Knowing no knowing knows the now.
Do not mourn discarded plans to ride your camel a thousand miles to reach Mecca, once you know you must climb Chomolungma instead.
The plan is not the goal.
The plan was never the goal.
The goal was the goal.
If the goal changes,
No matter how good the plan,
Change the plan.
So rejoice, grab your mule and climb your mountain.
Reaching the goal is your reward.
It matters not whether you wade through camel shit or mule shit to get there.
The surest way to fall is to stop moving forward.
Each night Ant leaves the colony, treks through the field, finds a blade of grass, and climbs, climbs, climbs.
Ant’s work for the day has passed, his burden lowered, the others sleep, and Ant is done, done, done.
In spiritual ecstasy, atop the spike, mandibles clamped tight, Ant waves his legs to pray, pray, pray.
Deep inside Ant knows he is part of something larger.
Deep inside Ant knows he serves a higher purpose.
Deep inside Ant knows he has been touched by God.
Deep, deep, deep.
Yet a small part of Ant niggles.
A small part of Ant nags.
A small part of Ant needles.
Burrowing doubt. Pernicious doubt. Malevolent doubt.
Was that moment when Ant felt one with everything truly God; or was it just a fluke?
Had God made Dog in his own image, would angels smell each others butts?
Three kings entered the armory.
The first surveyed the room and alighted upon the Sword of Beauty. Picking up the jeweled hilt, and admiring the calligraphy on the blade, he proclaimed, “here is a sword worthy of my reign! The people will see it and rejoice.” And with that, he entered the arena.
The second surveyed the room and found the Sword of Humility. Grasping the wooden hilt, with its simple cross for a guard, he knelt and prayed, “Lord, may this sword represent that I am but a servant of my people.” And with that, he entered the arena.
The last surveyed the room, and went from sword to sword. Grasping each, he tossed it in his hand, swung once, swung twice, and put it down before moving to the next. Then selecting the one that killed best, he said nothing, entered the arena and became king of them all.
“You dare laugh at me,” snarled Lion at Hyena. “Your death is assured!”
“Of course, of course,” laughed Hyena. “Kill the critic, while meanwhile the gazelle romp free and mock you.”
So Lion hunted all the gazelle, and bringing Hyena to the killing fields, he proclaimed, “Look now Hyena. I am Lion, king of all I see. As surely as I can do this, your death is assured!”
“Of course, of course,” laughed Hyena. “Kill the critic, while the elephant titter behind your back.”
So Lion slaughtered the elephants, the bison and the rhinos. He eviscerated the zebras, the wildebeests, and the giraffes. He massacred the cheetahs, the vultures, and even the other lions. All fell before his roar.
And crushing Hyena beneath his giant paw, he said, “see now, none stand before me. Your death is assured. How can you still laugh?”
“Of course, of course,” giggled Hyena. “You are strong, and you are powerful, and I will most assuredly die. But tomorrow you will find no food, and the day after my brothers will find you. And laugh.”