Parable about the stone
«Seashore is astonishing in its entire boundless beauty. It manifests a harmonious combination of different elements which seem to be total-ly opposite to each other. On one hand, there is burning hot sand – the inexorable and pitiless warrior of destructive Desert. On the other hand, there is cool water – the vivifying power of the World Ocean creator. Looks like death and life have got entangled in this place, cre-ating unusual conditions of existence for those who have found them-selves at the border of two worlds by will of destiny.
Shiny polished stones and pebbles, scattered along the beach, claimed a title of long-livers in this mysterious Portal. And, one would think, none else, but these stones and pebbles, should know the major secrets of being. Yet, is it true as a matter of fact? Were they really aware of what was outside the space they physically occupied?
A stone is a stone, a hard fossil as the saying goes. It used to be a part of an enormous rock, its top resting on the Heaven itself. Howev-er, residing in unity, the stone dreamt of independence. With time, numerous cracks of doubt have done their destructive job, thus mak-ing its dream a reality. But the long-awaited independence has ap-peared not as joyful as the stone imagined. Every day, the elements started testing its durability, as if they were competing. The stone was inflating with anger and resentment. It desperately resisted the wind which exfoliated its grains, gradually transmuting it into dust. It re-sisted the sun which incandesced its surface. The stone opposed even the water, being secretly drawn to it, especially when the water washed it with its vivifying coolness, rescuing it from the burning sun rays. It liked to be such a forbidden essence even in front of rhythmically rolling waves.
The stone was proud of itself, of its shape, of its independence. It laughed at sand which was easily governed by the elements. It had not a slightest suspicion that it would suffer the same fate in the course of time.
Most of its days, the stone was bored, observing depressive same-ness and monotony of the surrounding landscape. From time to time, it entertained itself with a question: “But what is the sense of all this?” Watching birds fly, the stone envied their freedom as well as the easi-ness with which they reached most radiant heights and unknown ethe-real expanses. There were moments when it craved for exchanging its whole long dreary life for a short instant of their delightful impetuous flying.
And so the stone led his entire boulder existence within itself and solely for itself. It didn’t even perceive the wonderful and enigmatic place which destiny had conveyed it to. It didn’t see how much effort and time the sun, the wind and the water spent to transform its stupid, hard essence into a qualitatively new state. Its arrogance was really too strong over the ages. Its substance was too heavy indeed.
Apparently, this is the reaason why the stones which lie at the two worlds junction are aware only of their own humdrum lives. And, though some of them have ideally polished external facets for already a long time, they still remain plain stones inside.».
«I tossed up a stone,
And it dropped.
I tossed up a bird,
And it started to fly».
Rigden Djappo
