The Philosopher's Bread

This a short tale I felt compelled to share with my wonderful readers. I hope you enjoy it!

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Once upon a time, long ago, there lived a man who baked beautiful, golden bread. Rolls, loaves, muffins, cookies... any bread you dreamed of he could create, and the people of his village cherished his delicious baking. Every week, he would come up with a new recipe, and they would all eagerly wait for its delivery. They would all agree that he made the finest, most delicious baked goods they could ever ask for. But there was so much more to this man than the bread he could make.

Early in the morning, before the golden sun even crept from its bed, the man would climb a hill overlooking the village and sit at its peak with his back to an old oak tree, his eyes intent upon the horizon. There, he would allow his mind to wander away from his hard work and dream the dreams of 'the Philosopher', as he liked to call himself.

What beautiful and brilliant thoughts he would contemplate! The man dreamed of inventions, of a flying machine for man to travel the world or long, pipe mechanisms to spray water for irrigation and reduce the farmers' toil. His mind could construct castles or underground fortresses. Towers or bridges.

Within his thoughts, he debated the purpose of life, or the value of love. The excitement of hope and the agony of disappointment. He considered the depths of the human mind, a vast frontier uncharted by his race. Storms of a troubled past swirled in his eyes, while his heart throbbed in his chest. He had seen much: regretted some of his memories, cherished the others, and learned from all of them. Wisdom and humility he had attained through years of difficulty and joyful possibilities.

He thought of the children in the village: of the future generations. His own experiences in schools led him to dream of teaching, in a way he had never been taught. Teaching children to be unique individuals: to enjoy just learning more about the world, rather than memorizing facts of grammar and arithmetic. He dreamed of a better world, for everyone, expanding his mind with ideas for a better future.

Many times, the Philosopher spoke to the villagers of his thoughts. "Man could truly fly," he would explain, "If we merely understood what is holding us back."

People laughed at the theory and turned him away.

"Children are unique; why should we expect them all to learn the same way? Are we trying to make the same person out of each of them?" he asked.

The people ignored his warnings, offended that he would so slander their parenting.

"Why are any of us here?" he thought aloud. "Surely, there is more to life than working the fields and filling our bellies."

People scowled at his belittling of their livelihoods.

Regardless of what he said or how he tried to communicate his thoughts, the Philosopher was ignored and rejected for thinking differently from the rest of the villagers, who, instead, valued tradition and methods tried and true. The Philosopher suggested such dangerous changes, for better or worse, so they turned the possibilities away for fear of what they might create.

But, whenever the Philosopher said, "I've a new idea for a recipe," everyone hearkened to him and praised the brilliant idea. Truly, they didn't mind if he called himself, 'The Philosopher.' As long as he kept baking them bread.

The End

Dedicated to my father, the Philosopher, who was made for a different world.