Parable of the Clock

Silently I sit, but my hands move.  You know I’m here.  You look over to see what time I’m displaying.  Sometimes you seem anxious, until you get a phone call.  Other times you see me and you get wide-eyed, jump up, run about the house, then abruptly leave.

🎨 my painting "It's About Time"

What did I do?  Aren’t I here for you?  Even without you looking at me I exist.  I steadily move forward (except of course those times you force my hands to move ahead or back an hour - what’s up with that?).

I wonder if you appreciate me at all.  From what I’ve seen, humans only can take so much of me.  They are mortal after all.  Yet I continue on.  Even if this fixture wasn’t here, I am still out there. 

I sometimes dream of leaving.  My second and hour hands break through this glass and run off together, making time go by so fast, we do.

🎨 Riina Maido, Finland

All of life depends on time to move forward.  But this clock in itself is not time.  It’s a container - it moves, it quickens, it shuts down, it even breaks.  You humans are like these containers - we both are time capsules.  But with or without this capsule, time lives on, infinitely.  Knowing that, do you get wide-eyed, jump up, run around the house and suddenly feel like you may soon have to leave?

I guess my alarm just went off.       Theresa M.

PS - Hmmm… we are time capsules.  We each only hold so much of it.  Floating along till our capsule dissolves.

📷 annacapictures on pixabay

Parable of the Pencil

Remember back to first grade, I would need you to hold me just so, to mark on a paper.  You would try your left hand and your right hand.  Sometimes the grownups would force you to choose what they thought was right for you, but you would learn along the way when left to yourself what was best for you.

We pencils were thick for your tiny hands, but soon you got to use narrower ones.  And you liked choosing various colors.  You would especially be delighted if you could have your own name imprinted on it.

Yes, we wore down the more you wrote or drew.  But we would get sharpened.  You loved the smell of the wood chips filing off.  You kept good care of us.  Having a pencil case was a great way to keep us all together.

📷 ds_30 on pixabay

But as the years went on, you used pencils less often.  Pens didn’t have it any better, as more people used their contraptions to type their words, or even just speak them.

Words.  So many words.  When you wrote them with the pencil, you could easily erase what you misspelled, or what you really didn’t mean to say.  You could take time to review your words, to get it just right.  The eraser was a good friend, kind of like a conscience.

Now, people spout out things on social media so impulsively; they insult, ridicule, curse.  Their emotions in the moment have no reins.  They are so impatient to point out their own view, they don’t stop to realize they are dealing with others who also feel emotions.  There is no eraser to monitor the message.

Too bad us pencils aren’t used as often anymore.  With our pal the eraser, we could help folks slow down, and think about what they want to say, or need to say.  Need they say anything at all?     Theresa M

PS - Perhaps keeping a written journal - actually written with a pencil or pen - can help us slow down and get in touch with what is really going on inside us.

📷 Domas on pixabay

Parable of the Button

You see me in all shapes and sizes.  And on various items.  Mostly clothes.

I am one button who lives in a box with about a zillion other ones.  We have been passed around to humans, what they say is “the next generation,” yet we sit here unused.  Not far from us is a machine that was used to sew clothes.

Anyway, nobody seems interested in us like they used to be years ago.  Humans used to open this box and toss us on a table, looking at all of our amazing colors and sizes.  I was known as a pretty blue one, with a tinge of green.  But back in the box we went.

What is it about clothes these days that don’t need replacement buttons?  Then again, there seems to be quite a lot of clothes accumulated by these humans.  Maybe they don’t bother with replacing us because they just toss out the whole item and buy another one.  What a waste, who does that?

I wonder where my fellow pretty blue buttons have gone?  I don’t seem to match up with any others.  I don’t fit in.  I guess humans must use that as another reason to ignore me.  I feel so alone.

I sit in this box among others also forgotten and unwanted.  Oh, to be out there helping a human hold it together.  Don’t they realize how much they need us?     Theresa M

PS - What used to be necessary things seem to become more and more unwanted; items passed down generation to generation, losing their value, becoming seemingly worthless.  So much material now is being replaced rather than reused or recycled.  What a waste our society has created. 

What did your ancestors treasure?

📷  bluemorphos on pixabay

Parable of the Window

The greedy man looks outside the window.  He closes the drapes.  He thinks he can hide his bad deeds from the world.  But the world knows him anyway.

The light will come through the window.  The world sees him as he is.  He is no different from most people, but pride is greater than shame.

📷 reflex_production on pixabay 

Look here.  Outside.  See the world?  They’re judging you, greedy man, regardless of whether or not you like it.

Go ahead, break the pane!  It won’t change a thing.  The whole house can be covered with drapes; greedy man you will be the same.  He can shatter every window with his wrath.  But then the windows will blow open the drapes, and the world will catch glimpses of his greed and lies.  He cannot hide. 

The world knows him as he is.  I only hope they stop him before he goes too far.  It will be better to see him behind bars instead of windows.       Theresa M

📷  mac231 on pixabay

PS - The greedy man can only hide so long.  Look through the windows to see what’s really going on.  Open the windows, open your mind.  Don’t let their deceit get the best of you.

Parable of the Locket

Among the old photographs, one was found to be incomplete.  A face removed, in a heart shape, from a lady who had been sitting in the sunshine.  Probably taken for a locket, to wear around someone’s neck, close to their heart to cherish.  A locket of love, somewhere out there.

