The Lord's Broth

When we all crawled the earth like petty insects identical and monotonous; the good god above wanted some excitement. He decided to bring the lukewarm broth to a boil and for his taste buds he threw in some spices. Each spice was in a bag, a bag we could open and savour the divine gifts inside.

As the first bag fell, we swarmed around it, gnawing on it, unaware of it’s purpose.  Then came more, falling all around us, sending up storms of dust as they fell. Some of us perturbed and some excited. One opened the first bag, the bag of evolution. He stood up and walked the earth and touched his brothers and sisters, which is when we all stood up and desired a bag for ourselves. Some bags fell so far and secluded we could only dream of them in our wildest fantasies.

The next brother opened the bag of civilization and built cities and bridges and walls and dams and he farmed the land. His progenies came up with languages and literature, and they sang and danced. All was good until one of use opened the bag of pain. “The lord sure has a weird taste” he scoffed. And with his discovery he settled in a dark cavern, where the pain consumed him. And up above the vultures of self-pity and despair hovered, looking down hungrily.  Only the chef could tell if he accidently spilt some rotten spice or if he just wanted a bitter broth. But we turned to the one who found the spice of religion for answer. He guided us, explaining the lord’s plan. But few didn’t trust him, for they thought he also found the spice of lies. Others followed him adamantly.

One sat below a tree and smiled, for he had found the spice of knowledge, a very rare spice, a quant of lord’s own light. And for his friend he found the spice of science, a great spice, one that would eventually colour the broth. In the swell of the moment another bag was opened, another bitter spice, greed. With it’s hideous smile and vicious motive it engulfed us all. Being the most potent spice it became the driving force for all of us.

Few wise men untouched by greed started speaking of greater things, they wore the same robe as the religious men. Few eyed them with suspicion, few enchanted by the promises they made and the rest torn in turmoil. The wise men talked of bags unopened, particularly of one intriguing spice, one that would taste of success but only more sweet.

Success as we all know is a sweet spice, but the one who bears it knows not whether to smile or cry.  We all see him conquer the peak he was climbing. And upon reaching his back scalded and his knees scarred.  He knows not whether to smile or cry, for he thinks of the trade-offs he’s made and the things he left behind down there. Of course he can’t see them from this height, but yes their images do sublime in front of his confused eyes. He only asks himself whose dream he was pursuing anyway.

The lord’s broth still in the cauldron has a very astonishing blend of spices. I say this because a few spices contradict so much.  Let’s take wealth and modesty for example, they don’t usually go together, but when they do there’s nothing nobler.  But what do I know about how the lord prefers his broth? As we grew in number and spread out, we opened more and more bags. With each bag that opened we were only more surprised. Such a myriad of spices! What is this broth going to taste like? Nobody knew.

A wanderer stood upon a fertile land and smiled, he didn’t know why. He gazed at the beautiful night sky lit by hundred thousand stars and the moon as graceful as ever in a silver veil of clouds. The pleasant breeze broke on his face and filled his lungs with the pleasant fragrance of the flowers in the garden. A stream flowed nearby and fell into a lake with musical charm. He thought he found paradise. But then the spice of science, blinded by greed told him about the riches buried farther ahead.

The wanderer started mining where science led him, digging deeper throwing the earth in the garden burying the lawn where he found paradise. Soon the pleasant breeze turned into a reeking storm and the stream poisoned. But the wanderer kept digging, falling in the pit, but he didn’t give up. Hours later he sat there in the bottom of the cavern, his back scalded and his knees scarred, holding his reward with his numb hands. He looked at the shiny stones and thought whether to smile or cry. Greed sat on his shoulders and grinned. On the surface the lawn was gone, turned into a barren land. Buried somewhere underneath the mounds of earth was  a spice people thought was a myth, one which the wise men talked of, the spice of happiness.