Mystery of the riches

Have I come from the earth

Or am I the air that I breathe

Have I fallen from the stars

Or am I the food I eat

Was I a monkey

Or one amongst a swarm of bees

When I give

Am I giving to others or but to me

I came with naught

Got so much I cannot keep

Never mind how big a vessel I make

I cannot hold the sea

I get from places I just can never see

When I hold on to what I get

My hands are not so free

I must've watched as the grass

And at times as a solitary tree

Time to give much more

Now has come to be

I think I come from highlands

Bound in golden snow

Life will follow

Wherever I may flow

If you would learn to eat this gruel...

On a burning hot afternoon. Diogenes is sitting as usual beneath the tree, sweating, scooping pasty gruel from a weathered bowl. At a distance, the court philosopher is being carried home in a palanquin for his lunch and afternoon siesta. He lifts the curtain. “Who is that beneath the tree?” the richly robed philosopher asks his bearers. “No one of any consequence, Sir,” they answer. “A fellow called Diogenes. A waster. All he does all day is sit under that tree, and yap with whoever comes along.”

“Take me to him” the philosopher directs.

He is lowered. He addresses Diogenes: “What are you doing, Diogenes?”

“Why, I am eating this gruel” Diogenes answers.

“You fool. If only you would learn to get along with the King, you wouldn’t have to spend the rest of your life eating that miserable gruel.”

“My dear Sir,” answers Diogenes, “If only you would learn to eat this gruel, you wouldn’t have to spend the rest of your life trying to get along with the King.”