Parable of the Puzzle

Once upon a time, there was a family that loved making puzzles. They would cherish each and every scenery they would form piece by piece. Framed in elegant, wooden bars, their history of puzzles would embellish the walls of their home.

One day while the youngest of the family was working on a puzzle in an early hour of the day, she couldn't locate any piece no matter how long and how hard she tried. Everybody else was asleep, and she couldn't get any help, either. The more she focused the more frustrated she became. At last, she had enough of it, and swiped everything off the table with the push of her forearm. Two thousand pieces flew in the air for a moment. The little girl did not realize, but she had also thrown a furious scream at the same time. It was a matter of seconds that the family had flocked into the room. Her father was first to react: "I can't believe my eyes; you did a marvelous job!".

The little girl was waiting for being scolded, her hands covering her eyes and face. With her father's appreciation, she opened a small gap between her fingers and looked at what was out there. Behold, the puzzle was on all done on the floor! "Miraculous!" she exclaimed. 

"So, tell us how you managed to do this over night all by yourself", her jealous brother asked. "I didn't do it. I just threw everything on the floor, and it was done." With incredulous eyes, he was staring at her. She looked at her mom. She was only smiling, but actually a laughter was ready to break out of her. Then, the little girl looked at her dad. He was just nodding, but not looking at her at all. He was admiring the great scenery that was born from this coincidence.

Few weeks later, the family bought another puzzle of 2000 pieces. As usual, they first separated and connected the edges of the picture, and then separated the pieces into trays according to their colors. But the night was too short to finish the entire puzzle. There was a whole weekend ahead of them. So, they went to sleep. Encouraged by her success the previous time, the little girl wanted to make another surprise to the family. She woke up at an early hour, and started working on the puzzle. First piece, second piece, third piece... That was it. No matter how hard she tried, how long she worked, she couldn't locate another piece.

As her father used to do, she got up, went to the kitchen, drank a cup of milk, and returned to her work. Maybe this distraction would give her eyes some rest, and she could achieve some progress. Well, no... The more she looked at the puzzle the bigger her anger grew. Her eyes shifted towards the small table holding the puzzle pieces. It wasn't so big. It was actually small enough. Small enough to be thrown over.

It was a moment, and the table was upside down. All puzzle pieces were spilled on the floor like lava form a volcano. But this time, the lava was solidified in the form of an art work. To her amazement, the puzzle pieces had fallen exactly into their places. But there was no one to see it, because she was experienced from the previous time, and she had kept silent.

It took another hour for the eyes of other people to be honored by the view of this exquisite achievement. Yes, the little girl had done it again. "Wow, how did you do it?" her jealous brother asked. "I didn't do it. I just threw them on the floor, and there it was." Her mother was smiling, a little concerned about the mental health of her daughter but at the same time unable to explain the situation. And the father, as the first time, was beholding the grandeur of the image revealed from this accident.

The mother of the family was concerned not only about her daughter but also about her husband. The same odd event had repeated twice with intimidating outcomes for the rational mind, yet her husband was sufficing with watching the pictures. One day, she brought the topic during the supper with the whole family. She wanted an explanation about the father's lack of concern and nonchalance.

Actually, the father was waiting for this moment to come. He said that there was no magic or nothing miraculous about what had happened, since there were infinitely many parallel universes, and in those universes, the same event was happening with negative outcomes, but they were experiencing the "lucky" universe where everything just happened no matter how incredible they may seem.

"Do you really believe in this?"
"I don't believe. This is what it is indeed!"
"You mean this is the reality."
"Yes."
"Proof?"
"Well, no real proof as of now, but that is the only rational explanation."
"Is this what you call rational? This is pure belief."
"Look, I don't want to have this discussion in front of the children."
"Don't worry, you are not. Of course, in another lucky universe."

Killing A Nightingale

Once upon a time, in an unknown corner of the universe, on a tiny planet around a small star, there was a nightingale. She lived in a forest that was not thriving well. Still, this forest was home for a lot of animals. They called the nightingale "the poet princess", for she chanted songs with eloquent lyrics speaking of a dream forest with lush green leaves, grand trees and abundant water. The animals that listened to her were taken by a desire to live in a forest that could withstand storms, a forest that extended beyond reach...

This all sounded well for everyone... Well, almost everyone! The nightingale was the princess, but there was the king the lion and his entourage. For them, as long as the poet princess remained as a princess and so long as the other animals treated her as an artist, there was no problem. And this is how things were in the beginning. Speaking of the beginning, let me take you to those days...

The nightingale was born in the aftermath of a storm that had devastated a significant portion of the forest. The nest of the nightingale that was hidden among intertwined branches was blown away like hay on open field. The family was traumatized by this event, and had barely made it to the safe grounds, fighting against the merciless winds.

So, the nightingale was raised listening to the eulogies of those good old days when the forest was much larger and richer. Her longing for this happy past was fueled by the rigid attitudes of her parents who were haunted by the unfathomable and unstoppable force of that storm. She composed poems that were filled with scenes from the past - half real, half fiction. Almost anyone who listened to her was mesmerized by the same dream.

As years passed, the nightingale gradually became an activist to realize her dreams for the prosperity of all in the forest. Those inspired by the same dream started calling her "the poet princess". From that moment on, she started blinking on the radar screen of the king the lion.

The poet princess was the voice of a dream that was otherwise present but silent. She was the eloquence of an anthem that was otherwise respected but dull. She was the energy in a commitment that was otherwise recognized but dead. So, the animals joining the efforts of the nightingale were growing beyond their perceived capacity, and were becoming a source of energy on their own.

