By Blue Turtle
This story was told to me by my G. Grandfather back in my early years, I hope that I can tell it correctly so that others may benefit from it as much as I did.
One day, long ago, a young man was walking along a path near the top of a mountain. The path was narrow and strewn with stones and overlooked a deep valley of extreme beauty. It was this beauty that distracted the young man as he walked,and his foot hit a loose stone. Before he could catch his balance, he found himself sliding down the steep slope towards the valley below.
Sliding uncontrollably, the young man searched frantically for something to hold on to, and he cried out, “Oh Creator, give me just one rock! One bush! Anything so that I do not fall to my death!”
Just then his hand gripped a bush. It was a thorn bush. As the young man’s hand grasped it, the thorns ripped cruelly into it and although the pain was nearly unbearable, the young man held on and checked his fall.
Looking about, the young man saw another bush above and attempting to relieve the pain of the one hand, he grasped it. It was another thorn bush, with barbs even greater than the first, yet the young man bore the pain and pulled himself up. Such it went bush after bush, each more cruelly barbed than the last, as the young man pulled himself painfully back up to the path.
Regaining the path, the young man found that his hands were terribly torn by the thorns. The young man lived to old age with a rich and full life, with those scars as a constant reminder of the pain and suffering that must sometimes be endured to retain the vigilance and keep to the true path of life.
May each of you reading this persevere on your life paths as well.
Blue Turtle
