Jessica Bibbee

Archive for the ‘tale’ Category

20140320

In aphorism, proverb, tale on 20140320 at 13:01

【How to Keep an Auto, Mobile】

One can pause to appreciate all that is wonderful about a most luxurious auto -its good looks, its comfort, its atmosphere, its engineered design, even the way the engine roars.

Yet, the most luxurious automobile is anything but mobile, if without replenished fuel or properly inflated tires. Without pausing to address a draining tank or deflating tire, the auto is mobile no more.

With sustenance no more and as with lungs collapsed, all that remains of the auto is a model, a shell of a substitute.

That, and a question: how to keep an auto, mobile?

One might appreciate its beauty, which surpasses that of any other. Alas, this will not keep the auto, mobile.

One might describe the comfort of the cabin, which none other has the ability to so please. But this will not keep the auto, mobile.

One might ascertain the degree to which one is rejuvenated while seated inside, as none other has the power to realize. Neither will this keep the auto, mobile.

One might detail the marvels of its engineering feats, surpassing all other models that dare to rival its arrival. Nor will this keep the auto, mobile.

One might confirm the strong rumble of the engine’s firing, still like the best and better than most. But even this will not keep the auto, mobile.

Alternately, if an auto should leave its owner waylaid on the side of the road, what is the best way to get mobile again?

Now then, a waning tank or flattened tire could have been avoided with proper and timely maintenance, certainly not with knowing avoidance of these responsibilities.

Even in times of the accidental roadside nail, it is only with patch or replacement that the auto can return to full glory.

The wise relish in the opportunity to refuel or to fix the flat and so are gifted with powers of healing, not to mention a return to the auto, mobile again. The fool ignore signs of warning and fixate instead on times of yore, unwilling to admit the present fault, and are left only to bemoan or disregard the auto, mobile no more.

For in times of disrepair, it behooves even the best of the best to pause and assess, to admit and duly address a manner of repair.

Indeed, a reality of disrepair is done no favors in finding praise and recalling the nostalgia of the good ol’ days of mobile, which is not to posit the futility of praise and nostalgia.

Wisdom lies not in the simple possession of knowledge, but in the timely wielding of said knowledge.

To ever appreciate goodness in times of advantage, also to prevent or so minimize misfortune during those times of advantage, and not in the least, to be quick to resolve conflict arisen in times of disadvantage.

To cherish the auto at one’s dispense, to maintain properly the air, oil, and fuel when levels hint of faltering, to fill the tank or fix the flat when it befalls even the diligent.

Never with neglect, neither with excuse, nor with retaliative cursing, and ever with appropriate appreciation, attention, and action.

That is how one keeps an auto, mobile.

20140225

In aphorism, tale on 20140226 at 11:06

《What Is, What Wills》

Once upon the deep, dwelled two pairs of seafaring lovers.

Both lived rather normal lives aboard their ships on the sea, full of ups and downs, as anyone would expect to see upon the sea.

On calm seas, both pairs made love with the illimitable passion of lovers held at bay.

But the sky does what a sky wills, and so oft brewed blackened clouds with the inevitable unknown beyond. It was in these times that the difference between the lovemakers was never more lucid.

For when the storms blew in, as only a fool could deny the inevitability of, the seasoned couple ceased their lovemaking, wisely understanding their lovemaking to be powerless against warding off the mighty storm. To them, worry was a more worthy and more rewarding charm.

The other couple continued to make love like only reckless lovers knew, much to the chagrin of the other lovers. And it was true that the lovers’ lovemaking did nary a thing to make the storm go away, to shorten the waves, or to lessen the impact.

Also true was it, that the cessation of the other lovers’ lovemaking neither did anything to encourage the passing of the storm.

For a truth is a truth as is a sail a sail. Wisdom lies in wielding a truth, not simply holding a truth.

For in the end, to the common eye, it was plain to see that lovemaking -and its lack thereof- had absolutely nary a thing to do with the coming of the storm, the size of the storm, nor the passing of the storm.

