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An autobiographical fable -- continued:

By Javad Hashtroudian

 

 

I told the innkeeper that he was right. I had studied in England. I went to a boarding in Worcester which is near Stratford Upon Avon. We would go to outings at the Royal Shakespear Company. I always put my name down to go on these outings. Not that I cared about Shakespear or drama. It was just a way of getting a night out, away from the prison of the boarding house. During the intermissions we would run to the nearest pub.... Anyway, I did go to that theater and inside it was dark and the spotlight was on.... Concentrating the mind.... But the words.... When one hears such words, one cannot help oneself....

England was very good like that.... It was easy to get cultured. It rained a lot and museums were free. So here I was walking and it was raining. And I see this door and inside it's warm and dry. I go inside and inside there are so many beautiful things. I walk around entranced.....

I got round this corner and there before me it stood, tall white and.... I had never seen anything like it. Actually this was only a reproduction of Michelangelo's David.... Still I was enchanted.....
I had to discover how a mere human had created this....

The way he would sculpt is to observe a block of marble from the outside. Michelangelo would look and look at the piece of marble and understand what was hidden deep inside . He would relax and see the inner beauty and then he would chisel away the pieces of marble which are not the sculpture. Once all the unwanted pieces were removed the exquisite work of art would remain....

I just looked at the statue for I don't know.... Time stood still. I walked around David.... And I stood and I walked and I stopped....

When I left, the rain had stopped. But by now I already understood that inside there was so much....

Next time I was at Stratford. I went inside and heard those words. Those powerful words and I was in a trance inside.... I was a new person, a changed being....

The innkeeper said, "then you'll understand the moral of my story. A few more generations and not only no one knew how to make the special candles but the Sheiks had forgotten the special words and by now they no longer knew the special place, but some one still remembered the story of the candles, the prayers and the special place and when they told the story their wishes would come true....

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