The Parable of the Setting Sun

A young person journeyed far, on a pilgrimage to gain wisdom from those who possessed it.

One night, as she walked along the road, marveling at the stars above and the earth around her, she saw many people seated in a meadow, all facing the same direction. All were weeping and beating their chests. Some threw themselves prostrate upon the ground in their grief. Their clamor was heartrending.

She approached one and asked, “Who are you? Why do you weep? What great tragedy has befallen you?”

The man replied, “We are the ones who have seen the day and mourn its passing. We sit facing west, mourning the setting of the sun, our grief overwhelming us.” He paused. “This is our wisdom. It brings us no joy.”

“But…” the young person began, but the man was no longer listening. With a loud cry he rejoined his fellows in their clamor.

She stood silently for a moment, observing their pain, and then walked away, toward the east, where the sun was already rising.

A Parable of Light

On another plane than this one:

A man lay dying and called his friends to him.

He said to them, “I know that soon I must die, and I have seen that my life has produced no great works or deeds. I console myself with the thought that I have been as kind and generous as I know how, but I cannot help but ask — what good can one person’s kindness do in the vastness of this world?

His friends murmured sympathetically — what, indeed?

“But,” he said, “I have seen a vision. On another plane than this one…

“I saw myself suspended alone in an infinite darkness. I seemed to be made of glass, so that you could see through me.

I was surrounded by a vast, infinite darkness — the void of the universe, and I was alone.

That darkness was complete. I could see nothing but myself.

Every time I felt a kindness, though, of thought or of deed, it came from my breast in a burst of warm light, which flowed out from me and soon dissipated in the darkness.”

The man’s friends listened politely. He continued.

“But then, in the distance, the faint remains of my light of kindness met… another soul, perhaps? I could not see, but it was as if my light had encountered a node of some kind, which glowed briefly itself before fading.

It began to happen more often — more and more glowing nodes in the darkness, bursting into light and fading into the void.

And then I began to see, as more and more light suffused the void, that all these nodes — lit and unlit — were connected by fine filaments, and the more nodes were lit, the stronger those connections became until I was looking at a galactic mycelium powered by warmth and kindness.

Of course, not all nodes gave off the same amount of light. Some shone brightly — others barely glowed before fading. Very occasionally a node would explode with light, completely overwhelming and then freeing everything in its vicinity.

Slowly, the vast darkness was diffused with light, light that had come from me, light that ebbed and flowed, tenuous light, faint light, but light.

I began to understand that I had been receiving bursts of light myself from others before me, and that I always had been. I knew some of those lights were gone now, but what I received from them I passed on so that the light did not fail.”

“I saw all of this, on another plane, and I knew this was the answer to my question: What good can one person do?” The man smiled at his friends.

“There comes a time…

…he said…

…when your light is no longer enough.”

He paused.

“Nor is it necessary.

In my vision, I saw that my light was gone now, too, and I watched as the darkness spread before me like ripples in a pond.

But though I was no longer giving light, the light I had already given continued its journey through the network of nodes, of souls, each soul now giving its own light to the universe. I watched as the light, my light, traveled far ahead, leaving an expanding darkness behind, until there was nothing more.”

He spoke.

“The rest is peace.”

“But…” said his friends.

He spoke no more, not on that plane or any other.

The Parable of the Fire

The people came to a wise man and asked, “Tell us, who is good?”

The wise man said:

There were three men, each of whom was building a fire.

The first man has enough wood to build his fire, plus enough to keep it going until bedtime. His fire starts slowly, but soon it is crackling merrily. He is sure to be warm.

Sometimes the flame is high and hot; other times it flickers and is warm. The man makes adjustments as needed, moving logs and adding more to keep the fire going.

He knows that eventually it will be bedtime — should he add an other log to keep it warm, or should he let it die down? He knows there is an end to the fire and to the evening.

The second man has a very large woodpile, enough for months of fires. He uses lighter fluid to start his fire — his father gave him that — so his fire starts explosively, high and hot, and he expects it to stay that way.

He adds logs to the fire constantly, piling on even when the logs beneath have barely started to burn. He will always have more logs.

The third man, alas, has only two or three logs and not very much to start his fire with —some twigs, perhaps some cardboard. His fire starts slowly, oh so slowly, and it never becomes what you would call high or hot. In any case, it will not burn for very long.

The wise man turned to the people and asked — “Which of these men is good?”

The Parable of the Great City

Once a man returned from the dead and began to tell his friends what had befallen him.

“I rose from my body,” he said, “and I was grateful to be free finally of the suffering of life. I could see you all standing over my body, stricken with what seemed to be grief, but I felt nothing but gratitude.

“I did not move. I did not go towards a light. There did not seem to be a light. On the contrary, as I hovered in the room, everything seemed to fade away. I cannot say how long it took, whether it were a long time or short, but eventually the room was gone and I found myself in a vast darkness that was nonetheless bathed in light.

“I felt no fear. There were with me countless others, suspended in the great void. There may have been a sound of singing, or music of some kind. I cannot tell now. I do not remember silence.

“All were moving towards what appeared to be a boundary of some kind. As we moved, I began to see what transpired as the souls reached that line.

“Some began to rise, slowly at first, but then more and more rapidly, to a great city that shone above us, from which a great light streamed and into which those souls entered. Others upon reaching the boundary gave a tremor and before our eyes seemed to unwind like great sheets of fabric twisted after washing in the river, their bodies changing in an instant into great swaths of gossamer, which then dissipated into the void and vanished with a whisper.

“Still I did not fear, but slowly approached the line and awaited my fate: the beautiful city, or nothingness?”

The man’s friends broke in excitedly. “Clearly we see your fate! You were elected to the city, to the beautiful city, for if you had suffered dissolution you would not now be here.”

The man replied, “It is as you say. I am in the beautiful city, I and all the other elect, where we live for ever.”

His friends rejoiced. “Praise be to those who made us and taught us to worship correctly! We see now the right path to eternal bliss. If we follow the teachings of our prophets and the writings of our scribes, we too shall join you in heaven after we die!”

But the man cried out, “No, my brothers, do not rejoice for me, for I am in hell.”