On a warm afternoon, on the second floor of a splendid palace that overlooked the market place of the city, sat a king and his minister. While the king was eating some puffed rice on honey, he looked over his land with satisfaction. What a prosperous city he ruled, what a magnificent city
As he was daydreaming, a little drop of honey dripped from his puffed rice onto the window ledge.
The minister was about to call a servant to wipe up the honey, when the king waved a hand to stop him. “Don’t bother, it’s only a little drop of honey, it’s not our problem.”
The minister watched the drop of honey slowly trickle down the window ledge and land on the street below.
Soon, a buzzing fly landed on the sweet drop of honey.
A nearby lizard shot out its long tongue and caught the fly.
The lizard was taken by surprise when a cat leapt on it.
The cat was pounced on by its worst enemy the dog that had broken free from its chain.
Meeowing and barking erupted from the street below the King and his minister.
The minister was about to call a servant to go and deal with the brawling cat and dog when the king said, ”Relax, the cat and dog belong to the market people. We shouldn’t interfere. It’s not our problem.”
The cat’s owner was horrified to see her cat being attacked by the big bully of a dog and started whacking the dog with her broom. The dog’s owner was horrified to see her dog being attacked by the big bully of a cat and started whacking the cat with her broom.
Soon, people started coming out from their stalls and houses to see what all the screaming and shouting was about. Seeing their friend’s cat being attacked, they joined in berating the dog and its owner. Others, seeing their friend’s dog being attacked by the cat, joined in berating the cat and its owner. The shouting soon escalated, until a fight broke out in the street.
The worried minister turned to the King who raised his hand saying, “Not our problem. Here, have some more puffed rice and honey.” The king and his adviser ate, as they watched the fray below.
Someone called for the police, who arrived and attempted to break up the fight, but the people’s anger had grown into fury, and they started attacking the policemen. The fight rapidly broke out into a full scale riot.
The king eyed the minister and said, “I know what you are thinking, but the army will handle it. Besides, this is not out problem.”
In what seemed like a blink of an eye, the riot led to looting and destruction all over the city. Buildings were set alight and by nightfall, the magnificent city was reduced to a pile of smoking ashes. The king and his minister stood spellbound, rooted to the spot where they had been watching all day. Their mouths were hanging open in horror.
“Hmmm…,” murmurred the king quietly, “maybe the little drop of honey WAS our problem.”
Story re-crafted by Mark Novak
This is credited as a Thai/Burmese folktale, but my suspicion is that it is based on a folktale. Let me know if you know, you know? You can find it and many more stories at Storywise
Rabbi Mendel Futerfas spent many years in a Siberian gulag. One of his fellow prisoners was a tightrope walker.
The rabbi asked the tightrope walker, "What is the secret to your art? What does one need to master? Balance? Stamina? Concentration?"
The tightrope walker's answer surprised him
"The secret is always keeping your destination in focus. You have to keep your eyes on the other end of the rope, and how you get there is a straight line, never wavering. But do you know what the hardest part is?"
"When you get to the middle?" the rabbi ventured.
"No," said the tightrope walker. "It's when you make the turn. Because for a fraction if a second, you lose sight of your destination. When you don't have sight of your destination, that is when you are most likely to fall."
There was once a king in India who was a big chess enthusiast and had the habit of challenging wise visitors to a game of chess. One day a traveling sage was challenged by the king. The sage having played this game all his life all the time with people all over the world gladly accepted the Kings challenge
To motivate his opponent the king offered any reward that the sage could name. The sage modestly asked just for a few grains of rice in the following manner: the king was to put a single grain of rice on the first chess square and double it on every consequent one. The king accepted the sage’s request.
Having lost the game and being a man of his word the king ordered a bag of rice to be brought to the chessboard. Then he started placing rice grains according to the arrangement: 1 grain on the first square, 2 on the second, 4 on the third, 8 on the fourth and so on.
Following the exponential growth of the rice payment, the king quickly realized that he was unable to fulfill his promise because on the twentieth square the king would have had to put 1,000,000 grains of rice. On the fortieth square, the king would have had to put 1,000,000,000 grains of rice. And, finally, on the sixty-fourth square, the king would have had to put more than 18,000,000,000,000,000,000 grains of rice which is equal to about 210 billion tons and is allegedly sufficient to cover the whole territory of India with a meter thick layer of rice.
