A Morning Parable

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A man sat in a coffee shop trying to think of something to say. His calling was to say something profound and interesting, something to help spiritual pilgrims on their journey. He wrote and wrote and erased and erased. He rattled his thoughts and shook his brain around a little. He looked at other writings and other spiritual ideas and found nothing resonated. Nothing came to mind; he could find nothing to say.

He sat musing and wondering, thinking and pondering. He closed his eyes. He meditated. He did breathing exercises. He listened to music. He changed his music to different music. He started writing again. He stopped writing again. He erased again. He stared at the screen. The screen stared back. Maybe the screen had an idea. Maybe the screen could tell him something important to say. The screen didn’t say anything. It was screen. They don’t do that.

He began reading the menu board. There were breakfast sandwiches and coffee drinks. There was tea in a dozen varieties and milkshakes disguised as coffee. There were pastries and sweet things to eat. There were special drinks for people who have problems drinking the sugar and cream and milk in the other drinks. There was plain coffee. Well, not plain coffee. It came in three varieties and four sizes and from three different countries. But the menu board had nothing to add profound or interesting. Spiritual pilgrims could get amped up on caffeine or hopped up on sugar but there was nothing to help their spiritual journey.

And that was a profound thing. Not the menu board or the stuff on it but the idea that there was nothing to help their spiritual journey. It was an important to recognize. It was a powerful thought to be had. It was theirspiritual journey. It was something to take ownership of; a thing to make personal. It was one’s own and needed to be understood as one’s own. It was a journey to be started from the point one stood at and not a point decided by someone else, not an arbitrary one size fits all kind of thing. 

And the writer thought to say nothing more. There was nothing left to say.

The traveler sees what he sees, the tourist sees what he has come to see. 

– G. K. Chesterton