The Man Who Turned Away

There once lived a man—not far from the troubles of the present—who decided to no longer feel the pain of others. He had reached this decision by way of astrology. On a particularly distressful news day, he flipped through his local rag to the oft-obsessed over horoscope column, only to find the following advice:

“An escape from all that ails you lies ahead, just beyond the endless ends, and the bitter flesh of fruitless fruit. Take care, for you will only find it where you turn way from life’s despair.”

Upon its close, he thought of his mom and the madness that had plagued her golden years as a result of an open heart, unblinking eyes, and calloused hands; she had deserved better in life, and in dying she left with no thanks from the worlds’ forgotten.

With this memory, and the knowledge bestowed on him by the stars, he firmly resolved himself to turn away from all that sorrow planted in the once empty spaces of his being.

Did you hear about what happened in—they, the aggrieved would ask him.

No, he would answer, I hear only the sparrow and its morning song.

Will you join us in protest, in action against—they, the weary defenders would plead.

No, he would once again respond, I will join you in nothing more than the joys granted by the warm, bright sun, and the fertile soil just beneath its loving gaze.

Do you not care for those who will come after you—they, the mourning would cry.

No, he would sigh, for the hand that wrote their fate needs not my care.

After this answer, no more questions were asked of the man. He had come to be regarded as something of a fool by they, the survivors, for if the man was truly wise, he would have known that true joy can only exist in those whose hearts are touched by pain—for pain, even the youngest of children know, means feeling.