It was at that point that the sage told the king that he doesn’t have to pay the debt immediately but can do so over time. And so the sage became the wealthiest person in the world.
This story resonates with me during this time in regard to not only how Covid-19 exponentially grows, but also how kindess and generosity of spirit do as well. Read this article in The Washington Post.
I was unable to find a source for this story, although all signs point to HIndu scriptures.
If you have a source please let me know.
Payasam is an Indian dessert consisting of rice, boiled in milk or coconut milk, flavoured with cardamom, and often containing groundnuts.
An old Cherokee is teaching
his grandson about life.
He said, "My son, a fight is going on inside of me."
"It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves. One is evil - he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego."
He continued, "The other is good - he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith.
The same fight is going on inside you - and inside every other person, too."
The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather,
"Which wolf will win?"
The old Cherokee simply replied, "The one you feed."
A rebbe was asked to come teach in a distant village. Having no rabbi of their own, the community was very excited and each person prepared for the rabbi's visit by pondering what question he or she might ask him.
Upon his arrival the community welcomed the rabbe warmly, first with a simple meal and then escorting him to his room where he could rest after his long journey. Refreshed from his nap, he was then taken to the large community room where people had gathered excitedly to ask their questions. The room buzzed with anticipation.
Upon entering the rabbe began to walk around the room, making eye contact with each person present. He then began to sing a sweet, contemplative Hasidic melody.
"Yai dai dai...yai dai dai...yai dai dai dum."
As he sang, he walked slowly, purposefully, continuing to make eye contact, with one person, and then another, until one person, and then another, joined him in the niggun...
"Yai dai dai...yai dai dai...yai dai dai dum..."
...until everyone was singing with him, sweetly and contemplatively.
The rebbe began to sing a little bit faster, and the people followed his lead. As he picked up the tempo, he picked up his feet, and started to dance, arms spread wide, his entire body bouncing in step with the melody. The people were caught up unawares, and in the joy of the moment, found themselves dancing and singing alone/together.
Then without notice, the rabbe's dance gradually began to slow, and with it the song as well, until it reached a gentle end. Some people smiled, while others wiped tears from their cheeks.
The rebbe cast his eyes about the room, and gently said, “I trust that I have answered all of your questions.”
(Origin unknown, retold by R' Mark Novak)
There was once a Swiss guard who worked at the border of Austria. He had worked there for many years and took a great deal of pride in his work.
One morning an Austrian man arrived at the border, riding a bicycle. On the front of the bike was a basket filled with sand. The guard eyed the man suspiciously, and suspecting that the Austrian might be a smuggler, brought out a special comb he kept for just a purpose, and began to sift through the sand in the basket.
He found nothing, only sand, and waved the man through the gate.
The same thing happened the next month, as the Austrian arrived on a bicycle with the basket filled with sand. The border guard went through the same process, at first eyeing the Austrian with suspicion, then sifting through the sand with his special comb, and until, finding nothing, allowing the Austrian to again cross the border.
The scene repeated itself month after month, year after year. During this time the border guard engaged the Austrian in small talk - learning his name (it was Yosef) learning about his family (he was married with a wife, who was a school teacher, and had 2 children), and of course his reason for crossing the border (to visit a favorite aunt and uncle). Each month they exchanged pleasantries, and as time passed the border guard still remained suspicious, and though he never found anything, he kept on looking... month after month...for 30 years!
Finally, one day, the Swiss guard said to the Austrian man,
"I must ask you a question that has been on my mind many years. This is my last day of work - I am retiring. After all these years, I still suspect you have been a smuggler, and it is driving me near mad. Now I ask you - I must know - are you indeed a smuggler?"
The Austrian man hesitated, and the Swiss guard reassured him.
"Do not worry - I give you my word of honor that I will not arrest you. But for my own peace of mind, I must know."
"Very well," said the Austrian. "Then I will tell you - I am indeed a smuggler."
"Ha ha," laughed the guard, relieved at last to know that his suspicions had not been unfounded. "I knew it!"
He hesitated for a moment and then continued, "But each month I looked through your basket and found nothing but sand. Tell me, please, what have you been smuggling?"
And with eyes smiling, the Austrian replied,
The story concerns a monastery that had fallen upon hard times. Once a great order, as a result of waves of antimonastic persecution in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries and the rise of secularism in the nineteenth, all its branch houses were lost and it had become decimated to the extent that there were only five monks left in the decaying mother house: the abbot and four others, all over seventy in age. Clearly it was a dying order.