With the passing of a storm, what remained for the eye to see was but two sets of lovers at sea and two kinds of love as they so fit to see.

One, a weakened bond of fair weather lovers, who made love only when the sea was calm, losing only the opportunity to love each other through and so weather a storm together.

The other, a strengthened bond between the lovers, who made love without regard to a storm (or was it very much with regard to the storm?), losing only themselves in each other whether or not came the weather.

For a storm is what only a storm wills, and love is only what love wills.

20120129

In aphorism, poetry, proverb, tale on 20120129 at 19:09

It took more than the kiss of a princess to turn a frog into a prince. It took a fairy tale.

Be who you want to be -not only for that it might make a difference to others, but for that it will make a difference in you.

One can live a fairy tale, but never shall one die in the same fairy tale.

《if you will》
from life, is derived experience.
from experience, is derived wisdom.
from wisdom, is derived life.

The only thing worse than being shat on is realizing that it’s of your own doing.

Relationships are like energy: once established, they cannot disappear, only change form.

Methinks myself exempt / methinks myself a fool.

Life is too short to be held back by: others, fear, fear of others, others’ fear.

One of the best rewards of teaching is learning.

20111012

In rumination, tale on 20111012 at 13:14

《Sink or Swim》

This is the story of how a child, a boat, a voice, and a choice found each other:

On some days, the sun shines and the wind blows.

It is on these days that boats float and children dream.

On the breath of the wind, billowing white clouds moved with silent excitement across blue skies and gazed deeply over still blue waters.

Far down below, a Child found a boat, and soon found herself afloat in the boat. But for shame, as the child would soon also find herself in a boat with a leak.

The stillness of the water slowly, but surely, greeted the shell with its silent entrance.

And so the Child did what only the Child could do, and that was to lift the water out again to the expanse of the blue.

Stymied, the Child thought, “I just wanted to go for a sail, but instead, I find myself with water to bail.”

A Voice said to the child, “It seems that would make you a plumber, not a sailor.”

The truth in these words so captivated the Child’s mind that the Child didn’t stop to question from where the voice came, but continued moving the water.

With a sigh, the Child replied, “‘Tis true -but I haven’t a choice, have I? I can only hope to stay afloat. How can I even dream of sailing this boat?”

“Oh, but you do and you can!” said the Voice. “You do have the choice to go overboard or to give up your dream. But, either way, you must abandon the naiveté with which you first boarded this boat.”

In silence, the child continued to empty the water from the proa back into the blue.

“Shall you jump ship and learn to swim? Or shall you give up your dream?”

The Voice waited.

The rhythmic sound of water leaving the boat ceased.

The Child peered into the water, leaning over the edge of the boat. And for the first time, the Child caught sight of her own face in the undulating mirror.

But in doing so, the Child had rocked the boat, to the point that more water threatened to claim its whole. And without thinking, the Child quickly returned to the center of the boat, seeking balance and stability.

The rocking slowed, and the Child at last spoke. “I must lead with my brain, but I must also follow my heart.”

Splash! The boat rocked once more.

And the silence that ensued was followed only by a ripple so large that spread so far, that its waves reached well beyond the limits of her shore.

20110330

In tale on 20110330 at 20:49

《infinity》
She read the page, not the words.

She read the absence of words -the space between the written word.

The ink was too finite for her mind; she was drawn into the infiniteness of the abstraction that was space -the very space filling the cavity between the cracks of ink that penetrated the paper, but could not exploit its potential.

20101227

In tale on 20101227 at 15:33

《Flawed in the Eye of a Bumptious Camel》

In a land where the sun shone without reprieve, there once was a Camel so proud, that he would spit at the sight of another animal. For in his eyes, the others -they were all flawed.

A Little Bird, ever observant, came to rest on the head of the Camel. “Who are you spitting at today, dear Camel?”