But no locket was found in the deserted house.  Not much left among the bureaus and bookcases, nor the dressers.

Somewhere out there, was a heart-shaped locket with this lady’s face.  Someone who had cherished her, wanted to remember her.  Wanted this love to be for all time.

Sometimes we find old treasures in second-hand stores.  All sorts of things that various people kept in their homes, or wore, yet no longer needed.  They themselves have passed on into another dimension, their belongings into another space.

But where does all the sentimental value go, such as that of a beloved locket?  Who is there to treasure her memory now?  The rest of the picture left behind will likely be tossed.  The locket might never be found.

But I believe that this locket, which once held love so strong, which warmed the heart of one human, may be lost in this world, but the enduring power of the love it represented remains here, even if there are no more people who remember the lady in the photograph.  There will always be a remnant of love for her in our universe.       Theresa M

PS - I ran across the photo of the faceless lady on Bluesky (original source/owner unknown).  I thought it was a powerful symbol of love continuing on, forever.

We do treasure material objects, and it’s ok.  As long as we know they are but temporary gifts.  And when they represent someone we love, trust that even as material things pass, love will always last, somewhere out there.             

unknown source

Parable of the Penny

The item cost $6.99.  But I was not returned in change.  For some reason, I get tossed around carelessly, often ending up on the pavement or in a little bowl by the cashier at any gas station.  I long to be passed on to a human.  I see the sale signs at times for “$x.99” as if so many retailers are eager to pass on the penny to people!

But alas, they seem to do what some call a “rounding off.”  Next higher number, so me and my pals are short-changed and are left behind.

I’ve heard rumors that some people collect the likes of me!  Some are even kept in large glass jars.  Just think of the riches a human could have, if only they respected us more.

Oh, well.  Some have it good, some have it bad.  But as I’m sitting here all by myself, it’s not as if I’m just loafing around.  If only I could walk I could maybe find an owner.  Well, it’s just a thought.  Anyone want a penny?         Theresa M

PS - Pennies add up.  More and more I notice cashiers don’t even bother to return it as change.  What’s up with that?  I thought every penny counts.  It does in my budget.  Oh well!

“A penny saved is a penny earned.”  Benjamin Franklin   🪙

“She works hard for the money.”  Donna Summer and Michael Omartian

Parable of the Word

Here I am.  Inside these covers, with pages and pages surrounding me.  It has been dark here for quite awhile.  No one has come around to read us.

Wait, I feel movement!  I sense the covers openings a bit.  Yes!  There is light!  We are being chosen again!  There is warmth too.

📷 my pic

Shall someone read us once again?  Delightful!

Wait, it is getting awfully hot.  A feeling as if we’ve been thrown across the air - there - bump!  Light is all around.   Flames!  We are being burned!  What is going on?  I thought humans cherished books, depended on words, read stories to learn and grow.

Oh, this hurts.  Pages are curling up, embers are flitting about.  I cannot scream, I cannot run.  Only a human can save me.  Perhaps somewhere there is a copy of me, of us, this book.  Will anyone out there reach out to help?  Put in a good word for us.  Please.          Theresa M

PS:  Words.  Books are just words,  Or are they?  They all have a message.   And the choice to read them or not is an individual choice.  Let no one make that choice for you.  Read what you want.   And hopefully learn something from it.

Parable of the Leaf

Intro:  Usually I write little essays to focus on the positive things in one’s self, others, and life in general.  The fables were fun to do for kids and adults.  Now I’ll try my hand at parables.  Yet I find they are coming out a bit dark.  It is in relation to the reality of life as our nation heads into what I feel is a steep decline of cherished values.  So much hatred, revenge, greed and lack of accountability has been occurring.  I don’t understand why so many people would choose to take this path.  But here we are.  Is it too late to redirect our way?

I will try to make some of the parables light-hearted.  Balance in life is so important.  Blessings to you.

Parable of the Leaf

I see the neighbors are getting packed up to move.  They are gathered together in droves as humans use a long wooden handle with protruding metal claws.  One big round stack after another, the neighbors are clinging together, until of course the wind blows, then a few of them attempt to sneak away.  Hey, there goes a beautiful red one now!

📷 my pic

But humans know that they won’t gather every single one.  They do attempt to restrain them further by putting the bundles in bags, which will later be picked up by a huge noisy machine that grabs them and dumps them inside its jaws.  They are no more to be seen.

Here I sit in the yard, untouched by human hands.  The human over here lets me sit out through the winter, and live my life to its fullest.  I do my best to keep my color palette lovely, but even so I’ll wither away and eventually die completely.  

Wintertime is quiet.  I don’t mind the snow.  It sometimes visits to cover me gently; it understands my situation.  I think it sympathizes with me, as I do with it.  So very quickly snow comes to an end, and melts away.  

Life for me starts to wither.  Bits of me break off into the ground.  My fellow leaves all experience the same.  I sometimes wonder if it would have been better to be swept away like my neighbors were.  Then again, they had no choice.  But did I ever have a choice?  No.  But humans do.  Some make a choice to take advantage; some choose to be helpful.  Some just try to survive.  

If I were human, what would I have done?          Theresa M 

PS:  Can’t help but think, as I wrote this, of concentration camps: the choices made by some humans to force their power over others.  I fear the days ahead will be like that all over again.  Some people have made their choice to let others have power over themselves.  Others do not choose to be a part of that, but could also face the same powerlessness if nothing is done to stop evil.  Choices definitely have consequences.