King Arthur and The Big Question: Something to Ponder
Review Of The Way Of The Dreamcatcher:
Spirit Lessons With Robert Lax, Poet-Peacemaker-Sage
What is Enough? The Stone Cutter
The Box
King Arthur and The Big Question: Something to Ponder
Author Unknown
Young King Arthur was ambushed and imprisoned by the monarch of a neighboring kingdom. The monarch could have killed him, but was moved by Arthur's youth and ideals. So the monarch offered him freedom, as long as he could answer a very difficult question. Arthur would have a year to figure out the answer; if, after a year, he still had no answer, he would be put to death. The question: What do women really want? Such a question would perplex even the most knowledgeable man, and to Young Arthur, it seemed an impossible query. But, since it was better than death, he accepted the monarch's proposition to have an answer by year's end. He returned to his kingdom and began to poll everybody: the princess, the prostitutes, the priests, the wise men, the court jester. He spoke with everyone, but no one could give him a satisfactory answer. Many people advised him to consult the old witch--only she would know the answer. The price would be high; the witch was famous throughout the kingdom for the exorbitant prices she charged. The last day of the year arrived and Arthur had no alternative but to talk to the witch. She agreed to answer his question, but he'd have to accept her price first: The old witch wanted to marry Gawain, the most noble of the Knights of the Round Table and Arthur's closest friend. Young Arthur was horrified: She was hunchbacked and hideous, had only one tooth, smelled like sewage, made obscene noises... etc. He had never encountered such a repugnant creature. He refused to force his friend to marry her and have to endure such a burden. Gawain, upon learning of the proposal, spoke with Arthur. He told him that nothing was too big a sacrifice compared to Arthur's life and the preservation of the Round Table. Hence, their wedding was proclaimed, and the witch answered Arthur's question thus: What a woman really wants is to be in charge of her own life. Everyone instantly knew that the witch had uttered a great truth and That Arthur's life would be spared. And so it was. The neighboring monarch granted Arthur total freedom. What a wedding Gawain and the witch had. Arthur was torn between relief and anguish. Gawain was proper as always, gentle and courteous. The old witch put her worst manners on display, and generally made everyone very uncomfortable. The honeymoon hour approached. Gawain, steeling himself for a horrific experience, entered the bedroom. But what a sight awaited him. The most beautiful woman he'd ever seen lay before him. The astounded Gawain asked what had happened. The beauty replied that since he had been so kind to her when she'd appeared as a witch, she would henceforth be her horrible, deformed self half the time, and the other half, she would be her beautiful maiden self. Which would he want her to be during the day, and which during the night? What a cruel question. Gawain pondered his predicament. During the day, a beautiful woman to show off to his friends, but at night, in the privacy of his home, an old witch. Or would he prefer having by day a hideous witch, but by night a beautiful woman with whom to enjoy many intimate moments What would you do? What Gawain chose follows below, but don't read it until you've made your own choice. Noble Gawain replied that he would let her choose for herself. Upon hearing this, she announced that she would be beautiful all the time, because he had respected her enough to let her be in charge of her own life. What is the moral of this story? If a woman doesn't get her own way, things are going to get ugly.Review Of The Way Of The Dreamcatcher:
Spirit Lessons With Robert Lax, Poet-Peacemaker-Sage
by Kathleen Norris
This unpretentious book is both thoughtful and refreshing. Like its subject, Robert Lax, poet, recluse, friend of Thomas Merton and of cats, it is extravagantly hospitable, and in a classic monastic sense. By happy accident the author, a burned-out graduate student from San Francisco, was steered by a fisherman on the Greek island of Patmos to another American writer, a fellow named "Pax." Robert Lax was a college friend of Thomas Merton, who always considered Lax his spiritual superior, with an innate sense of God's presence. Merton entered the Abbey of Gethsemani; Lax underwent his conversatio morum outside the normal channels, becoming a poet, Hollywood screenwriter, a translator of modern Greek poetry, a journalist, and briefly, a circus juggler. In the manner of a true contemplative, Lax found spiritual lessons in it all. He's not above using surfing jargon to convey the sense of being receptive and open, riding the present moment without fear of "wiping out." Of juggling, he says, "It does depend on being focused on the present...There is no lingering on the past or future...it is the art of the now." The book's true subject is holiness, and when pressed about it, Lax says, with characteristic humor, "Well, I've always tried to be a good boy," adding, "what everyone should be, given a choice, is a saint, a holy person...We are meant to be holy, all of us are." Answering that call led Lax to Patmos, where he spent the last thirty-five years of his life. He explains that he was deeply attracted by the place, its "generative silence. The quiet imposed by the volcanic mountains and stones, a real love moving over the face of the waters." The practical wisdom Lax offers, "Watch what you eat," is of a piece with his matter-of-fact observations on the great theological issues. Remarking on Lax's choosing to live in a remote place so closely associated