O ye who seek, succumb not to failure, for failure is but wisdom in its infancy.
Let it be known that he who searches is, in turn, searched for. It is the ancient dance of silent and mutual needs. Man searches for woman until she finds him. Seed searches for fertile earth until the soil entraps it. Mountain stream searches for rest until still water embraces it. Quiet clouds search for excitement until pierced by the lust of storm. Fire searches for fuel until both are consumed.
And thus Fred searched for new labor. Soon panoptic stares from others were obvious. So it was that he was approached by the Lord of Sharp Corners. “Come forth to my tent” ordered the fore-named Lord. And Fred did go forth, neither in fear or joy, but in anticipation. For he had observed the panopticism aimed at him. It came from behind the corners and great columns that supported the hall of labor.
The Lord of Sharp Corners uttered words that Fred had been searching for but had not expected.
Within the tent he heard “I have asked for production of one score plus four but you have given me two score. When I ask for two score you give me four. Those who watch from behind corners and columns ask me questions. These questions I have no answers for. Only you know yourself Fred. They watch in wonder. What am I to say?”
And Fred spoke thusly; “Say nothing, for soon they will come as disciples.”
Fred realized that he had turned a Lord into a disciple. He would also have the Counts of Time as disciples. And these Counts did soon appear with their empty tablets. And their questions also; hoping that Fred’s answers would fill their tablets so that they could show them to the king.
“How is it that your fingers are so nimble? Do you limit the movements of your limbs? Did you save pieces from the previous day’s labor?”
Fred did not answer their questions, but he spoke. “Answers will mean nothing to you. They will be lost in the confusions of your scribbles and counts. Consider yourself as money changers in the temples. You equate the brass of seconds to the gold of thought. Rather I should show you than tell you. For you can not fathom the truth I am about to speak. The true efforts of today’s labor was completed but two nights past.”
“Did he save pieces?” they thought to themselves.
Fred grasped the pieces as a swallow grasps the mosquito. The sureness of his hand and mind worked together. The Counts of Time were bedazzled by the quickness of the productivity. So bedazzled were they that they overlooked the fact that two wheels had replaced one. Their scribbling on tablets had distracted them from their search for truth.
And thus, truth eluded them. Fred had bespoken the truth and they had not listened . . . . . . “For you can not fathom that the true efforts of today’s labor was completed but two nights past.”
A day’s effort is not completed on that day by creative man. Not overman, but rather, creative man. Overman does not yet exist and creative man does. Creativity is the true meaning of existentialism. And Fred existed.
He had created the plan and the two wheels that replaced the single one. He had created the movements where each hand cradled several pieces. He trained his mind to move each piece from palm to fingertip; and his muscles followed his creative mind.
“What do you search for here?” Fred asked of the Counts.
“We seek only the truth” they responded.
“Do you believe you can find the truth without creating the plan? Do you believe in the birth of truth without first experiencing the labor? Do you believe the truth can be whole without first failing at the task? Go now, back to your tents and counting devices. Go back to your first premise and dwell upon it. Go seek the truth in your own minds; for that is where it resides.”
Thus spoke Fred
In time the Lord of Sharp Corners, now a disciple, again asked Fred to enter his tent. Here, away from the ears of man, the Lord asked Fred if he could create “at will.”
Fred responded. “By your own words you say that I have given you four score when you asked for only two. With your own eyes you have seen the Counts of Time practicing panopticism on my movements. My creativeness is my only gift. Why do you so question it in my time of trial?”
The Lord silently stared at Fred. A period of time elapsed in which it would take a dove to form a large circle and return. A mixture of sadness and admiration appeared on the Lord’s face.
“You have a choice” responded the Lord. “A choice of living with and teaching the Counts of Time . . . . . . . . or . . . . . . . . becoming an apprentice to the Masters of Hewing.
Again, a long period of time elapsed.
If you choose to live with the Counts of Time you will wear beautiful clothing and have the ability to spend freely in the marketplace. Every week they will lay sacks of gold at your feet. However, if you choose to be an apprentice to the Masters of Hewing the immediate results will be mutton on your plate, rags on your back and brass at your feet. In four years your apprenticeship shall have been served. You will then be required to labor two more years to prove yourself to the Masters of Hewing. You will work in a forest of cold steel. You have one day to decide.”
And in one day Fred did decide. The truth was obvious. To live with the Counts would be luxurious but without knowledge; a limitation to creativeness. To be an apprentice would be a period of failure after failure; opportunities on the path to wisdom.
“Verily, I say unto you, Fred has blazed his path before walking on it. He has rolled his wheel towards a great destination. He shall be rewarded for his failures.”
Thus spoke Fred