The King, the Warrior, and the Hill (parable)
A parable for all ages aimed at children but for adults to see
Once, long ago, there was a hill so high it touched the clouds.
At the bottom of the hill lived all the people of the land.
Two voices called them to climb.
One was a dark King, crowned with iron.
The other, a golden-haired warrior, bright as the sun.
The King shouted:
“Come with me to the top!
You must climb; you must obey.
I will bribe you; I will whip you,
I will make you march!”
And many, fearing his lash, began to climb,
though their hearts were heavy and their steps slow.
The golden warrior spoke differently:
“Come with me, if you wish.
We will climb with kindness.
We will climb with hope.
At the top, there may be peace,
but even on the way, there will be joy.”
And many came gladly, singing and laughing as they climbed.
Halfway up, the hill grew gentler.
The view opened wide, green fields, blue rivers,
the whole world stretched before them.
The people with the warrior stopped.
“This is enough,” they said.
“This is the golden age we dreamed of.
Here we will rest, create, and live in peace.”
They asked the warrior:
“Stay with us! Lead us no further!”
But the warrior, stubborn in heart,
kept climbing with a few loyal souls.
The path grew steep, the air grew thin,
yet still he climbed.
Meanwhile, the King’s weary followers,
dragged and bruised, reached the gentle slope.
They looked across and saw the people singing,
painting, dancing, free of whips and chains.
And something broke inside them.
They threw away their chains,
they left the King,
and they joined the circle of joy.
The warrior looked back from the higher rocks.
He saw the people below,
their laughter, their kindness,
their lives blooming like spring.
And he understood.
It was not the summit he wanted.
It was his people.
So he turned back,
laid down his sword,
and joined the fold of love below.
The King, proud and blind,
marched on with a handful of cruel followers.
At last he reached the summit,
cold, bare, lonely.
No song, no food, no warmth.
Only dust, money, and silence.
And so they perished,
while below the hill
the people thrived
no leaders, no tyrants,
only love, care,
creativity, art, and play.
* * *
The truth was this:
All three paths served.
The King forced motion. (Deep State)
The Warrior gave hope. (Trump)
The hidden track gave freedom. (The Peoples Path to FREEDOM)
And without that first push, none would have climbed at all.