The bumptious Camel responded with a huff, “Ha! Who does that Elephant think she is?” With a spit in the Elephant’s direction, he continued. “What a silly nose, it nearly hangs on the ground!”

The Little Bird smirked with wisdom unknown to the Camel, and responded, “Dear Camel, that long silly nose of the Elephant is quite a useful tool, don’t you see? She gathers water like a hose. And when no water there is, like a trumpet, she bellows!”

The bumptious Camel hesitated in concession but for a moment, turning next to the Lion. “Look at that scruff! Can’t a Lion tame his own mane?” And the Camel spit.

The Little Bird with a smirk, followed, “Dear Camel, that mangy mane not only makes it look kingly above all the other animals, but can you fancy it with a bob cut?”

The bumptious Camel could not disagree and chuckled at the thought of a better-groomed Lion.

But he quickly straightened his face and forced another spit, saying, “But what about the Giraffe? Such a long, gangling neck –what is a head doing so far from its feet?”

The Little Bird explained, “Dear Camel, when the rains visit no more, and food is scarce –only the Giraffe can reach those yet green leaves, so high up in the sky.”

Once more, the Camel scrambled to save the last of his all-knowing pride, and said, “The Rhino –what can be said of that sore-looking horn, smack in the middle of its mug!”

But the Little Bird was no shorter of words than she was of wisdom. “Dear Camel, that unsightly adornment of a horn might be nothing to look at, but it serves her well when intruders threaten with presence.”

Conceding at last, the Camel asked the Little Bird, “And what about you? What is your forte that feigns a flaw?”

The Little Bird asked, “Who me?” and with tilted head, paused in thought before responding, “Why… these scrawny legs of mine, I suppose. They aren’t much to look at, either -are they!”

The Camel timorously chuckled in agreement.

“But, when I fly…” the Little Bird expounded, “… ’tis as if I fly without the weight of any legs, -free to soar where’er the wind dares me!”

And with these words, the Little Bird set out for a spin, spreading her wings and tucking those scrawny legs right out of sight. This talent pleased the Camel, causing him to look down at his own not-so-scrawny legs.

But before the Camel could sputter a word, the Little Bird interjected, “Oh Camel, your legs are just fine, strong as the quadruped that you are! Your forte feigning flaw is not your knock knees, but only what you yourself cannot see.”

The Little Bird landed once again on the Camel’s forehead, this time facing backwards, her own tail dangling just in view of the Camel’s eyes.

At this, the Camel was instantly flummoxed, but equally intrigued.

With eyebrows now disheveled, he goaded the Little Bird, “Alright, Legs. Enough with empty accusations; Enlighten me, if you think you may!”

The Little Bird peered backwards over the Camel and said, “Have you ever wondered why you cannot roll around and scratch your back on the grasses of these barren plains, like the other quadrupeds?”

The Camel was dumbstruck, for the Little Bird had spoken the truth –though he had never paused to reason why.

“Look at this back of yours, Camel. It’s got a big bump on it, like you’ve been stuffed with a pillow!” The Little Bird bounced up and down on the noticeable bump.

The Camel spit in denial, then dropped his jaw with waning disbelief. He craned his neck to the side in search, as he realized that he’d never ever even seen this so-called bump. And he found his neck to be just long enough to catch a glimpse of what was indeed a most un-smooth bump. The Camel’s eyebrows settled into a heap of newfound shame.

The Little Bird flew up to this bump and said, “Dear Camel –this bump of a hump of yours, this flaw –is your forte.”

The Camel perked up a bit with hope enough to relieve his mounting shame. “Do enlighten me, Little Bird!”

“This hump of yours explains why you alone can brave the desert sands, without hint of oasis, for days on end. This bulky bump of a hump is but a reservoir, with water enough to endure time itself in light of the blazing sun!”

And this time, the Camel smiled a –no longer bumptious– smile and said, “Hey, Legs- so wise are you! Now, I see… the only flaw of mine, was in the sight of my eyes!”

