0 Running Fox Papers February 2008
Running Fox Papers

Volume 8, issue number 51 ~ February 2006

Parable or allegory


Contents of this newsletter

Veer Quotation of the Month:

The bird rather would like a simple branch than a golden cage

Chinese wisdom

A wealth of wisdoms


The bird rather would like a simple branch

Chinese wisdom

Partable or allegory Wikipedia
The 'kroezeboom' tree

Hans Brockhuis

Angel's Echo Myriah Krista Walker
The bird of pardize Tina Fröhlich
I am like glass Narjo Dohmen
Being Conscious - a parable From Ashtar Linara's Homepage

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Parable or allegory ~ After Wikipedia

A parable is a brief, succinct story, in prose or verse, that illustrates a moral or religious lesson. It differs from a fable in that fables use animals, plants, inanimate objects, and forces of nature as actors while parables generally are stories featuring human actors or agents. Some scholars of the New Testament use the term ‘parable’ only to refer to the parables of Jesus although that is not a common restriction of the term.

A parable is one of the simplest of narratives. It sketches a setting, describes an action, and shows the results. It often involves a character facing a moral dilemma, or making a questionable decision and then suffering the consequences of that choice. As with a fable, a parable generally relates a single, simple, consistent action, without extraneous detail or distracting circumstances. Many folktales could be viewed as extended parables.

This newsletter contains, in a number of parables, as many messages, providing the reader with considerations on the deeper sense of much that may happen in daily life.

Running Fox wishes you much profundity.

The 'kroezeboom' tree ~ Hans Brockhuis

Mother Ana hurried from the rectory to the small stone church of Het Stift at Weerselo. She urgently needed to pray and ask for strength from the Almighty. She just got tidings which no doubt could mean the biggest change ever in the life of The Stift. Of course she knew about the storm of reformation that had raged and still did through the Netherlands and big parts of Europe. But up till now Oversticht region and Twenthe being a part of it, were spared. Recently the city Oldenzaal was conquered on the Spaniards by the state troops and the council of Overijssel had decreed that The Stift at Weerselo too was to join the reformation movement. The reverent Adam Lindenhovius was already appointed and he would run the first reformative service in the church the day after tomorrow – Sunday.

Pastor Johannes de Borch had been present at this conversation. Ana had seen that this always so stout-hearted man had experienced exceptionally difficult times and he was on the verge of tears. It must not have been easy for him and the only thing he had added to the meeting was his announcement to resign immediately and his return to his place of birth.

Angel's echo ~ Myriah Krista Walker

Crawling into bed one night, my legs were stifled in the sheets by the solid presence of cat. My fingers always know which beast it is by the texture of fur. Solstice’s is soft, but Angel’s Echo’s feels like velvet. I massaged her back, then stretched around her and settled into the pillows.

The mattress gave way slightly as her body moved, my eyes startling suddenly from a fine spray of cat spittle as she sneezed before cuddling up next to my head. It was a delicate sneeze, not a full-face wash. I giggled. She licked my nose several times, then bit it loving but firm enough to make my face tingle with that odd pleasure-pain sensation that dripped into my chin and faded after a minute or two.

I’d stayed up late, captivated and inspired by Stephen King’s book ‘On Writing.’ If he can be brave enough to write about the bizarre and magical and call it fiction, than I can be brave enough to write the non-fiction experiences I’ve had that are truly magical. I drifted into sleep forming the story I was finally ready to tell about Angel’s Echo. A story that has taken over three years to come to the page. I fell asleep with Angel’s Echo placing the idea “it’s time to tell the story” into my mind.

The bird of paradize ~ Tina Frölich

Once upon a time there was a small multicoloured bird of paradise. He was a creative being and always of high spirits, full of inner beauty and good-looking at that. His feathers seemed, by the freedom he enjoyed and the worthiness he possessed, to radiate from within. Many were moved, were attracted by him and admired him unconditionally. And although there were many rivals, it didn’t disturb him very much because he accepted the way he was. He knew what life had in store for him.

One day he ran up to a golden cage, equalling him in beauty which was offering him to stay, using him, equally enchanted, as a dwelling. Because the little bird of paradise felt attracted to this mild mannered cage, its quiet manners were refreshing to his own restlessness, and he was already looking forward to permanent housing, he agreed to stay. He insisted though that the door would always be open. His new lodging saw no problems and felt happy being a shelter for the charming bird.

I am like glass ~ Marjo Dohmen

I change as light moves through me, light of people, divine light.
Then I sparkle in all colours surrounding me from my beginning.
On a dark place I loose myself in my clarity, my transparent brilliance.
Till anyone passes, recognizing my original colours, who believes in my radiance and once again learns to turn my dark side into light.
My brightness reflects on the messenger of the light, giving him give all colours of the spectre and thus confirms the law of tenfold return.

Being Conscious - a parable ~ Ashtar Linara

Do you see that majestic oak, yonder in the woods, towering above all other trees? If you do not see it, just imagine him, because everything is truth and truth is a dream.

As an oak he’s got the consciousness of a tree and knows about the existence of heaven and the light and the woods and mankind and the animals around him and therefore he perceives everything. If a bird comes by and perches on one of his branches asking him: “Who are you?”, the tree will answer: “I Am A TREE”. But then, all leaves and all of his numerous acorns have got the consciousness of the tree, although strictly speaking, the acorns are his children. Then a butterfly comes along and alights on one of the acorns. He asks: “Who are you?” Then the acorn will also reply: “I AM a tree.” And not something like: “I AM and acorn!”, what you’d probably expect.