making a difference
Sometimes I wonder whether one person can make a difference. Can I alleviate poverty, stop a war or ease human suffering with a story, a song or a donation? Probably not. So when I say that the reason I tell stories is to make a better world, I wonder whether I'm having myself on. Noble but naive? There's a saying that I take comfort in when I'm thinking about my purpose as a storyteller, 'if you think that one small thing can't make a difference, try sleeping with a mosquito in your room.' It also reminds me that unless intervention takes place very early on then there is likely to be more than an annoying noise to deal with. ie. you will be bitten and possibly contract one of the many mosquito born diseases.
The Brave Little Parrot
The little parrot made her home in the hollow of a tree and spent her days flying through the forest. From her vantage point on high she could see all that happened below her. One summer she perched on a branch to watch the theatre of a dry summer storm. The thunder rolled and the lightning flashed, illuminating the sky. She gasped in amazement as a lightning bolt struck a tree in the forest, splitting the trunk and igniting a fire. The grass was tinder dry and the flames danced over the forest floor and up into the canopy. The little parrot immediately flew down to wake and warn all the forest dwellers of the danger that they were in.
"Fire, fire," she squawked, alerting everyone to the event. "Quickly go to the river."
The animals below her panicked and ran hither and thither as the flames roared about them.
"I must stop this fire spreading," she thought, and flew down to the river and dived into the water.
Then she flew to where the fire had engulfed a grove of trees and shook her dripping feathers, letting the water droplets fall onto the flames. Most evaporated in mid air, but she flew back to the river and continued her efforts to douse the fire. High above her the Gods reclined on a cluster of clouds and watched the events taking place below them. They laughed at the little parrot and her ridiculous attempts to put out the raging forest fire. All but one. He changed himself into a giant eagle and flew down to the little parrot on the banks of the river.
"Why do you persist in your effort to do the impossible little bird? Your cause is hopeless. You should save yourself before it is too late."
The little parrot turned her scorched face toward the mighty eagle and answered, "I don't need advice, I need help."
And she flew back into the maelstrom. The eagle watched the little parrot's flight and was flooded with emotions; admiration for her determination and courage, fear for the peril to her life, shame for his own belittling of her effort and reverence for the power of her belief. The god was moved to tears and then to action. He flew above roaring flames and plumes of smoke to the rain filled clouds beyond. With a mighty effort he squeezed them until the rain burst forth and fell to the earth, drenching the burning forest and putting out the fire. The little parrot turned her eyes to the heavens and bowed her head, in the knowledge that her request has been fulfilled.
Source:
“The Brave Little Parrot.” Martin, Rafe. The Hungry Tigress: Buddhist Legends and Jataka Tales. Berkeley, California: Parallax Press, ©1990.
Photograph: Endure by Roman W Schatz