In the deep woods surrounding the monastery there was a little hut that a rabbi from a nearby town occasionally used for a hermitage. Through their many years of prayer and contemplation the old monks had become a bit psychic, so they could always sense when the rabbi was in his hermitage. "The rabbi is in the woods, the rabbi is in the woods again " they would whisper to each other. As he agonized over the imminent death of his order, it occurred to the abbot at one such time to visit the hermitage and ask the rabbi if by some possible chance he could offer any advice that might save the monastery.
The rabbi welcomed the abbot at his hut. But when the abbot explained the purpose of his visit, the rabbi could only commiserate with him. "I know how it is," he exclaimed. "The spirit has gone out of the people. It is the same in my town. Almost no one comes to the synagogue anymore." So the old abbot and the old rabbi wept together. Then they read parts of the Torah and quietly spoke of deep things. The time came when the abbot had to leave. They embraced each other. "It has been a wonderful thing that we should meet after all these years, "the abbot said, "but I have still failed in my purpose for coming here. Is there nothing you can tell me, no piece of advice you can give me that would help me save my dying order?"
"No, I am sorry," the rabbi responded. "I have no advice to give. The only thing I can tell you is that the Messiah is one of you."
When the abbot returned to the monastery his fellow monks gathered around him to ask, "Well what did the rabbi say?" "He couldn't help," the abbot answered. "We just wept and read the Torah together. The only thing he did say, just as I was leaving --it was something cryptic-- was that the Messiah is one of us. I don't know what he meant."
In the days and weeks and months that followed, the old monks pondered this and wondered whether there was any possible significance to the rabbi's words. The Messiah is one of us? Could he possibly have meant one of us monks here at the monastery? If that's the case, which one? Do you suppose he meant the abbot? Yes, if he meant anyone, he probably meant Father Abbot. He has been our leader for more than a generation. On the other hand, he might have meant Brother Thomas. Certainly Brother Thomas is a holy man. Everyone knows that Thomas is a man of light. Certainly he could not have meant Brother Elred! Elred gets crotchety at times. But come to think of it, even though he is a thorn in people's sides, when you look back on it, Elred is virtually always right. Often very right. Maybe the rabbi did mean Brother Elred. But surely not Brother Phillip. Phillip is so passive, a real nobody. But then, almost mysteriously, he has a gift for somehow always being there when you need him. He just magically appears by your side. Maybe Phillip is the Messiah. Of course the rabbi didn't mean me. He couldn't possibly have meant me. I'm just an ordinary person. Yet supposing he did? Suppose I am the Messiah? O God, not me. I couldn't be that much for You, could I?
As they contemplated in this manner, the old monks began to treat each other with extraordinary respect on the off chance that one among them might be the Messiah. And on the off off chance that each monk himself might be the Messiah, they began to treat themselves with extraordinary respect.
Because the forest in which it was situated was beautiful, it so happened that people still occasionally came to visit the monastery to picnic on its tiny lawn, to wander along some of its paths, even now and then to go into the dilapidated chapel to meditate. As they did so, without even being conscious of it, they sensed the aura of extraordinary respect that now began to surround the five old monks and seemed to radiate out from them and permeate the atmosphere of the place. There was something strangely attractive, even compelling, about it. Hardly knowing why, they began to come back to the monastery more frequently to picnic, to play, to pray. They began to bring their friends to show them this special place. And their friends brought their friends.
Then it happened that some of the younger men who came to visit the monastery started to talk more and more with the old monks. After a while one asked if he could join them. Then another. And another. So within a few years the monastery had once again become a thriving order and, thanks to the rabbi's gift, a vibrant center of light and spirituality in the realm.
(Author unknown) Found in M. Scott Peck's The Different drum and elsewhere
Once there was a king who received a gift of two magnificent falcons from Arabia. They were peregrine falcons, the most beautiful birds he had ever seen. He gave the precious birds to his head falconer to be trained.
Months passed and one day the head falconer informed the king that though one of the falcons was flying majestically, soaring high in the sky, the other bird had not moved from its branch since the day it had arrived.
