Qunfayakoon

The container beneath the hearth

In Religion and philosophy on 6. September 2015 at 02:08

‘Why am I still following this man?’ Thinks the crow. ‘He has nothing, nor for me, neither for himself, and he barely notices me. Had it not been for those crumbs he throws I would have been off to much more fertile grounds. Nothing holds me back, yet I am somehow mesmerized’.

The crow had been following this old beggar for days, noticing his simplicity, lack of commitments, him being free from the obligations of society. ‘How free is this man with nothing in hand?’ thinks the crow. ‘He reminds of a bird with no restrains, no chains, except for the body he has, which needs its nurturing’.

As the crow was thinking, they reaches a well in between the place they left, and the place they were to seek. The crow took the branch of the mighty cypress right beside the well, while the beggar took what was his share of water.

crow

In came a huge shout and the crow notices two men standing still holding their swords pointing at each other. The beggar does not bother, and the crow knows why. At this point one of the men starts speaking and the crow recalls:

Says the Rebel to the Lord

This land is stolen, turn back what is wronged me

The Lord spat back

I broke those shackles you were born in

I freed this land, and I will ensure its freedom

And if you object to this freedom, I have chains to spare

To this the beggar quips

Be as it might be

Name it whatever you like

Is it stolen, or freed, I don’t mind

But do listen to this container under my heart

Do listen to the song it makes

Sometimes it rumbles

Sometimes it screams

Be it freedom

Or a lifetime in chains

The container will stay hungry

The beggar walks away, to his destination, to fight the fight he had chosen. The crow lingers for a while, deciding on what to choose, to follow a hungry beggar, or watch this fight, which is to erupt? Before he could make up his mind, he sees them both, lying on ground, blood gushing out from their bodies, giving soil its share of taxes. Lying there – all still – done with their fight, breaking their chains.

And the crow wonders, as this option is done with, what more has he to choose than to follow that poor old man? ‘Is it that a beggar all of the sudden has become the chain I need to free myself from? At what point did I rely on the breadcrumbs from a man who himself barely has bread for himself?’

So the crow chooses, and spreads his wings.

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