I took it on a trip to Europe and promised myself to publish regular blogs, but do you think I could find a way to copy the tales from Polaris to the on-line blog? No. Not possible. I tried everything.
anyway, forget all that, here's one I would have posted. It's based on a dream I had. Forget where, but I think France.
In the dream I wrote a letter to Bono, lead
singer of U2, world fighter against poverty.
Dear
Bono,
Maybe
you don't remember me but just in case you do I am the man who yelled at you in
Paris that I only had three socks. You laughed. You thought I was joking. You
Irish are well known for your music, your drinking, fighting and laughing, but
I was not joking.
A
life with three socks is not easy. You cannot wear them all at once, because
one foot would be heavier than the other, and also much tighter in the shoe.
And you cannot wear two socks one day and one sock the next. On this day the
one sockless foot is a lonely and cold foot. Why does it not have it's own
sock? It cannot understand. It becomes resentful and will attempt to take a
sock from the other foot. It is only natural.
There
is only one answer; every day one foot is wearing a dirty sock and one foot a
clean sock. This also is not easy because the foot with the dirty sock feels
badly treated and longs for it's turn with a clean sock. It becomes a life of
juggling socks, to make sure that one foot does not always get the clean sock,
or the dirty sock. As long as each foot knows it will have a clean sock
tomorrow if today it wears a dirty sock, they can live side by side with little
conflict.
But
since I yelled at you in Paris things have changed and I am now the owner of
four socks and each day I can wear two clean socks, one on each foot. Every day
now, both feet are happy at the same time.
How
did I come by this extra sock? Did I buy it in a fashion store, or off an
Indian street seller? No, Mr Bono, and here I am not proud to say, I took it from
another man. He did not give up his sock willingly. I had to take it and run
and hope never to see the man again, because I know he, like one foot in a
dirty sock, will be resentful and try to take back his right to have one clean
sock on each foot each and every day.
It
happened because I saw an opportunity. The man was sitting on a seat by a
public fountain. He had washed his socks and they were drying over the back of
the seat. In front of him a large group of those stupid fat pigeons were trying
to convince him to throw them some of the bread he had in his hand. The birds I
call rats with wings were winning him over and he became distracted. This
caused me to lose any respect I had for him and so I took one of his socks.
Just one, I am not a thief. I am a human being. As I ran away I turned and
yelled: I am sorry, my friend, but my feet are angry and even the Irish laugh
at me.
The
man stood up and chased me but his feet became tangled in the running and
flying pigeons and he fell over.
I
am now safe and my feet are happy.