The king summoned healers and sorcerers from all the land to tend to the falcon, but no one could make the bird fly. He presented the task to the member of his court, but the next day, the king saw through the palace window that the bird had still not moved from its perch. Having tried everything else, the king thought to himself, "May be I need someone more
familiar with the countryside to understand the nature of this problem." So he cried out to his court, "Go and get a farmer."
In the morning, the king was thrilled to see the falcon soaring high above the palace gardens. He said to his court, "Bring me the doer of this miracle."
The court quickly located the farmer, who came and stood before the king. The king asked him, "How did you make the falcon fly?"
With his head bowed, the farmer said to the king, " It was very easy, your highness. I simply cut the branch where the bird was sitting."
A little girl wanted to meet G!d. She knew it was a long trip to where G!d lived, so she packed her suitcase with chocolate chip cookies and a six pack of root beer and she started her journey.
When she had gone about three blocks from her home she saw an old woman, sitting in the park staring blankly, or so it seemed, as some pigeons. The girl sat down next to her and opened her suitcase.
She was about to take a drink from her root beer when she noticed that the old woman looked hungry, and the girl offered her a cookie. The old woman gratefully accepted it, and smiled at the girl. Her smile was so pleasant that the girl wanted to see it again, so she offered her a root beer. Again, the old woman smiled at her. The girl was delighted! And so it was, they sat there all afternoon eating and smiling, smiling and eating, never saying a word to each other.
As it grew dark, the girl realized how late it was and she got up to leave, but before she had gone more than a few steps, she turned around, ran back to the old woman, and gave her a big hug. In turn, the old woman gave the girl her biggest smile ever. Filled with the warmth of that smile the girl ran home, and a short time later opened the door to her house. Her mother welcomed her home, surprised by the look of joy on the girl's face. She asked, "What did you do today that made you so happy?" She replied, "I had lunch with G!d." And before the mother could respond, she added, "And you know what? She's got the most beautiful smile I've ever seen."
Meanwhile, the old woman, radiant with joy, returned to her home. Her son was stunned by the look of peace on her face and asked her, "Mom, what did you do today that made you so happy?" She replied, "I ate cookies in the park with G!d." And before her startled son could respond, she added, "And you know what, she's much younger than I expected."
One day, a countryman knocked hard on a monastery door. When the monk tending the gates opened up, he was given a magnificent bunch of grapes.
"Brother, these are the finest grapes my vineyard has produced. I’ve come to offer them as a gift."
"Thank you! I will take them to the Abbot immediately, he will be delighted with this offering."
"No", responded the countryman, "I brought them for you. For whenever I knock on the door, it is you opens it. When I needed help because my crop was destroyed by drought, you gave me a piece of bread and a cup of wine every day." The monk slightly bowed his head, and the countryman went on his way.
The monk held the cluster of grapes and spent the entire morning admiring it. In reflection, he decided to gift the grapes to the Abbot, for it was the Abbot who always encouraged him with words of wisdom.
The Abbot was very pleased with the grapes, and admired their beauty for some time, taking in the color and the shapes. He then recalled that there was a sick brother in the monastery, and thought, “I’ll give him the grapes. Who knows, they may bring him some joy and healing.” And that is what he did.
The sick monk was overjoyed, and thanked the Abbot for his generosity. He too was taken by the beauty of the grapes, and saw in them a magnificent work of art, with patterns of repeated themes and slightly variegated colors. He reflected: “The cook has looked after me for so long, feeding me only the best meals. I’m sure he will enjoy these.”
The cook was amazed at the beauty of the grapes. He carefully arranged them in a large platter alongside other fruit for the evening meal, and while admiring them, he realized, "These grapes are perfect, so perfect that no one would appreciate them more than the sexton." Many at the monastery considered him a holy man, a mystic, and he would best value this marvel of nature.
But the sexton, in turn, gave the grapes as a gift to the youngest novice, that he might understand that the work of G!d is in the smallest details of creation.
And when the novice received them, he quietly recalled the first time he came to the monastery, hoping to be among a community of people who knew how to value the wonders of life. He pictured the person who had opened the gates for him.
And so, just before nightfall, he took the grapes to the monk at the gate.
"Eat and enjoy them", he said. You spend most of your time alone here, these grapes are most deservedly yours.
The monk humbly bowed his head and accepted the grapes, as he understood that the gift had always been truly meant for him. He relished each of the grapes, before falling into a pleasant sleep.
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Mark Novak is co-founder of The MultiFaith Storytelling Institute