Posted in Political

Rabbits’ Revenge: A Fable of Hidden Strength

Protesting 'Rabbits' Ain't No Fun When the Rabbit's Got the Gun

King Wannabe stood before the crowd of people, his back hunched, too feeble to be erect, his greying, bushy eyebrows raised, his face twisted in contempt. The people would not chant his name nor bow to his image. “Rabbits,” he scoffed. “Nothing but rabbits. They eat, they breed, they exist for my pleasure. Especially the young ones—for my pleasure. Everyone must love Wannabe, everyone, especially these rabbits.” His entourage knelt in obedience, fearful of his rage.

One brave advisor dared to whisper, “But sir, no one is loved by everyone, and they are more than rabbits. They are people, with minds, with hopes and dreams.” In a buffoonish manner, Wannabe waved the thought aside, clutching a handful of pamphlets. “Look at these. Lies! All lies! Their words are filth. Take their paper and their pens. Silence them, cancel their culture.” He signed an Order, and the dutiful minions obeyed, seizing what they could.

Yet the words did not stop. Thought traveled without ink. Discontent spread without parchment. And so Wannabe tightened his grip. In a tyrannical rage, he yelled, “We will control the news. We will make them pay to speak. We will force them to listen. We will tell them what books to read. We will be their favorite, the one they love; they will love Wannabe.” Again, with trepidation, the advisor leaned close: “But sir, even without paper, they have found their voices. They still have minds. And even rabbits, when cornered, will bite. Not today, perhaps—but one day the rabbits will bite. Remember this if you remember nothing at all. And heed the hunter’s satire.” The Wannabe dismissed him with a bitter laugh and a sneer. “Nonsense. They are only rabbits. They are for my pleasure; their only care is to eat and breed.” He arrogantly sneered. “And as to the satirical, I hate comics: ‘ain’t no fun when the rabbit’s got the gun’ is just silly. It’s for the weak and timid; not for Wannabe because Wannabe controls all and fears nothing.” He laughed, but his laugh was uneasy, and the silence from his minions was unmistakable and deafening.

Seasons passed. The whisper and wisdom of the sage advisor lingered. The people—mocked as useless, underestimated lagomorphs—grew weary of abuse and felt more cornered yet bolder. The self-serving advisors, sensing doom, scurried away with whatever spoils they could steal. At last, Wannabe stood alone, his armies and decrees powerless against a multitude no longer afraid, but resolute and united.

And from the crowd, like sparks catching fire, came the clamorous chants:

“Today the rabbits bite.”
“Ain’t no fun when the rabbit’s got the gun.”

Protesting against authoritarianism

The chants rolled through the streets, half warning, half laughter, but all serious. It was no threat of violence, but a proverb of irony. These people, these ‘rabbits’, had never needed literal guns because they had found something much more lethal—strength in their numbers, in their unified ideas, in their memory, dreams, and words, and now in their collective refusal to bow. The chant was their laughter, their truth, their declaration that the world had turned and change was in the offing. And the wise sage smiled a subtle, small, sly smile, always knowing and anticipating the power of their unity.

Civil society thrives only when none are treated as beasts, but as human beings with voices, hopes, and dreams. Wise leaders understand that thought is stronger than chains and the pen is stronger than the sword. The silencing of truth and thought control is always temporary; revolt begins the moment words are stifled, and action follows when endurance breaks.

If you have a gun—put it down, and put it away, we rabbits don’t need them.

Instead, pick up your pen and write your thoughts and dreams. Raise your voice and speak your mind. Open your ears and listen to others. Kings, Emperors, and wannabes are mortal. But thoughts endure. Words endure. And yours are essential. #Ain’tNoFun

For Every Problem...A Solution...
Lap Around the Sun: Daily Steps Forward
Joy in Alzheimer’s: My Mom’s Brave Walk into Dementia’s Abyss

Posted in Philosophy

Escape the Prison of Reflection: A Parable of Ego and Humility

An older man, with an air of superiority, left his opulent, gilded house and strolled into a bustling marketplace surrounded by his fawning, obedient minions. He proudly carried a polished, reflective, framed glass. His head held high, he admired his own reflection as he weaved through the crowd. The crowd could see him, but he could only see himself, and he was thoroughly pleased. He barely noticed those on either side of him as his minions pushed them aside out of his view. When he did catch a fleeting glimpse, he compared himself to them—the merchants, the homeless, the travelers, the artists, and the minorities—with his arrogance, ignorance, and bombast on full display, he declared, “I am far superior to them all, and they should be forbidden from saying otherwise.”

But as the day wore on, dust gathered on the glass. His reflection grew dim and distorted. He frowned, exclaimed how unfair and unacceptable the conditions were. He lifted his feeble arm and wiped it with his soiled sleeve. Raising it again, he loudly demanded that the crowd see him as he saw himself, even through the grime. Some ignored him, some laughed, and the braver, at great peril, mocked him. His anger rose, and his threats of retaliation grew robust and offensive.

At last, an old immigrant woman left the row of unpicked crops and approached him, offering nothing but silence in her weary eyes. With her weathered hands, she took the glass gently from his manicured fingers, turned it around, and asked, “What do you see now?” The mirrored glass, once a tool for self-admiration, now became a symbol of understanding and empathy as he viewed the world rather than himself.

The old man was initially taken aback but remained self-absorbed. In the mirror was no longer his own face, but the faces of the people around him—each one bearing burdens, scars, joys, and pride of their own which he had never truly seen or bothered to comprehend.

The old woman’s voice was a gentle, refreshing breeze: “The glass is not for self-worship but for understanding. Turn it outward and you’ll see the truth: you are not the center, only a small part. Your ego makes the glass a prison; humility makes it a window.” Her words carried a profound truth that seemed to resonate in the old man’s heart.

The old man, humbled by her wisdom, lowered his head. For the first time, the marketplace seemed vast and vibrant, filled not just with his own reflection but with the dreams of real people. He left the market, dusty and disheveled, and a question lingered for all who watched: Will he remember what the mirror revealed, or will he brush away the dust of human humility and return to the prison of his own reflection? As the old woman returned to the field, she turned and said: “We should all look into our own reflective glass and ask ourselves, how much of him are we?”

For Every Problem...A Solution...
Lap Around the Sun: Daily Steps Forward
Joy in Alzheimer’s: My Mom’s Brave Walk into Dementia’s Abyss