Osho : An ancient Greek story:
A famous king had made a guesthouse for other kings when they used to visit. He made such a beautiful guesthouse, even better than the palace, and he made a golden bed which exactly fitted him: if he was five foot five inches, he had made the bed exactly five foot five.
Nobody had the courage to ask him, ”What are you doing? Somebody may come who is six feet, and he will not find it comfortable on this bed.” But it was well known that if you asked this king anything he answered with his sword, your head would be cut off. You could not ask anything; his word was the law!
So the craftsmen made the bed exactly to fit a man who is five foot five inches. But it is very difficult to find the same sized people …. The first emperor who came as a guest loved the guesthouse. He repented later on, but then it was too late. In the night four big wrestlers came in. Because he was six feet tall they had to push him
from both ends to fit the bed.
The king had ordered, ”Everybody has to fit the bed. If he is too long, cut him short, or push him in! If he is too short, make him longer! Don’t be worried whether he lives. Alive or dead – I have made a special bed of pure gold ….”
The emperor tried hard, but those four wrestlers first tried to push him in to fit to five foot five, and it was a difficult job. How to squash a man of six feet? They almost killed him. He said, ”What are you doing?”
They said, ”You have to fit with the bed.” But because they could not manage to push him shorter they had to cut off his head; then he fit the bed perfectly. And they told the king, ”The guest is in absolute rest.” Just two, three more people were caught by him, and then the story spread. But he killed three kings just by trying to make them fit according to the bed.
What is the moral of this story? The link is here… (to read the moral according to the original story) However, the bottom line is tradition. We have a set of rules that have been outdated. (But we have to fit in the golden bed) Rules, Laws, religions, practices that were made to fit a certain time or kind and as we evolved, these rules haven’t changed.
In traditional stitches by Art~
A little over a week ago, I cut my hand at my second job (the wood shop, I work 8 days a week, 4 at the Unit and 4 at the cabinet shop… I have had 3 days off since may (4th of July was one and my lil sunshine’s birthday another)) But back to my hand… The cut was deep (to the bone) and it would not quit bleeding. Band-aids were useless, in the heat and sweat, they didn’t stay on long. The cut was on the knuckle of my thumb and every time I grasp, the wound opened up again, and blood poured out like music from a radio.
Traditionally, I would go to the clinic and get it stitched. But I have done that so many times (about a dozen in my life time) that I had some one go to the dollar store and buy a sewing kit. (Yep, I sewed it up my self) Poured Hydrogen Peroxide over the cut and put three stitches in my own hand. I got the stitches out yesterday and I did a fine job if I say so my self.
now, don’t get me wrong when I say this, because it was more for fun than accuracy but when I am asked why I did the stitches my self, I would say, it’s the new Obama-Care (not to knock Obama-Care nor Obama,) it was just funny to me. I do have Insurance through work (the best insurance around) I just have seen the Doctors do the stitches enough that I can do it myself. So, traditionally, I’m still hard headed and feel I can take care of myself. It wasn’t so bad once I got past the pain.
(Speaking of stitches… ) my first recollection of stitches came when a young lady, Kathy Meeks (I was about 13) and I were playing in the Gulf Of Mexico, near Padre Island, @ Port Mansfield, Texas. We were tossing water on each other and she had a bucket and filled it with water and when she went to throw the water on me the weight of the bucket was too much and the bucket came from her hand and I ducked, it hit me in the top of my head. The water poured down my face ( or so I thought) it was red water???
My Aunt Mickey rushed me to the car and drove me to the Hospital in Harlingen, Texas. On the way she asked me if I put on clean under wear like she had said. Well, I didn’t put any under wear on and she explained to me that they will probably make me strip down and put on a gown. I was so worried about getting undressed and not having any under wear on that when we got to the hospital they just stitched up the wound (14 stitches) I never had to put a gown on, but I was more worried about being embarrassed that the stitches really didn’t bother me. Now that I am older, I rarely get embarrassed and I put in my own stitches. (grin)
may joy fill your every being