My cousin Arthur’s father was a lifelong advocate for peace, justice and civil rights. This is something he wrote. I’m writing this from Pomona New York. Pomona, the Goddess of fruit. Pomona, where I grew up surrounded by apple trees now mostly gone. If you are moved to tell it, or pass it on, please do. I’d love to know where this story travels. If it sparks a story of your own, better yet! I’d love to hear it. I carry this story with me as a seed.
A Parable of Stones into Fruit
When we are out, looking around us, we see that there are so many stones that lie about, stones along the roadside; among the roots of the forest trees; on the bottoms of the streams. All different shapes, sizes and colors.
A stone can be lifted and thrown through an oak door… or window glass. It can be cracked against another stone… or aimed at a person.
But what is it that WE would do with a stone?
We take up a stone, and we rub it, and we scrape it, and we work on it- as long as it may take to turn it into a pile of dust. Then we search for a seed, and we plant the seed in the pile of dust. We sprinkle a little water on it, and we wait. The seed sprouts… and it quickly dies.
We plant another seed, and water it. We make sure that it gets plenty of sunlight. The seed sprouts, and it dies. Again we plant a seed. We give it water and sunlight. And we wonder how it’s going to do this time? Once again the seed sprouts… and dies. This doesn’t deter us.
We keep planting seeds, and nurturing them and one after another they die. One day there is ample organic matter from all the seeds that have sprouted and died. We carefully gather this organic matter, and we grind it up, and we mix it with the dust of the stone.
Again we plant a seed and give it water and sunlight. This time it grows and takes root. We plant another seed and another. Nearly all sprout and grow… and each one eventually dies and is transformed into soil. Finally, we have soil enough for a tree. The tree sends down roots and grows. One day it bears fruit.
We share the fruit with our friends, our neighbors and those who have little or nothing, and we enjoy it together. Quietly. If our companions ask where the fruit came from, we tell them the story of how it fell from a tree… that grew from a seed… that was planted in stone. There are many stones that lie around us.