A Parable

In a secluded village, the people worked and played hard. From the moment work was over, the villagers would gather for a nightly celebration. They would sing loud, drink much and carry on this way through most of each night. Just what they were celebrating, no one knew, but no one ever questioned the village’s nightly liturgy.

One villager was particularly active at night. He was the loudest, most untamed, of them all. He was the fuel for most of the nightly debauchery. Everyone loved his presence, which was never dull. There was no drink he wouldn’t try, no woman he wouldn’t kiss. The villagers admired his spirit and longed to be as happy as he. What they didn’t know, was that he was not happy at all. Deep within him was an emptiness he tried to fill with all the activities of night.

Each morning before the others awakened, the man would wander from the village and climb the nearby mountain. He had his favorite spot from where he could look beyond. He loved to watch the sunrise and all the changing colors below. From there he could see beyond the horizon of the village, and let his mind and heart think deep thoughts and paint profound dreams. His chest became full of air and dreams, and he raised his arms to the sky to give thanks.

“Thank you for this world,” he would sigh. “Thank you for this life.”

The memories from the night before, and the night before that, were brushed aside as he sat on his perch looking out at the world. He could see his village slowly awakening. From there, the people looked the same. Some were fetching water, others gathering wood for their morning fire. All looked so peaceful and happy from that distance. None of the village turmoil was visible from the mountain, none of the intrigue.

“Why can’t it be like this down there," he wondered. "Why can’t I be like this down there?”

As the sun rose over the trees, he knew the time to return had come. He stood from his perch and began his descent. The time had come for another day of striving, another night of searching.