This was all well at the time, because the common dream was about a better forest for all. The poet princess and those around her were regularly planting new trees and caring for them so that the efforts did not go in vain. After a few years, seeing the fruits of these idealistic works, more and more animals channeled their time and force to the betterment and enlargement of the forest. With the growing number of animals dedicated to the same goal, reclaiming the grand forest of the past was not anymore a matter of fiction. Now, even better than that was deemed possible.

However, not every animal was as farsighted as others. Some of them were focusing on the personal elegance of the nightingale, not the beauty of her dream. They were duplicating the words of the nightingale in their own speech, without practicing the values in those words. And these animals were busy with praising the poet princess, instead of improving their selves and their environments.

As the sincerely dedicated ones worked hard and sacrificed themselves for the common good, they did not have much time to speak. On their behalf, the imitators spoke; and they spoke in favor of the works of those dedicated animals. At times, these speeches went to the excess in their praises, but this was overlooked on the grounds that the animals of the forest needed a motivation to reunite their efforts towards the common good. But there was something else that these imitators were doing. They were portraying the nightingale everywhere. They were praising her over every other creature in the forest. In all corners of the forest, voice systems were set up by them to ensure ubiquitous transmission of the chanting of the poet princess. When they were criticized by this attitude, they took hide behind the goodness of the works inspired by the nightingale for the common good of the forest.

Naturally, the imitators were not recognized as "imitators" by the animals. They were rather called as the "facilitators", meaning that they were introducing the path and dreams of the poet princess to the other animals in the forest so that they, too, joined the efforts. In doing this, as I told, they highlighted the great forest in the past, portrayed the growing success of the efforts inspired by the poet princess, and invited those animals to visit the newly reclaimed parts of the forest. Seeing the freshness and the prospect of a happy future on those new lands, more and more animals approached the movement of the nightingale.

In the mean time, the nightingale was trying her best to keep her humbleness, and was rejecting any efforts to portray her as the leader of a genesis in the known history of the forest. However, the fact that she was acting as a leader, conducting meetings just like a leader, giving opinions in all matters of the forest just like a leader, but not admitting to be a leader, was creating a void in the minds. That void was filled by two things.

First of those two was authority. That is, the authority that the nightingale did not claim, but rightfully deserved, was claimed and used by the facilitators; and I already told you what many of them really were. This authority was applied on those committed to the path of the poet princess. The second thing that filled the void in the minds was suspicion of a hidden agenda. This suspicion was fueled by the discrepancy between the image of the nightingale created by the facilitators and her leader-like actions. Growing number of animals who were not in the following of the poet princess harbored such suspicions.

King the lion, on the other hand, was quietly watching what was happening. From time to time, he, too, was appreciating the sense of unity among the animals towards a common good, and was expressing his opinions publicly. Unbeknownst to many, though, he was growing a grudge and animosity for the animals that were becoming autonomous and self-sufficient. Ability to stand alone meant independence, hence a diminution of power for the lion.

In order to bring this to an end, he planted fake followers around the nightingale. Some of them remained as simple workers and some others quickly became facilitators due the grandiloquent praises they uttered publicly about the poet princess and about the works of the committed animals around her. By virtue of being facilitators, this second group automatically carried the authority of the nightingale. And that meant a lot.

The fake facilitators gradually but persistently shifted the focus of the committed animals from the enlargement and betterment of the forest towards the increase of the followers of the nightingale. In order to do this, they prepared spectacular advertisements of the newly growing forest areas, and organized trips to see them. These trips were popularized by the attendance of the animals in the entourage of the lion. Seeing the participation of the rulers of the forest, more and more animals joined the efforts of the poet princess. This increase in the following was, of course, credited by these facilitators to the unparalleled virtues and exemplary commitment of the nightingale. Being the apparent cause of this success (!), the fake facilitators became "the voice" of all facilitators around the poet princess, be them imitators or sincere.

Months passed by like this, and thick clouds of uncertainty covered the souls slowly. The singing birds of the forest other than the poet princess did not receive the due respect because of the overwhelming advertisement of the nightingale. The animals who were trying to serve to the prosperity of the forest in different ways were announced as less-guided or misguided by the fake facilitators. And these were done in the name of the nightingale using her authority, so any rational call to conscience was labeled as corruption. The nightingale, on the other hand, seemed oblivious to all these, and talked about sincerity of heart constantly. Her lack of attention to what was going on, unfortunately, did not curb the festering of the wounds. In the end, her own image dwarfed the image of her dream. Actually, her image grew bigger than the image of the king the lion. By many, she was seen as an alternative to the king the lion. And this was very disturbing... So, instead of a unity, a bomb of polarization was planted in the hearts of the foresters.

This situation was exactly what the king was waiting for in ambush. He secretly ordered the facilitators that he had planted near the poet princess to organize an assassination towards himself. For this, they prepared logs from the trees grown in the newly reclaimed forest areas. They stored them above the hill where the king stayed.

On the night of the assassination plot, the king hid in a nearby cave, and did not go to his inn. Just before dawn on a night of new moon, when it was still dark, the fake facilitators released the logs and hundreds of them rolled downhill towards the kings inn. In a matter of minutes, the inn was totally destroyed, and those facilitators started shouting "long live the poet queen". But of course, king the lion was not killed, and reappeared from where he was hiding.

With the break of day light, king the lion announced that he survived an assassination by the gang of the nightingale. He named them as "nightmare". Both the nightingale and the committed animals around her did not understand what was happening, but "the case was clear and listening to any defense was pointless". They were gathered, and were driven out of the forest into the terrains without any food, water or shelter. For a lesson for the remainder of the animals in the forest, the lion ordered that the trees planted by the nightingale and her followers be cut and burned. For months, the smoke and soot from those fires loomed above the forest. No rain came down to the help of anyone in or out of the forest, other than the streaming tears of the nightingale and her followers.