Aeros was not a worrisome young man. He was tall and had kind eyes, and he was very wise; it was laid on his heart very early in his life to be a physician and cure illness.
Aeros often walked in the gardens outside the East wall in his city, Athens. He loved to listen to the philosophers and elders of the city debate and discuss perplexing matters of life. He spent many a day at the steps of the Palaistra in the Lyceum, listening intently to the wisdom of the men who came there. Some journeyed from very far away to hear the men, and some journeyed very far to speak with them.
But one day he was very troubled. Many had come to him with incurable illnesses, and moreover, many came to him with more severe problems: heavy hearts and minds full of thoughts.
Aeros felt the weight of a thousand burdens on his shoulders—his mind now too, was full of thoughts.
He walked through some of the gardens at the edge of the Lyceum, which was his custom. At this time of year they were budding with new life, colored in green and yellow and white; the branches of the great old trees there reached over the old gardens and provided a gentle shade from the sun; but for all the beauty of the garden and the quiet, calm solitude to be had, it did not help Aeros with his mind full of thoughts.
After not a little toil over the matter, Aeros decided to take his issue to the elders and philosophers of the city, who always gathered at the Palaistra on a fair morning like this. Surely, they would be able to rid him of this strife.
He followed the Peripatos road partly and then broke off and came to the familiar steps of the Palaistra, where he saw many gathered, listening as half a dozen men with nearly all white hair and beards took turns speaking. Never had Aeros been so bold as to engage with the wise men of that place, but today he picked up his courage and marched forward, his question thoroughly considered and in hand.
“What does one do with a mind full of thoughts?”
The elders and thinkers looked at each other and considered the abruptness of his entry; but noticing his youthfulness and the trouble on his heart, and seeing that his question was one of perplexity, and worthy of discussion, they were inclined to entertain him; and he sat at their feet.
“What is your name youth?” asked one.
“My name is Aeros Nicomachus of Macedonia.”
“A fine name,” said another.
“We will help you,” another reassured.
For some time, the men sat there and gave the matter the depth of their minds, weighing the question in its fullness. After an hour of quiet discussion between some, complete silence from others, and consulting some books on hand, five of the six men had something to say to Aeros, but one man would not, because the matter was too great; he left the Lyceum, and no one knows where he went to this day.
Finally, the first man spoke, “One does not do well to dwell on them at all—why should one whose trouble is a crowded ocean, add one more fish to the lot?”
Aeros thought this over for a moment. “Then what shall one do if these thoughts increase until they are unbearable, because they were not addressed at all? Then the crowded ocean would swallow you up.”
The man looked at him and saw the sense of his words but was too dumb to speak on them anymore.
So, another, whose beard was very long, and whose robes flowed on the floor when he walked, said to Aeros:
“One always ought to pick through each one as if they were many drachmai (pieces of silver), which an untrusted man had given; when you have examined each one, you will have peace.”
Again, Aeros considered this and said, “No, I haven’t got so much time for that—my mind is filled quite to the tippy-top; there isn’t time enough in the whole world to consider each in full. And if I did not consider each in their fullness, would I not yet be lacking peace?”
The elder had no answer for this. A murmuring began among the people around, who listened closely to everything that passed between them.
“One ought to discuss these thoughts with himself,” suggested another. “He must walk about all day—without another person in sight—and spill the bowl of thoughts out and divide them and organize them and gather them all up again.”
“And does that work?”
The man looked taken aback at such a direct question, sputtering for an answer, which finally consulted his personal experience. “Mostly, I’m more confused than at first, but I certainly feel as though I’ve done something.”
Many of the other elders and thinkers then began to be disturbed, and the murmur grew louder among everyone present. Many found this answer disagreeable, some even foolish.
“Nay,” said a short, large man, whose hair was long and dark, but had a beard of snowy white. “Babbling about is for fools and crazy folk; I take up my thoughts and run them in ink on many pages; sometimes I have written for 37 days.”
“And after the 37 days?” Aeros questioned, eager to find the truth to his question.
The elder huffed, realizing he didn’t like this question “...Well, I certainly understood the length of my thoughts.”
“But did you have peace?”
“Eh... no.”
The people began to be in an uproar, the murmur turned to shouts of disapproval, the Lyceum had never seen such fiery opposition from the people, or from the other elders and philosophers present.
“This is all rubbish!” exclaimed the fifth elder, standing from his place where he’d sat in silence since the beginning. “If to be rid of your burden of thoughts is what you seek, you must seek the nectar of the gods—the wine of the grapes of Dionysus. Then they will go away.”
The uproar was louder than even before—each elder saying what was the best way to be rid of a mind full of thoughts, and all disagreed with each other wrathfully, until the Palaistra was filled with the arguments of haughty tongues and deaf ears, and the elders began to fight, so that Aeros was filled with sorrow, and he slipped out and left, seeking some solace in the beauty of the gardens at the edge of the Lyceum once more.
He was relieved to be rid of the strife, but disappointed with the elders and philosophers he trusted so much; nonetheless, he had a mind of thoughts which was increased to the point of stealing the very beauty of the gardens from his eyes. He had left those also, and sought the deep forest, sorely troubled with his predicament, when he heard the lovely song of a bird.
He stopped by to listen, and was quite tickled by the little song, so that he nearly forgot his despair.
But when the creature stopped, he remembered it once more, and it occurred to him just how careless and happy the bird was.
“What does one do with a mind full of thoughts?” he called to the bird.
“Why—there’s only one thing to do! Every morning, I gather them all up—and sometimes there’s quite a load—and I sing them away in my song to the Maker.”
“And then, are they truly gone?” asked Aeros incredulously, thinking this simple answer too wonderful to be true.
“If you trust the Maker enough to take them from you, those worrisome thoughts will be gone.”
Aeros saw with what sincerity the bird spoke and believed his words to be true; he thanked the bird and went home, casting off his mind full of thoughts in songs to the Maker, and he was filled with great joy, because he finally had peace; but he found that it was not empty, as the elders and thinkers had told him it should be, and as he thought it would be. Instead, it was full of thoughts of a different kind, of love and praise to the Maker, and gratitude for all those things the Maker has made—even a mind full of thoughts.
THE END
Luke 12:22-24
22 And Jesus said unto his disciples, Therefore I say unto you, Take no thought for your life, what ye shall eat; neither for the body, what ye shall put on.
23 The life is more than meat, and the body is more than raiment.
24 Consider the ravens: for they neither sow nor reap; which neither have storehouse nor barn; and God feedeth them: how much more are ye better than the fowls?
Wishing you all a lovely morning, day or night,
Benji
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