Once upon a time, far away in the
ramshackle tenements of Fogcity, there lived a happy ole fella by the name of
Hunfun. His home was perched atop one of the several shantytown high-rises. It
wasn’t a big place but it was exposed to the wind and gave a grand view to his
merry heart. And it wasn’t even a grand view at that, for his shanty was in the
darkest locale of Fogcity called Glumfog.
From there you could see the smoke that constantly belched out of the sad-poor
homes to keep them warm on cold nights. Sometimes the smog lay so thick through
the day there wasn’t even anything much to see except a hazy Sun lazing through
a groggy sky. Sometimes on rare mornings you could see a fleeting glimpse of blue
skies above the acrid smog and for that, Hunfun loved his place.
His place was simple. It was
beautiful and what was essential he had. He didn’t have much furniture, but his
home was stacked with piles and piles of scrolls and parchments on every conceivable
and esoteric matter. Some of them were very rare and hard to find. Some of them
were centuries old. They filled every nook and cranny transforming the ambience
with a mellow glow. For years he would pore over these with merriment and an
unsatisfying hunger for knowledge. His joy was infectiously visible in the way
he spoke or wrote. For his fans he was Blogular-the-Jocular, for the media he
was simply Potion-of-Commotion and for his fault-finders he was derogatively
Brag-the-Gag. Nonetheless those who were really very close would call him
Hun-the-Fun, for he was absolutely unpredictable and full of amusement. But
beneath all that mischievous laughter, he was immensely knowledgeable and
nobody stayed untouched from his wisdom or happiness. The lives of many were
affected throughout Glumfog, Fogcity and other towns.
For everyone who came to his home
he gave a meal of happiness and a parcel of joy. He made it all in his humble
kitchen of Pure Love. He made it with herbs and spices and with recipes long
forgotten but only known in some ancient scrolls. No one knew that the most
important ingredient used, was a scarlet drop from a vial that contained the
“Sacrifice Essence”. It was a distilled concentrate of Lifelove. The vial of “Sacrifice Essence” never became empty, but
over a period it would discolour, until someone made a sacrifice to make its
potency visible. No one knew what it was or how he got it, but it had the power
to wipe out defilement, pollution and taint. It not only generated happiness
but it also created cleanness. So there were many who came to visit Hunfun to
taste it and plunge into a delight of inner joy, even though they were
surrounded by gloomsmoke in Glumfog.
Hunfun lived all by himself and
his only companion was Teensy-Weensy-Me. Teensy was a little kitten that limped
painfully one sad evening into his home. He nursed it, gave it food, made it
clean, mended its bones and gave it Lifelove.
He nourished it and cared for it. It was very playful, sometimes dribbling the
scrolls with its padded mittens. Over the years, it could not be without him
and he could not be without it. The little thing added greater fun and greater
joy to his life. And even though he lived in Glumfog, he danced in his heart.
Teensy always announced itself as
mee-mee. It was bothered about what it wanted and when it wanted. Whenever it
needed anything it would cry out mee-mee, till it got what it
wanted. If things didn’t go its way it would cry out louder
MEE-MEE! Sometimes Teensy could be very demanding. As Teensy grew, it started exploring new territory. It would move
around, it would browse the neighbourhood. It would go beyond the neighbourhood.
It was fond of adventures, it wanted to travel places… straying further and
further from the home that had given it hope.
One day Teensy-Weensy-Me, was
gone.
The attractions of other places
appeared grander than a roof-top in Glumfog. The colours and smells seemed nicer than
the kitchen of Pure Love. Or had it gone to the golden land of the beyond?
Hunfun was lost. He had no way of knowing. The
laughter died in his heart. He was now as old as his scrolls in a single day,
and a voice that was as lonely as the stars. He never spoke again. He never
cooked again. His scrolls gathered deep dust, as his home gathered ash that
fell on it due to gloomsmoke. Even the vial of “Sacrifice Essence” was now discolouring.
He was empty himself… and then with sudden shock he realized that it was now
time to magnify the potency of the “Sacrifice Essence”. So he distilled into it
his own Lifelove, until it became
scarlet. Then he trained an apprentice and passed onto him the wisdom of the
ages. This was the tradition of all the Grandmasters who engaged in laughter.
They were called to be processed through pain. And among all the pains one pain
is meant to be colder and sharper than an icicle through the heart. It was now time for him to
go. It was time for others to take over. It was now time to handover laughter
to another who could carry it to all others in Glumfog. His work over here was
done.
It was time go over to the
eternal Blogcity, where there are no tears to wipe, no sorrow to mourn, where
the ink never runs dry and all the happy stories never end.
“Now I rejoice in what was suffered for you, and I fill up in my flesh what is still lacking in regard to Christ's afflictions, for the sake of his body, which is the church.”
Colossians 1: 24
No one can bear the vicarious substitution of Christ but we are called to make that Cross visible, through our own suffering.
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