Some days the whispers remind me of my frustration with fairy tales. The “And they lived happily ever after” always bugged me. How did they live? What happened next? Is there not more to the story? Perhaps the point is that the story’s details are not really necessary. Perhaps it is a whisper begging the reader to create their own. Or maybe even a reminder that bookmarks and endings are never truly the last page or word.

This morning I reflected upon what I thought what was going to be a busy day – clueless as to how it would in truth unfold. As I pondered and asked for grace and wisdom, like a movie scene , set in a medieval castle, the whisper unfolded. It has no ending. A simple tale. To leave it here and with grace to see the path it takes. Somehow, unfinished, it fits the day. And so I leave it here, a bedtime story with no ending save that which you create. ….. Blessings.

The servants scattered like ants when their ant hill has been kicked. The master was truly in a foul mood and nothing would sooth his rage. Bearer after bearer brought chalices of the finest wine. Each cup was thrown across the hall creating an aortic geyser of wine spewing over all. The soldiers protecting the master grew anxious wondering what to do.

Almost invisible through the throng of beautiful and elegant guests, soldiers, and attendants walked an indigent outcast leper. One sleeve of the master’s garment bore more covering and cloth than covered his entire body. Quietly he walked through the middle of the chaos until he stood before the master. The surprise paralyzed all who realized such an outcast, filth, and ugliness silently stood with a cup as dusty as his body extended towards the master. Swords and spears were drawn and readied to make the aortic geyser metaphor reality. The image of disdain and contempt upon all the faces shattered the silence and paralysis.

“For you sir” whispered the leper whose eyes held the master’s as gently as his hands held the cup.

Unable to cast aside the eyes of the leper, the master reached out and took the cup. None dared to say a word as the cup was drawn to the master’s lips and drained of its offering. His body became limp with peace. The anger drained from his face. Quietly tears filled his eyes. As if a river caught between the two river banks, the tears poured in two steady lines and fell into the now empty cup. The first tears resonated like the sound of the temple’s mountain bell in the morning as they struck the bottom of the cup. As more tears gathered, they became the sound of rain singing in the valley.

Finally, the master’s voice returned, “How did you get in here?”

“Your soldiers are trained to protect you from harm. I walked in with naught but love.”

“What was this drink? What drink of the gods did you give me?”

“No drink of the gods sir. I gave you naught but my pillow upon which to rest your heart.”