The Young Man and the Blind Man

A young man disillusioned with his life
Depressed, his world filled with hatred and strife
Went out one day into the rain
Looking for a way to end his pain
Walking along a lone, empty path
He passed an old man begging for cash
The young man thought it strange
But none the less, dug in his pocket for change
Dropping his coins into the man's tin can
Suddenly the old man reached out
Grabbing the young man's hand
"Have pity and mercy upon me.
I am blind and cannot see."  
The young man was startled, jerking away
"I gave you my coins, what more do you want?
Leave me alone, let me be on my way."
The old man hung his head in despair
"I am tired of those who do not care. 
All that I want and wish before I die, 
Is for someone to take me upon that mountain high."
Pointing towards the forest, to the end of the path
Above the tree line the shadow of a mountain was cast
The young man shook his head, it was too much to ask
"I am but one person," he thought, "how can I take on this task?"
Turning away, there was nothing he could do
Someone else can do it, let them choose
Walking away, he heard the old man mumble
The words spoken made his heart crumble
"This world has turned sad, weary and cold.
Honesty, compassion, love and courage
Gone forever, it no longer holds."
Stopping in his tracks, the young man sighed
"That's exactly my thoughts too," he cried.
"Then do something about it," said the old man.
Shrugging his shoulders, "I am but one person," the young man said,
"How can I touch the world and make it change?
We have no one else, only each other to blame."
"You show wisdom, and what you say is true.
But remember, the smallest change starts with you.
Here I am, and old man dying and blind.
You are yet young, and can help by being kind.
If you want to make a difference, start with me."
Looking towards the distant mountain, and down the empty path
The young man knew he had to make a choice, his die was cast
"Fine, old man, I cannot walk away and leave you here.
You would probably die of starvation and thirst that's clear."
The old man grinned with glee, gathered his bundle and got to his feet
Together they walked for hours, an old hand upon a young shoulder
As they neared the mountain base the path became steep
The climbing was slow, and soon up ahead across the path was a boulder
"Oh no!" cried the young man, and sank to his knees
The old man asked, "What is it? What is wrong? Tell me, I cannot see!"
"A boulder in our path," the young man replied, "there is no way around."
"There is always a way," said the old man, "no matter the obstacle in life.
Don't just accept what you see, never give up and keep up the fight!"
"What do I have," asked the young man. "That rock is huge.
It's bigger than a small car, and I'm sure just as heavy. I have nothing to make it move."
Setting down his bundle, the old man reached inside and felt around
Then turning it over and shaking it about, a dirty old spoon fell to the ground
"What was that?  Is that my spoon?" reaching and grasping with his hands
Finding the spoon, he spat on it, cleaned it, and rubbed it on his dirty shirt
"Here, use this," he said with a smile, holding out the spoon. "This will work."
Looking in disbelief, "It's a spoon," said the young man, "What can that possibly do?"
"The smallest of instruments can have the greatest results in making a change.
Don't think about what it can't do, imagine what it can." the old man explained
Still not believing, but taking the spoon, the young man decided all he could do was try
He walked to the boulder, stared at it for what seemed like an hour, the spoon still at his side
He thought long and hard, twisting the spoon round in his hand
His thoughts drifted to the problems in life, the things that weren't right
The hatred, intolerance, fighting, judgement and cynicism covering his land
No one believed they could make a difference, to bring change or light
He was the worst, he had stopped trying and he was tired of sitting by
Standing in front of the rock he became angry, he would get to the mountain high
He raised the spoon, hitting, cutting and dragging it hard against the boulder 
Without mercy and full of determination he scraped over and over
The dust grew at his feet, shards of rock fell until his shoes were covered
As he looked at the growing pile, it hit him and he finally understood 
In his life and world, if things were to change, he first had to believe he could
To make a difference, for complacency and apathy there was no room
In this life he is the instrument of change, it is he that is the spoon.



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