tiger heads and other animals neither woman could place a name on. There were carved masks, some plain, others vibrantly coloured, some full of teeth, others with wild eyes, all rather terrifying. There were bracelets, necklaces, cups of jewels and possibly semi-precious stones that certainly caught Lisa’s eye. There were swords and scabbards and various pieces of armour. There were books, stacked in piles, stacked in boxes, stacked in the corner, stacked everywhere apart from the bookshelves, for they were already heaving with other trinkets. There were many, many other items and objects that neither Lisa nor Clara could identify.
If ever you catch me procrastinating, let the dog know, he’ll tell the cat, who’ll chase the mouse through the house, the mouse will flee through the crack in the corner of the study and she’ll see the treasures deep below. She shall make her home amongst bejewelled gold, unaware of the meaning of wealth. But she’ll be content. Her brood will prosper, and I, I shall still procrastinate. But if ever you catch me, do tell the dog.