A monkey is trapped in a prison of steel rods, longing for freedom.
A bird flies by, and the monkey yells out, “Oh dear bird, please help me! I’m trapped in this prison.”
The bird swoops down, and sees a locked wooden box nearby. He pecks at it with his beak until it breaks open, then delivers the key to the monkey’s paw. The monkey opens it and escapes.
“Thank you!” says the monkey. “I’ll remember this.”
The monkey dances through the forest, enjoying his newfound freedom. But soon he sees a predator, and realizes he is not prepared. Threats are everywhere, and he has nothing to protect him.
So the monkey finds some wood, and uses nearby stones to shape them into sticks. He keeps one stick as a weapon, and a handful of stones to throw.
But the meager weapons are not enough to deter the hungry hunters. So the monkey starts piling up more and more sticks, and more and more stones.
The monkey builds a wall all around him. He stays inside his house of sticks and stones, safe and sound.
The bird returns and sees the monkey. “Trapped again?” asks the bird.
“Trapped?” says the monkey, furrowing his brows. “No, no. This is no prison.”
“It looks like a prison. You’re surrounded by sticks and stones.”
“That may be,” says the monkey, “but it was built by me, which surely means I am free. Don’t you see?”
The bird cocks its head to the side. “I am a bird, free as can be, and you are certainly not free, from what I can see.”
The monkey frowns. “And how do you know you are free?”
The bird smiles, then flies away.
P.S. If you liked this story, you'll love my new book of modern fables, Wandering Spirits, available in paperback and ebook through Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Bookshop.org. Learn more at salman.io/ws.
Love it. How often do we limit and constrain ourselves as a means of protection?
gorgeous, Salman.
thank you.