Thoughts for the day
As a child, you had a friend and mentor who would invite you over every so often and fix you a delicious banquet of tender, juicy turkey, potatoes mashed and spiced to perfection, homemade stuffing, corn, and beans, smothered in a delicious gravy. You drank water, clean and crystal clear, and for dessert you had a warm pumpkin pie topped with whipped cream. You loved your friend and his magical house, and his meals, though infrequent, were things you cherished and spoke of for years. Eventually, though, your friend left town as friends often do.
Others tried to fill the hole your friend left. Someone would make you mashed potatoes, and they were okay. Another person made decent pumpkin pie. A few people tried to feed you vegetables out of a can. It wasn't the same, of course, but you made do. The memories of the meals your old friend made for you were enough to sustain you.
One day many years later your friend sent you a letter telling you he was coming back to town and he wanted to make you another of his fabulous meals! Very excited, you made plans to celebrate his return, and salivated in anticipation of another of his meals. When you got to his house, you found it to be bigger and shinier than ever, promising a meal of epic proportions! Your friend smiled as you entered, and then proceeded to feed you buckets upon buckets of his own feces. You gag, you vomit, but you keep forcing it down because this is your friend and he knows how to make a meal! You eat your friend's dung and begin to realize that maybe he isn't really your friend after all. With shit smeared all over your face and down the front of your shirt, you manage to say, "I hate you! Why are you doing this?"
Your friend smiles at you and replies, "This is the meal I really wanted to make all those years ago." Then he hands you a turkey sandwich, and you are relieved. As you get to the very last bite, he puts a bit of gravy on it. You put the last piece in your mouth, and begin sobbing...not out of relief and happiness, not out of sadness or anger, but simply because in that little bit of gravy lies the powerful memories of all the happiness your friend once gave you and the knowledge that he will never give it to you again.
Yep, I saw Episode III.
Others tried to fill the hole your friend left. Someone would make you mashed potatoes, and they were okay. Another person made decent pumpkin pie. A few people tried to feed you vegetables out of a can. It wasn't the same, of course, but you made do. The memories of the meals your old friend made for you were enough to sustain you.
One day many years later your friend sent you a letter telling you he was coming back to town and he wanted to make you another of his fabulous meals! Very excited, you made plans to celebrate his return, and salivated in anticipation of another of his meals. When you got to his house, you found it to be bigger and shinier than ever, promising a meal of epic proportions! Your friend smiled as you entered, and then proceeded to feed you buckets upon buckets of his own feces. You gag, you vomit, but you keep forcing it down because this is your friend and he knows how to make a meal! You eat your friend's dung and begin to realize that maybe he isn't really your friend after all. With shit smeared all over your face and down the front of your shirt, you manage to say, "I hate you! Why are you doing this?"
Your friend smiles at you and replies, "This is the meal I really wanted to make all those years ago." Then he hands you a turkey sandwich, and you are relieved. As you get to the very last bite, he puts a bit of gravy on it. You put the last piece in your mouth, and begin sobbing...not out of relief and happiness, not out of sadness or anger, but simply because in that little bit of gravy lies the powerful memories of all the happiness your friend once gave you and the knowledge that he will never give it to you again.
Yep, I saw Episode III.