Some time ago there was a king who had his first born. His joy was immeasurable and he hoped that his joy would never wane or leave so he proclaimed an edict. “I will award the artisan who can create a vessel that can contain my joy and keep it safe with a permanent title and position as artisan of the kingdom”.
The word went out to every corner of the kingdom. Every artisan dreamed of becoming the king’s artisan. And so they set to work.
In the kingdom there was a poor potter. Upon hearing the king’s good news and edict he decided to create the most beautiful cup that could hold the king’s joy. He imagined how the king would drink from the cup whenever he felt his joy diminishing and how he might just gaze at the beautiful cup and find pleasure and joy.
He gathered the last of his best clay and sat at his wheel from morning until evening. He worked with love in his heart and hope in his mind. His fingers guided the clay into the most fantastic cup. It looked delicate, but was robust. Happy with his work, he set about stoking the kiln. While the kiln warmed he mixed the last to the best glaze he had and coated the cup. He placed the work of art into the kiln and went to bed knowing that in the morning his work would be ready.
He could hardly sleep that night with excitement. He imagined how the king would be impressed with the cup and what it would be like to be the potter to the king. When rest came, it shared his dreams only fueling his hopes for the future.
In the morning he pulled the piece from the kiln. It truly was beautiful. Once it cooled, he filled it with water to test it. To his horror the cup leaked. There with small fissures and cracks that allowed the water to drip and run down the outside of the cup. There was no way to repair the cup and he no longer had enough good clay or glaze to start over. He left the cup sitting on a tray on a table in the yard.
For the next few days and weeks, birds would come and drink from the cup. When it rained, the cup would slowly lose its water, but the birds would peck at the droplets and sit on the tray. As birds do, they left seeds. Wind and weather brought dust and dirt that settled in the cup and the tray and soon there were sprouts. Then there were flowers.
The potter soon forgot about the cup and the edict and his dreams. Meanwhile the king’s joy had turned to bitter pain. His child had passed and his countenance became drawn and tired. His joy now pain his court reminded him of his edict and responsibility. Soldiers were sent out to collect all of the artisans' work to be displayed and judged by the king. When they arrived at the potters humble house he was not home. Seeing the cup on the tray they assumed it was his entry and returned to the castle.
The entire kingdom assembled to see the works of art and watch the king. Even the potter came to see. On the stage were wonderful works of art. When the king appeared there was a cumulative gasp. He was slight and burdened. They were used to seeing a vibrant man who was full of life.
He approached the first entry. It was a beautiful metal box that had been forged by blacksmiths. It had unbreakable hinges and a meticulous inset lock. The box had been forged with multiple metals and was as ornate as it was strong.
“This box is truly unbreakable and beautiful, if it were full of joy it could never be stolen. Alas All that I have to put in the box is my sorrow and pain. I wish someone would take it from me instead of preserving it forever”.
The second entry was a gold chalice with inset gems. It radiated with luminous beauty. Someone had filled the chalice with wine. The king paused to take in the chalice. He raised it to his lips and tasted the wine.
“This beautiful chalice is itself a joy to behold. The wine tastes of jubilation and celebration, but I would drink to hide from my pain. And when the wine wears off, the pain would still be there. If I were to drink again and again, then I would simply stop living. Stop feeling.
The next entry was a small jeweled box. The box itself was gorgeous and it was meant to hold momentos as reminders of the king's joy so that every time he gazed upon it, it’s beauty would remind him of the precious treasures it held.
“What could I possibly put into this box? That would not also remind me of my loss. This beauty would become a curse to behold. As delicate and precious as it is I do not want it near me.”
And this is how it went with every entry. Each entry as glowing and amazing as the next to be set aside by the king. Until he came to a simple glass sitting on a tray with flowers. Someone had filled the glass with water and droplets were forming and running down the side. Birds would come and peck at the droplets, singing with gratitude. The flowers were simple and blooming from the water. If you looked closely bees occasionally visited.
The king stopped. He said nothing as he looked on. He watched the birds and saw the bees. He turned to the queen and held out his hand. She joined him. They talked quietly together. A murmur went through the crowd.
“My friends.” the king turned to the crowd. “My friends, this cup could never hold my joy. Nor can it hold my sorry. It reminds me that joy must be shared and my cup refilled to share again. It reminds me that though I am filled with sorrow, that too will pass away and again my cup will be full. This is what it means to be alive. Joy cannot be contained.”