with the Christian Apocalypse, Georgiou asks, "Do you feel that we are living in the last days?" Lax dismisses the turn-of-the-century "millennium hoopla," remarking that "every day is a dress rehearsal of the last day." Lax was in his late seventies when the author encountered him--he died in 2000 at the age of eighty-five--but when Georgiou asks him if he is afraid of death, Lax says, simply, "I've certainly thought about it...But frankly, I'm too busy thinking about life to be meditating on death." The following passage, which I happened on not long after my father's death, reveals far better than anything I can say the generosity of spirit found in this gem of a book. Lax says: I mean, when the time comes, we pick up our duds and return to where we came from. We're brought into this life because Heaven loves us, and back to that Love we go. Now I know that death is certainly hard for those left behind. But tears are also part of the flow. Let them well up because they come as a blessing. It's the angels' way of helping to quiet the spirit so that prayers of love and hope may follow. Amen. Available in the USA via www.amazon.com, 23rd Publications (1-800-321-0411, #142), & through Ingram. 284 pages. ISBN: 2-89507-244-2.What is Enough? The Stone Cutter
Submitted by Bill Kohlmeyer
There was once a stone cutter who was dissatisfied with himself and with his position in life. One day he passed a wealthy merchant's house. Through the open gateway, he saw many fine possessions and important visitors. "How powerful that merchant must be!" thought the stone cutter. He became very envious and wished that he could be like the merchant. To his great surprise, he suddenly became the merchant, enjoying more luxuries and power than he had ever imagined, but envied and detested by those less wealthy than himself. Soon a high official passed by, carried in a sedan chair, accompanied by attendants and escorted by soldiers beating gongs. Everyone, no matter how wealthy, had to bow low before the procession. "How powerful that official is!" he thought. "I wish that I could be a high official!" Then he became the high official, carried everywhere in his embroidered sedan chair, feared and hated by the people all around. It was a hot summer day, so the official felt very uncomfortable in the sticky sedan chair. He looked up at the sun. It shone proudly in the sky, unaffected by his presence. "How powerful the sun is!" he thought. "I wish that I could be the sun!" Then he became the sun, shining fiercely down on everyone, scorching the fields, cursed by the farmers and laborers. But a huge black cloud moved between him and the earth, so that his light could no longer shine on everything below. "How powerful that storm cloud is!" he thought. "I wish that I could be a cloud!" Then he became the cloud, flooding the fields and villages, shouted at by everyone. But soon he found that he was being pushed away by some great force, and realized that it was the wind. "How powerful it is!" he thought. "I wish that I could be the wind!" Then he became the wind, blowing tiles off the roofs of houses, uprooting trees, feared and hated by all below him. But after a while, he ran up against something that would not move, no matter how forcefully he blew against it - a huge, towering rock. "How powerful that rock is!" he thought. "I wish that I could be a rock!" Then he became the rock, more powerful than anything else on earth. But as he stood there, he heard the sound of a hammer pounding a chisel into the hard surface, and felt himself being changed. "What could be more powerful than I, the rock?" he thought. He looked down and saw far below him the figure of a stone cutter.The Box
By John Denver
Once upon a time, in the land of Hushabye, Round about the wondrous days of yore. They came across a sort of box, bound up with chains and locked with locks, And labeled "Kindly Do Not Touch, It's War." A decree was issued round about all with a flourish and a shout, and a gaily colored mascot tripping lightly on the fore, "Don't fiddle with this box, or break the chains, or pick the locks, And Please... don't ever play about with war." Well, the children understood, children happen to be good, and they were just as good around the time of yore. They didn't try to pick the locks, or break into that deadly box, they never tried to play about with war. Mommies didn't either, Sisters, Aunts, Grannies neither, 'cause they were quiet and sweet and pretty in those wondrous days of yore. Well... very much the same as now, and not the ones to blame somehow, for opening up that deadly box of war. But someone did... someone battered in the lid, and spilled the insides out across the floor. A sort of bouncy bumpy ball, with flags and all the tears and horror that goes with war. It bounced right out and went bashing all about, and bumping into everything in store. And what was sad and most unfair is that it didn't really seem to care, much who it bumped, or why, or what, or for. It bumped the children mainly, and I'll tell you this quite plainly, It bumps them everyday... and more... and more, and leaves them dead and burned and dying, thousands of them sick and crying, cause when it bumps... it's really very sore. Now there's a way to stop the ball, it isn't difficult at all, all it takes is wisdom. I'm absolutely sure that we could get it back into the box... and bind the chains and lock the locks. But no one seems to want to save the children anymore. Well, that's the way it all appears, cause it's been bouncing round for years and years in spite of all the wisdom wizzed since those wondrous days of yore. And the time they came upon The Box, bound up with chains and locked with locks... and labeled "Kindly Do Not Touch, It's War."
