The King and His Palace

Everybody knew that the king treasured his palace and his possessions. He saw everything as his. Severe penalties were enforced to those caught even catching a rabbit within the territory of the kings realm.

He had a reputation for being strict and not liked by those he ruled. As he grew older he became more and possessive of the things he owned. He spent more and more time alone surrounded by more and more possessions.

The master heard of this king and decided to journey to see for himself. True to the stories he had heard, the people he met seemed to get seemed to get more miserable the closer he came to the palace.

When he arrived at the gates he was allowed through by the guards, his reputation had gone before him. He found the king sitting alone on his throne, looking miserable.

“What do you want?” he asked the master. The master looked at him and said, “I have journeyed a long way, and have a long journey to return. I would like a room in this inn to rest my weary bones.”

“Inn,” shouted the king, “this is not an inn. This is my palace. This is all mine.”

“I see,” said the master, “and who owned it before you?”

“My father owned it before me, he has now died and it is mine.” “I see,” said the master. “And who owned it before your father?” “My grandfather,” said the king, “he too is dead.”

“And this place, where people come and live for a short time and then move on – did I hear you say this was NOT an Inn?”

Life is full of choices, but the greatest choice is that about the things we own and the time we have. Friends often make demands on both. But a life without friends is not really a life at all.

All things are transitory, including this blog. I am beginning to feel that maybe it has now served its purpose. It was never my intention to return to preaching but maybe this is what this blog is in danger of being?  Today is the day where this blog reaches its 150th post much longer than I ever expected it to last.


This blog is linked to my other where I discuss the artwork used;- Linlithgow Palace

The Precious Vase

A wealthy business man was given a gift of an original work of art by his company on the date of his retirement. He so loved the painting, firstly because it had been given as a gift but also because he loved the painting itself. He was also very proud to own it because he was aware of its value in terms of the amount paid to purchase it. It gave him much pleasure, so much so that he decided he would collect more valuable works of art.


Sadly he did not always buy because he liked the art but because it had a monetary value that was within his budget. It gave him a thrill to win at an auction and to become the owner of art that others wanted.

One particular acquisition brought him much pleasure, a valuable vase. The vase was made of very delicate porcelain and hand painted. It was given pride of place in his room of “collectables.” From time to time he would invite friends in to see his art. Each time he would tell the story of how he acquired the item and how much he had paid for it. It gave him much pleasure.

He installed many security devices and paid a heavy premium on insurance. All worth it he thought, because of the pleasure it gave him.

One day he was in his room enjoying his collection. He reached up and took the precious vase into his hands. Cold to the touch he turned it and admired it, how proud he felt to have it in his possession. Just then he felt it slip from his hands, his heart raced. He grasped for it and caught it just before it crashed to the floor. He breathed a sigh of relief and sat down with the vase secure in his grasp. It was then that he realised how important they had become to him. For a moment he had sensed fear and all sorts of other emotions at the thought of the loss. He looked at the vase again, and thought of what had just happened. As he thought he opened his hands and allowed the vase to fall to the floor, where it shattered into many pieces. With it a sense of relief welled over him, he had come to his senses. He had re-discovered his priorities. His friends and family were more important than these, beautiful though they may indeed be, but they should bring joy to many in the seeing of them and not just because of their value.

We all know somebody who has lost all sense of the value of what is important in life. Material possessions have become more valuable and of worth, than the love of friends. Some live in such fear of people stealing their precious items they live in almost barricade conditions.

Never does a painting leave my possession without my feeling a pang of regret. Regret that I may never see it again. That feeling is soon overcome by the knowledge that others may have pleasure from it. When later I hear that they are still enjoying telling friends about it, makes me feel very happy.

This is the way of Tao.


The  explanation of the choice of picture can be seen at :- The Glory of Poppies