Strange Strawberry #1
I decided that it was time to have another session with the old man. It had been two weeks since my last one and that was only the second time I was able to visit him. While he is not the father or grandfather of any person within the village, he acts as grandfather to all those who care to listen to what tales he has to share. Despite this, he never appeared to be short of listeners and the private dialogue I had with him the second time gave me more to think about than I would have free time to digest. Because of the little time I had to reflect was reluctant to go back for another lesson prior to really understanding my first. However, since my time was short, I figured I could comprehend everything when space and time would prevent me from learning anymore.
As I approached his humble home, he was slightly bent over feeding the two chickens one of the local farmers must have brought to him. The few grains of feed he tossed on the ground appeared to bring him pleasure as the chickens scrambled for their meal.
I announced my presence with a superficial greeting and his eyes were slowly brought up with the rest of his head to catch my gaze.
“Ahhh…I expected you to come back last week.”
“My project, unfortunately, is taking up more time than I would like.”
“Between us, are you really the one who is hard pressed for time?”
“Have you been busy?”
“One does not need to be busy with research to be short on time.”
“…I see.”
We walked into his house and into the living room with a dusty rug and a couple of slightly damaged, wooden chairs. While the poorly crafted furniture was there for the convenience of guests, I sat on the floor as he urged me to do the first time I visited. He sat down, cross-legged, and asked me if I had match as he reached for his dull, wooden pipe in the middle of the carpet. I handed him the book of matches I had in my pocket as he began to pack the tobacco.
“I was not entirely sure if I was ready to talk to you again as I had not had the proper time to reflect upon what we talked about last time…” I offered as an apology.
“I am not a teacher or a fancy professor – I am just an old man who enjoys conversations with the young ones.”
“Our conversations have more depth than any conversation with a normal friend.”
“Bah, I’m old, I just have more to say.”
He strikes the match and puts it to the pipe as he begins the puff on the pipe. The pungent aroma of cheap tobacco quickly fills the room and we sit in silence of a few moments.
[..]
From our last discussion, I have come across (more aptly, I was introduced to) an “old idea.” I say that it is old, as it is certainly not new and, also, appears as something that has been rejected by modern thought. Though this has been well known throughout the ages to those who are willing to listen their wiser, older generations, individuals from the newer age of humanity tend ignore this fact as nonsense, irrelevant, or the ravings of college based, neo-pagan movements formed around the faint memories of the former generation’s experience in the 1960s. Despite the knowledge being truncated down into something that can be found on a fortune cookie or in some book of pithy sayings to guide your life by, the relevance is not only apt, but needed. This tidbit of knowledge is not a call to action or inaction, nor is it a moral lesson as to how one is to operate in their lives as only the newer religions offer some sort of guidance to behavior that rewards or punishes you. Instead, the knowledge is there as a lesson as a way in which one can interpret the world, and once that simplest of human goals (interpretation) is accomplished, the proper course of action (whatever that may be) can be discerned and accomplished.
The knowledge I gleaned is this: the gods are mischievous.
[..]
Knowing that I was in for an intellectual treat, I waited in anticipation of his voice to break the silence. Grandfather closed his eyes and slowly drew in a plume of smoke. After a moment of hesitation, as if the tobacco was reaching forgotten parts of his body, the smoke flowed over his sun-baked lips and contributed to the developing haze in the room. His voice on the verge of cracking with age as he began his tale:
“It was within the third generation of creation in which we, humans, learned illness…”
As I approached his humble home, he was slightly bent over feeding the two chickens one of the local farmers must have brought to him. The few grains of feed he tossed on the ground appeared to bring him pleasure as the chickens scrambled for their meal.
I announced my presence with a superficial greeting and his eyes were slowly brought up with the rest of his head to catch my gaze.
“Ahhh…I expected you to come back last week.”
“My project, unfortunately, is taking up more time than I would like.”
“Between us, are you really the one who is hard pressed for time?”
“Have you been busy?”
“One does not need to be busy with research to be short on time.”
“…I see.”
We walked into his house and into the living room with a dusty rug and a couple of slightly damaged, wooden chairs. While the poorly crafted furniture was there for the convenience of guests, I sat on the floor as he urged me to do the first time I visited. He sat down, cross-legged, and asked me if I had match as he reached for his dull, wooden pipe in the middle of the carpet. I handed him the book of matches I had in my pocket as he began to pack the tobacco.
“I was not entirely sure if I was ready to talk to you again as I had not had the proper time to reflect upon what we talked about last time…” I offered as an apology.
“I am not a teacher or a fancy professor – I am just an old man who enjoys conversations with the young ones.”
“Our conversations have more depth than any conversation with a normal friend.”
“Bah, I’m old, I just have more to say.”
He strikes the match and puts it to the pipe as he begins the puff on the pipe. The pungent aroma of cheap tobacco quickly fills the room and we sit in silence of a few moments.
[..]
From our last discussion, I have come across (more aptly, I was introduced to) an “old idea.” I say that it is old, as it is certainly not new and, also, appears as something that has been rejected by modern thought. Though this has been well known throughout the ages to those who are willing to listen their wiser, older generations, individuals from the newer age of humanity tend ignore this fact as nonsense, irrelevant, or the ravings of college based, neo-pagan movements formed around the faint memories of the former generation’s experience in the 1960s. Despite the knowledge being truncated down into something that can be found on a fortune cookie or in some book of pithy sayings to guide your life by, the relevance is not only apt, but needed. This tidbit of knowledge is not a call to action or inaction, nor is it a moral lesson as to how one is to operate in their lives as only the newer religions offer some sort of guidance to behavior that rewards or punishes you. Instead, the knowledge is there as a lesson as a way in which one can interpret the world, and once that simplest of human goals (interpretation) is accomplished, the proper course of action (whatever that may be) can be discerned and accomplished.
The knowledge I gleaned is this: the gods are mischievous.
[..]
Knowing that I was in for an intellectual treat, I waited in anticipation of his voice to break the silence. Grandfather closed his eyes and slowly drew in a plume of smoke. After a moment of hesitation, as if the tobacco was reaching forgotten parts of his body, the smoke flowed over his sun-baked lips and contributed to the developing haze in the room. His voice on the verge of cracking with age as he began his tale:
“It was within the third generation of creation in which we, humans, learned illness…”
posted by Anonymous at 4:32 PM
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