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One day a stranger came to a village, wearing all-white clothing marked with the dust of the lonely way. Shod in sandals . . . with long hair that fell below the shoulders.
The first person the stranger met was a merchant from the village itself. The merchant was greeted with the words: "The you-inside is beautiful." The merchant sidled away -- as if to touch the stranger might soil himself, and continued on his way.
The stranger continued into the village. Another shopkeeper was greeted in exactly the same way: "The you-inside is beautiful." He too stepped aside -- with that look one gives the hopelessly insane -- and went on his way without speaking.
The next person the stranger greeted was a housewife -- cleaning a pot beside her garden. "The you-inside is beautiful," she was told. She stood at full length and looked at the stranger.
"Do you say this," she shouted, "because the me on the outside is so ugly? How dare you insult me!" And she threw the heavy pot at the stranger -- who stepped nimbly aside and continued walking.
Throughout the village it was always the same. Each person greeted by the words "The you-inside is beautiful," responded with either anger or fear or, at best, with polite disdain.
Finally the stranger came to the center of the village, where was the well and a young child drawing water.
"The you-inside is beautiful," the stranger said to the child.
"I know that," the child answered, "but thank you for reminding me."
"An exceedingly wise child," the stranger said, "in such a village. Where did you learn such wisdom?"
"I learned nothing," the child responded. "But I have not forgotten, like so many of my friends."
"Then blessed are you that you have not forgotten." "But I do have a question," the child said slowly. "Will I forget too -- when I become an adult? Will I become like all the grownups in the village?"
"Not unless you want to forget. If you choose, you will be able to remember your inner beauty as long as you wish."
"Then," the child said happily, "I choose not to forget." A pause. "But what will become of me?"
"You will become a stranger," the stranger said, "wandering forever, visiting strange villages, reminding the villagers of the inner beauty they possess in ignorance."
The child bowed slightly and, placing hands together prayer-fashion, said softly: "The you-inside is beautiful."
The stranger did the same. And slowly walked away. Never again to be seen in the village.
And the child? She became a stranger -- like her sister before her -- wandering from place to place, dressed all in white, carrying the message that the "you" inside each of us is beautiful.
The first person the stranger met was a merchant from the village itself. The merchant was greeted with the words: "The you-inside is beautiful." The merchant sidled away -- as if to touch the stranger might soil himself, and continued on his way.
The stranger continued into the village. Another shopkeeper was greeted in exactly the same way: "The you-inside is beautiful." He too stepped aside -- with that look one gives the hopelessly insane -- and went on his way without speaking.
The next person the stranger greeted was a housewife -- cleaning a pot beside her garden. "The you-inside is beautiful," she was told. She stood at full length and looked at the stranger.
"Do you say this," she shouted, "because the me on the outside is so ugly? How dare you insult me!" And she threw the heavy pot at the stranger -- who stepped nimbly aside and continued walking.
Throughout the village it was always the same. Each person greeted by the words "The you-inside is beautiful," responded with either anger or fear or, at best, with polite disdain.
Finally the stranger came to the center of the village, where was the well and a young child drawing water.
"The you-inside is beautiful," the stranger said to the child.
"I know that," the child answered, "but thank you for reminding me."
"An exceedingly wise child," the stranger said, "in such a village. Where did you learn such wisdom?"
"I learned nothing," the child responded. "But I have not forgotten, like so many of my friends."
"Then blessed are you that you have not forgotten." "But I do have a question," the child said slowly. "Will I forget too -- when I become an adult? Will I become like all the grownups in the village?"
"Not unless you want to forget. If you choose, you will be able to remember your inner beauty as long as you wish."
"Then," the child said happily, "I choose not to forget." A pause. "But what will become of me?"
"You will become a stranger," the stranger said, "wandering forever, visiting strange villages, reminding the villagers of the inner beauty they possess in ignorance."
The child bowed slightly and, placing hands together prayer-fashion, said softly: "The you-inside is beautiful."
The stranger did the same. And slowly walked away. Never again to be seen in the village.
And the child? She became a stranger -- like her sister before her -- wandering from place to place, dressed all in white, carrying the message that the "you" inside each of us is beautiful.