20101123

In aphorism, proverb, rumination, tale on 20101123 at 11:23

Apathy is fear, incognito.
Anger is fear, unleashed.
Action is fear, confronted.

With folded hands and closed eyes, we choose to be the fool, the dead, or the wise.

《Learning to BE》
The child asks the elder, “How to BE?”

The elder utters, “Child, close your eyes and fold your hands. And you will find the wisdom to BE”.

The child scans the earth and rebuts, “It is the fool that fold their hands idly and close their eyes tightly. I do not wish to be a fool, I simply wish to BE.”

Again the elder says, “Child, close your eyes and fold your hands. And the wisdom to BE, you will find.”

Hands raised to the sky, again the child refutes, “It is the dead that rest infinitely with eyes aclosed and hands afolded. I do not wish to be dead, I simply wish to BE!”

One last time, the elder states, “Child, your able hands are raised upwards, yet you fail to grasp; your eyes are opened wide, yet you fail to see. -That if all you wish for, is simply to BE, it is but with folded hands and closed eyes, that you shall understand -you already ARE.”

20091110

In aphorism, proverb, rumination, tale on 20091111 at 01:28

In a land far away, in a time long ago, there was a man who had enough and had he not just enough, but to excess had he. His hours were long, his toils sincere, and his earnings quite dear. He ate well, he lived well, and he slept well. For this was a man with enough to spare and did he, with others share. For this, he was well regarded by his brethren, kin and neighbor, too. Even his foes kept a fond distance, for they were few and their character untrue, with only the cowardice of envy to spare. And so, the man slept well and he lived well.

It was common in those times, as in times now, for like to live by like. And so it happened that in a dwelling nearby lived a second man, well to do as he was. This man, too, had more than enough, enough even to excess. He ate well and he lived well, but he did not sleep well. Though his hours were likewise long, his toils were not sincere. The wind hums in question, how were his earnings dear? With cunning and not without conniving, this second man pondered and plotted his hours away. He left his toils to others near, that they may have reason not to stray. And stray they did not, their fear keeping them near. His foes were neither few and ever nearer they drew. Respect for this man fell away; in its place, stood only their contempt. And so, the second man, though he lived seemingly well, did not sleep so well.

It was true in those times, as in times now, that where a mountain stands tall, a valley lays nearby. And so it were that a third man lived not so far from the first and second men. But though he ate well enough, he did not live well and he did not sleep well. His toils were many and his hours even more. And whilst he would utter not such words, it was for the second man that he toiled so. Neither foe had he, nor friends with which to be. His hours filled with anger true and one part angst, and toil alone did he. And so, the third man did not sleep well, because he did not live well.

It was inevitable in those days, as in days of now, that where the sun shines upon a tree, never the land below is a golden ray to see. And so there was a fourth man, who served below all the others. Of excess and its meaning he understood not, knowing it to be a thing only that he lacked. His toil was not much, his time of rest neither more. For his hours were long and he never knew when, if, it would end. Foes he had not; for nothing did they fear nor more was there to envy dear. Friends were likewise few, too afraid of filth to stand even near. He ate not well, and by no man’s standard did he live well. But he did sleep well. With little to weigh him down and not a regret to hold him back, only the night was his friend, ever to return and always to keep him until the morn. And so, the fourth man did not live well, but he slept so very well.

With a heavy heart do we toil away what otherwise would we idle, or with light heart shall we rest when the day has met its end and bids farewell the eve.

This story of four men is but a tale of two: two ways to eat, two ways to sleep, and keeping true –there are but two ways to live.

20081027

In aphorism, poetry, proverb, tale on 20081027 at 18:43

The assassin creates a martyr where before stood merely a mortal.

War in the name of peace is to starve in the the name of nutrition.

Defense that strikes offense has reunited with lost kin.

《until the night》
Where by day Johnny went, where by day Johnny trusted;
always once or more, be it twice or even thrice.
Until the day was done, the night had barely come
and Johnny trusted not ’til morn.