Wednesday, December 1, 2004

On Peace
Right, so, I just got done reading up Death Knight's opinion on world peace and I suddenly remembered a story I was once told. Although I do think he's right up to a point. Anyways, here goes with the story (it was the homily a couple of years back and I still remember it):

Two of the greatest artists in the realm were having an argument. Each claimed to be the better artist. No one could figure out who was better. Each had an unparalled skill and took viewers' breaths away. Finally they took their problem to the king. After pondering the dilema the king said:
"Alright. I shall give each of you a year to paint a rendition of 'peace.' Whoever can successfully render peace visible is the greatest artist in the realm."
The two artists went off to their own personnal homes and sought their Muses. What a year it was.
Finally, the year ended. The two artists returned to the king's court and people from all over the realm came to view the two masterpieces.
On each side of the room was a canvas covered with a velvet cloth. The king approached the first artist's canvas.
Taking off the velvet a tranquil scene introduced itself to the king. It was a tranquil glade with drooping willows and light pastel colours. The still water glistened in serene continentment underneath the balmy sun.
The king looked at the painting and blinked. And yawned. Finally he said, "This is not peace. This is boredom."
Turning, the king walked across the room to the other artist's canvas. Pulling away the velvet, quite a different view showed itself.
Upon the canvas was a raging waterfall. The kind of which is not seen in the world today. A torrent of water batter the rocks in a horrific, unceasing, cacophany of power. Mist arose and water sprayed everywhere.
The king's eyes widened:
"How," he queried, "how can you tell me that this is peace?"
Calmly, the artist pointed to a tiny tree that clung to the rocks at the base of the waterfall.
The tree was twisted and clung desperately to the rocks. The branches reached beseechingly to the sun for nurishment. Within the branches was a tiny nest. Upon the nest was a small bird, contentedly sleeping on her eggs, waiting for them to hatch.
"Ah," the king sighed, "yes, indeed. This is peace."

Do y'all understand the meaning of this parable? I hope so, cause if you don't you'll just have to wait 'til tomorrow when I feel up to explaining it.

In other news, just this past Sunday Fthr. mentioned that sometimes war is a necessity should peace be achieved.

Right, I'm off to take some Nyquil (nasty crap) and a shower and go to bed. I'll do my essays in the morning.
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