"Fe fi fo fum," the Child puffed, prancing back
and forth, fists swinging in the air.
"Watch out for the right!" The Prophet said.
"I'm watching, Prophet," the Child answered
back, "But you're moving too fast."
The Prophet leaned to the left and the Child's fist hit
the air.
"Keep your fists up, Child."
"They're up Prophet. I don't think I like this
fisticuff game, cause I'm losing."
The Child swung and the force of it sprung backward almost
hitting its face.
"Phew, this is hard work," the Child said.
"I know, Child, I know."
"Then why do people bully each other into fights?"
"Why are you learning fisticuffs?" The Prophet
asked.
"Because the whale blew water on my lily pad when you
disappeared."
"And what did
you do?"
"Nothing."
"You did nothing?"
"I only laughed cause it couldn't find anything to
eat."
"You laughed, because the whale was hungry?"
"Well, Prophet, it was funny at the time."
"Did you think you were better off than the whale,
Child?"
"Could be."
"Would the whale give you a ride, if the lily pad sank?"
"Of course, it would," answered the Child boldly.
"I always ride on the whale's back."
"Yet, when the whale was hungry you laughed, and now,
you're training your fists to do what?"
The Child looked out over the ocean and thought about the
question. In the distant, the whale was combing the ocean for food. At odds
with nature, the Child felt alone.
"Prophet?"
"Yes, Child?"
"Can you show me how to make peace with the whale?"
Shalom,
Pat Garcia
