“What is it, exactly?” asked the inquisitive youth of the blind man, who was sitting crossed legged and completely still as she ambled past the large pot. “That? Why, it is the pot of wisdom”, came the hoarse reply. “Take a look inside”.
Tentatively, the youth stood on the tips of her toes, and, with her tiny, elegant hands tightly gripping the rim, peered into the pot. As she gazed into its depths, she suddenly became aware of an eerie sensation that seemed to wash over her. She noticed that the pot was half filled with water. There was no reflection; the water was barely visible. But she knew the water was there. The faintest of ripples could be seen, but only if she concentrated.
And then she saw it. Or did she? The water was crystal clear, yet she could see the outline of a………of a……. “What is it?” she whispered to herself. And then she knew.
Without warning, she was transported back in time, to a place of her earliest memory. Beneath the gentle ripples, she could see a beautifully kept bonsai tree, in an ornate terracotta planter. The planter cast a long shadow in the afternoon sun as the aroma of freshly baked bread surrounded her. She became completely engrossed in what lay beneath the water. Yet she could see, as if in slow motion, the single tear that fell from her left eye, slowly floating down, for what felt like an eternity, until a gentle splash disrupted the scene that lay beneath the water.
And then it was gone. As if it had never been there. But she knew. She was enveloped by a feeling of calm and serenity. And she knew.
Releasing her grip and standing down, she turned to the blind man, and with a tear in her left eye, said “Thank you. Thank you very much”. And then carried on her way.