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[RoseHeart]

Starfish on the Beach

Once upon a time, a child was picking up starfish that had been washed up along the beach, and throwing them back to sea. The village elder watched this repeated for long enough, then approached.

"It does not matter what you do, there are too many to save them all."

The child didn't hesitate.

"But to this one, it matters."

*splash*


Thank you to my middle school homeroom teacher Mike for this little nugget. When I feel lost it always brings me back to center.


This should be a safe space to share stories shared by loved ones. Please no jokes at their expense but thoughtful discussion is welcome.

(There's plenty of other places to vent in general discussion...)

[Scoops Novel]

The village elder knew a complete victory is the most valuable. The world is full of problems caused by people choosing to do a bit. Look at the War on drugs. Every cop thinks one more criminal off the streets. Nothing changes.

[EuchreJack]

Every cop

one more criminal

streets

people

At least the kid knew individuals exist...

EDIT: Maybe I should say "Forest, meet Trees".

[Scoops Novel]

There's what relevant, and there's what irrelevant. That's irrelevant. Another lesson.

[EuchreJack]

There's what relevant, and there's what irrelevant. That's irrelevant. Another lesson.

Only individuals matter.
Groups, countries, religions, societies.  They're all garbage concepts.
For, all groupings of individuals are groupings of individuals.

Sure, I meet plenty of people so insecure and lonely that they cling to group think and group ideas. 
But beyond those abstract concepts on distant things, is their true self.
Some are decent people burdened with crappy ideas.  Some are crappy people abusing good ideas.

Age is almost an artificial concept.  I've met people of significant age and the maturity of children. There are teens with insights and wisdom unexpected of their youth.

In the battle of ideas, if some exist to liberate and enlighten, some can also be used to constrain and oppress.

Eh, what do I know? I'm ultimately a mediocre man who will unlikely leave anything behind. But then again, what do I know?

[Scoops Novel]

Individuals matter. Individuals are not always available.

[RoseHeart]

I think thoughtful discussion is good, and helps these stories live on.

Just keep in mind this should be a safe space to share stories shared by loved ones. If that loved one is no longer around this may be all they have to remember them by.
Please be appropriately respectful.

[IronyOwl]

Individuals matter. Individuals are not always available.

Other way round. You can always poke some guy with a stick. You can very seldom institute a global stick-poking apparatus to ensure everyone is being poked with a stick at regular intervals.

[Loud Whispers]

The one they always used to teach in my school when I was all young and little was of the grasshopper and the ant.

In Spring the weather is idyllic and the world is full of blooming life. The flowers are full of nectar and the sun is shining, everywhere is coloured in fields of green and eye-catching yellows and reds, blue streams and ponds with croaking frogs and lily-pads arising from beneath. The grasshopper basks in the sun, asking the busy ant:
'Hey, you're missing out on the sun! Why not lay your work to rest for a while and join me?'
'I cannot good friend, because I still have more work to do.'
The grasshopper thinks she's a busy-body and mocks her. But still she keeps on working, digging and digging.

Summer rolls around and the days are long, vibrant and beautiful. The radiant light catches on the morning dew, birdsong fills the air with mirth and the grasshopper dances, for so good are the seasons.
'Come on ant, come and dance with me!' He chirrups.
'I cannot good friend, because I still have more work to do.'
The grasshopper thinks she's no fun at all and mocks her. But still she keeps on working, carrying her grains deeper into her larders.

Autumn arrives and the season of harvest delivers a cornucopia of abundance. Fruits of every variety hang plump and plum from beneath their trees and on their vines, berries and herbs of any and all kinds. The grasshopper sits on a leaf and chews on a strawberry.
'Come on ant. Even you can surely rest a while and feast with me.'
'I cannot good friend, because I still have more work to do.'
Incredulous, the grasshopper engorges himself full and watches as the ant ferries berries and more deeper into her little nest in the ground.
'Some bugs never learn,' the grasshopper sighs.

At last Winter is here, and the sky is grey, the ground is cold and the waters are still. Everything is quiet, but for the chirruping of a lonely grasshopper. There is no food to be found anywhere, even the grasses are gone. The grasshopper shivers, following the only other place he knows to go.
Now there are different versions of this story, in which it ends in different ways. Because my teachers were all very nice and kind peoples, the story ends with the grasshopper learning to appreciate why the ant worked so hard, and the ant in her kindness offers the grasshopper a share of her foodstores and a place by her fire that she worked all year round to maintain.
In the other, the ant closes the gate and admonishes the grasshopper for not thinking ahead.
'This is not my first winter, and it will not be my last.'

[scriver]

Jag upp stämma vill min lyra,
fast den blott är en gitarr,
och berätta om en myra
som gick ut och leta barr

[Loud Whispers]

Jag upp stämma vill min lyra,
fast den blott är en gitarr,
och berätta om en myra
som gick ut och leta barr

I bet if I learned to sing this I could convince people it was from Grimm's fairy tales

[notquitethere]

There's a zen story I like, goes something like this:

A monk lived in a mountainside hut. One night, a thief broke into his hut, but the monk had no possessions, there was nothing to steal. The monk said to the thief, "You've come a long way, it would be a shame to leave empty handed." and so he took off his robes and gave them to the thief.

The thief is confused and scarpers with the clothes. The monk then sat naked in his empty room, looking out at the moon above. He thinks to himself, "That poor man, I wish I could give him this beautiful moon."

[scriver]

Jag upp stämma vill min lyra,
fast den blott är en gitarr,
och berätta om en myra
som gick ut och leta barr

I bet if I learned to sing this I could convince people it was from Grimm's fairy tales

Sorgligt slutar denna sången
Myran stretade och drog
Men kolossen höll en fången
tills han svalt ihjäl och dog
Undvik alkoholens yra
Man blir stursk men kroppen loj
Och om du är född till myra
Brottas aldrig med ett toy

The orgininal made by vistrubadur Stefan Demert, but it I first encountered it in my youth through this cover by punk band Charta 77

[Loud Whispers]

I am overjoyed to find this is a thing

[notquitethere]

Another Zen story I like. Is That So?

The Zen master Hakuin was praised by his neighbours as one living a pure life.

A beautiful Japanese girl whose parents owned a food store lived near him. Suddenly, without any warning, her parents discovered she had a child.

This made her parents angry. She would not confess who the man was, but after much harassment at last named Hakuin.

In great anger the parent went to the master. "Is that so?" was all he would say.

After the child was born it was brought to Hakuin. By this time he had lost his reputation, which did not trouble him, but he took very good care of the child. He obtained milk from his neighbours and everything else he needed.

A year later the girl-mother could stand it no longer. She told her parents the truth - the real father of the child was a young man who worked in the fish market.

The mother and father of the girl at once went to Hakuin to ask forgiveness, to apologize at length, and to get the child back.

Hakuin was willing. In yielding the child, all he said was: "Is that so?"

You can read a load of them like this here.