more than enough baskets

new feline blogskin. hopefully it provokes more incentive to blog. lime green is supposed to be a creative colour! i think.

A fish once asked a wise man what she needed to do for her life to be filled with meaning. He replied, 'Give yourself away. Death comes to all, but few die giving, and even fewer give life in their dying.'
She kept that in her heart, until one day she was caught within a fishing net while swimming in a lake. The sun beat down hard upon her and her gasps were expended in the final flaps of her fins. But despite her flailing might no relief came from the heat, no swirling waters came to comfort and soothe her thirst. As she lay dying, she thought, 'it is time to give myself away.'

--

She remembered her conversation with the old man, his kind, worn face smiling.
"But if i give myself to different persons I can never be whole again."

He replied, "I only ask that you give yourself to One. The heart is small, indivisible, and is most precious when it is most singular. At all times your heart may belong only to one."

"What will happen to me if i give myself? Won't I still be torn apart apart and lose myself?"

He shook his head and said, "Whoever tries to keep his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life will preserve it. What you give away to touch another's heart is that which cannot be lost; you become spirit, and in your dying give that person life by remaining in his heart for as long as he lives."

The fish nodded and went on her way.

--

Now, as she stared up into the blue sky, the light dimming slowly around her, the face of a young boy dawned above her. Here he is! she thought. The one i will give my life to. She whispered to him, "take me with you! i cannot keep my life, but i will find myself if i lose my life in your hands." The boy was the son of a poor fisherman. He picked up the fish gently with both hands, and she flapped her last and died.

Carrying his basket, the boy looked afar and saw many people gathered on a hillside. The boy had no brothers or sisters to play with, and his father was too busy fishing to be disturbed. He was used to being by himself and eating alone after these years. Who were those people? Didn't they have to work, too? Why were they there? Drawn by curiosity, his footsteps treaded lightly over rock and sand paths, until he found himself at the back of the huge crowd, trying to peer over their shoulders and look between their hips at who was talking. Dusk was falling, and still the people did not budge. Settling on mats or on the grass, they listened intently to the Teacher, telling stories they did not fully understand but were amazed by. The Teacher, noticing the darkness, turned and told those around him, "Give these people some food." At this time, the boy had crept to a bush behind the Teacher, listening to his every word. The teacher's students started exclaiming, it is impossible! How do we find enough food for all these people? He can't be serious, surely?

The teacher was not fazed despite their worries. The boy stared intently at his face as he asked 'who has any food?' There was something in the teacher's eyes that spelt a calm knowing, something in his smile that did not worry. Even when his students' faces creased in protest and dismayed at the growing crowd, the teacher's expression did not change. "Who in this crowd has any food?" The boy stood up slowly, and the bush he hid behind rustled. The teacher turned and gave a smile. "Do you?"

The fish said, I give myself to you, that you might eat me and live.
The boy said, I give what i have to you, just as i was given.
The teacher said, I give to whomsoever is hungry and weary. Open wide your mouths, and I will fill it. Give me the little you have, in spite of your lack, and I will multiply it. I give myself to you, as I myself have been given, that you may eat and drink of me, and live forever.

And there were 12 baskets leftover, all of which were collected, none were allowed to fall to the ground. No offering is too little or too much, nothing in part that cannot be made whole, nothing too perfect that it cannot be broken and spent, nothing too precious that it must be withheld, nothing too worthless that it is not heartfelt.

For it is not only what you have, but what you lack, which is a divine gift. The lack which supplies the need for faith, the need for grace, the space to give and receive. Without lack, there is no need for overflow.