Day 45: The Land Of Grand: A Story of Hope

“I pray for a time when we each shine in our own uniqueness and authenticity. When the idleness of conforming has transformed into an active celebration of the masses’ manifestation of love, acceptance, and peace. “ ~ Sam Craft

The Land of Grand:

There once was a kingdom in a make-believe land, so beautiful and lovely it was named: The Land of Grand. Until one day, when the King fell ill, from a terrible fall on a terrible spill. From that day forward, he rest in bed, with a gigantic lump upon his head. And as much as they tried, the people of the court, all of their remedies and cures fell short.

Thus the poor king remained dormant and sad, in his chamber all day, while the kingdom grew mad. The fields started to whither, the people the same, as they stuck to their homes, and played no more games. The laughter it ceased, the echoes grew dim, where once there was joy, a gloom had moved in.

At last came a creature, from a far away place, all covered with moss and whiskers on his face. Who came very fast, and left just the same, whispering a plan, to end the King’s pain.

At once the trumpets roared, and an announcement was read, a large reward was offered, to cure the king’s head. Quite fast the people gathered, lining streets wide and tall, cheering rather loudly: “Come hither, Come all!”

“I’ve got a plan! This will work!” Each townsperson claimed, their bottles and bowls marked well: End The King’s Pain. Their eyes how they glittered, with dollar signs and more, with glorious wishes, of all they adored. The houses, the cars, the shoes made of gold, the journeys to be had, these tales each one told.

What no one did know, as they stood tall and all proud, each cloaked in great pride and rumbling loud, was that in the next town, some miles away, lived a poor blind man, who seemed lost in his way. The man carried a white stick, all withered and worn, and a little blue sac with the stitching all torn. His clothes were not proper, his shoes rather old and every inch of his cloak was stitched with green mold.

But none of this mattered, to the man who couldn’t see, he’d set off to cure, the wise king for no fee. He’d ask not for money, and certainly not fame, he just longed for the fields to be green once again. Thus onward he marched, his spirit not shamed, by the rocks the children threw, or his leg that grew lame.

He limped up the hills, many miles in a day, not knowing what to do or even what to say. As night fell he rested by a grove of strong trees, soothed by the singing of tiny honeybees. Soon he arose slowly, the man and his stick, and inched his head closer to the honey so thick.

“Little bees,” he asked lightly, “Won’t you come journey at my side, and brighten the king’s tongue with the honey you hide?”

The bees stopped their buzzing, the silence was clear, and each looked at the man, sensing nothing to fear. The man’s heart was so pure, his intentions so kind, that they gathered their honey, and followed behind.

Till morning did come, and by a stream the man rest, when along came a crow, tapping gently on his chest. The man stroked the bird, and met something quite soft, so he whispered again, before the bird could take off. “Little bird, little bird, what do you keep—a ribbon for your nest, all silky and sleek? What a fine piece you’ve found from our beautiful land, for surely the king will think this is grand!” The bird listened well, and sensing delight, he gathered his friends, and took quickly to flight.

Now the man marched, with the wind in his hair, with the soft-feathered birds, that swooned in the air. He seemed quite an interest to the cows in the meadow, which mooed at his passing and too followed the fellow.

And soon there were more, than the man ever knew; great creatures from the land of green, brown and blue. They gathered together, a rainbow of delight, and at the gate to the kingdom, lifted the man to great height.

“Hello! Hello!” The man shouted, as he waved at the lines, of people he did not see, but whose shouting of surprise was sublime.

“It’s a man with the animals, all nature combined, how splendid, how marvelous, how simply divine!” The crowd gathered closer, their cheering grew loud. They’d dropped all their potions, forgot they were proud.

Hearing cheering and laughter, the king stood and looked out, and spying the animals, he let out a shout. From there he waved gleefully, his heart in rejoice, crying and singing, with great praise in his voice.

The tears they fell softly on the king’s face a glow. And the bump on his head had no choice but to go!

The man touched his head, and he tapped it once more, and laughed again and again before sprinting out the front door.  Half naked and crownless, he stood in awe at the sight, of honey on his fingertips and silk threads dancing in sunlight.

And finding the man, whose eyes could not see, he knelt at his feet, and let out his calm plea: “Oh Dear One. Oh Angel, who is broken and bruised. You’ve traveled great distance to build us anew. You’ve answered my prayers, you’ve released our despair, take my crown and my throne, I no longer care.”

The crowd gathered now, a circle mile-thick, all silent and watchful of the man with the white stick. He leaned in a bit, and lifted the king, then kissed his soft head, and whispered a thing.

The king chuckled loudly, and dabbed up his tears, and turned to the crowd, he’d known all these years.

While silently and softly, the blind man walked away, the animals all in front, leading his way.

The king cleared his throat then, and stood tall and bold. He said each word carefully, remembering what he’d been told:

“Oh Children of Grand, I stand here this day, in awe of the man who blessed us this way. With honey and silk, and animals from afar, I can’t help but think, how fortunate we are.  And I remember his words, of what he did speak, about blindness and seeing, and how strong becomes weak.”

“He said to me square: ‘I need not to see, to know what is true, to know how to be. I see from my heart, this place true to all. I’ve been given the task to uplift your fall.  And so I need nothing, from what you claim that you own, not money, not land, or even your throne. I have what I need in all of you here—in the hearts that are seeing in the hearts that weep tears.’”

With this the crowd cheered, and they danced, and they cried. And The Land of the Grand at last blossomed inside.

~ By Sam Craft

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