“Like this cup, I am a broken man,” those near him could see his tears. “I am a broken king who will again be full and will, like this cup, bring life to those around me.”
The word went out to every corner of the kingdom. Every artisan dreamed of becoming the king’s artisan. And so they set to work.
In the kingdom there was a poor potter. Upon hearing the king’s good news and edict he decided to create the most beautiful cup that could hold the king’s joy. He imagined how the king would drink from the cup whenever he felt his joy diminishing and how he might just gaze at the beautiful cup and find pleasure and joy.
He gathered the last of his best clay and sat at his wheel from morning until evening. He worked with love in his heart and hope in his mind. His fingers guided the clay into the most fantastic cup. It looked delicate, but was robust. Happy with his work, he set about stoking the kiln. While the kiln warmed he mixed the last to the best glaze he had and coated the cup. He placed the work of art into the kiln and went to bed knowing that in the morning his work would be ready.
He could hardly sleep that night with excitement. He imagined how the king would be impressed with the cup and what it would be like to be the potter to the king. When rest came, it shared his dreams only fueling his hopes for the future.
In the morning he pulled the piece from the kiln. It truly was beautiful. Once it cooled, he filled it with water to test it. To his horror the cup leaked. There with small fissures and cracks that allowed the water to drip and run down the outside of the cup. There was no way to repair the cup and he no longer had enough good clay or glaze to start over. He left the cup sitting on a tray on a table in the yard.
For the next few days and weeks, birds would come and drink from the cup. When it rained, the cup would slowly lose its water, but the birds would peck at the droplets and sit on the tray. As birds do, they left seeds. Wind and weather brought dust and dirt that settled in the cup and the tray and soon there were sprouts. Then there were flowers.
The potter soon forgot about the cup and the edict and his dreams. Meanwhile the king’s joy had turned to bitter pain. His child had passed and his countenance became drawn and tired. His joy now pain his court reminded him of his edict and responsibility. Soldiers were sent out to collect all of the artisans' work to be displayed and judged by the king. When they arrived at the potters humble house he was not home. Seeing the cup on the tray they assumed it was his entry and returned to the castle.
The entire kingdom assembled to see the works of art and watch the king. Even the potter came to see. On the stage were wonderful works of art. When the king appeared there was a cumulative gasp. He was slight and burdened. They were used to seeing a vibrant man who was full of life.
He approached the first entry. It was a beautiful metal box that had been forged by blacksmiths. It had unbreakable hinges and a meticulous inset lock. The box had been forged with multiple metals and was as ornate as it was strong.
“This box is truly unbreakable and beautiful, if it were full of joy it could never be stolen. Alas All that I have to put in the box is my sorrow and pain. I wish someone would take it from me instead of preserving it forever”.
The second entry was a gold chalice with inset gems. It radiated with luminous beauty. Someone had filled the chalice with wine. The king paused to take in the chalice. He raised it to his lips and tasted the wine.
“This beautiful chalice is itself a joy to behold. The wine tastes of jubilation and celebration, but I would drink to hide from my pain. And when the wine wears off, the pain would still be there. If I were to drink again and again, then I would simply stop living. Stop feeling.
The next entry was a small jeweled box. The box itself was gorgeous and it was meant to hold momentos as reminders of the king's joy so that every time he gazed upon it, it’s beauty would remind him of the precious treasures it held.
“What could I possibly put into this box? That would not also remind me of my loss. This beauty would become a curse to behold. As delicate and precious as it is I do not want it near me.”
And this is how it went with every entry. Each entry as glowing and amazing as the next to be set aside by the king. Until he came to a simple glass sitting on a tray with flowers. Someone had filled the glass with water and droplets were forming and running down the side. Birds would come and peck at the droplets, singing with gratitude. The flowers were simple and blooming from the water. If you looked closely bees occasionally visited.
The king stopped. He said nothing as he looked on. He watched the birds and saw the bees. He turned to the queen and held out his hand. She joined him. They talked quietly together. A murmur went through the crowd.
“My friends.” the king turned to the crowd. “My friends, this cup could never hold my joy. Nor can it hold my sorry. It reminds me that joy must be shared and my cup refilled to share again. It reminds me that though I am filled with sorrow, that too will pass away and again my cup will be full. This is what it means to be alive. Joy cannot be contained.”
“Like this cup, I am a broken man,” those near him could see his tears. “I am a broken king who will again be full and will, like this cup, bring life to those around me.”
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