The Cracked Pot
Apr. 14th, 2009 06:18 pmA water bearer in Madras, India had two large pots, each hung on
the end of a pole which he carried across his neck. One of the pots had a
crack in it, and while the other pot was perfect, and always delivered a full
portion of water at the end of the long walk from the stream to the master's
house. The cracked pot arrived only half full.
For a full two years this went on daily, with the bearer delivering only one
and a half pots of water to his master's house. Of course the perfect pot
was proud of its accomplishments, perfect to the end for which it was made.
But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable
that it was able to accomplish only half of what it had been made to do.
After two years of what it perceived to be a bitter failure, it spoke to the
water bearer one day by the stream. "I am ashamed of myself, and I want to
apologize to you."
"Why?" asked the bearer. "What are you ashamed of?"
( Read more... )
the end of a pole which he carried across his neck. One of the pots had a
crack in it, and while the other pot was perfect, and always delivered a full
portion of water at the end of the long walk from the stream to the master's
house. The cracked pot arrived only half full.
For a full two years this went on daily, with the bearer delivering only one
and a half pots of water to his master's house. Of course the perfect pot
was proud of its accomplishments, perfect to the end for which it was made.
But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable
that it was able to accomplish only half of what it had been made to do.
After two years of what it perceived to be a bitter failure, it spoke to the
water bearer one day by the stream. "I am ashamed of myself, and I want to
apologize to you."
"Why?" asked the bearer. "What are you ashamed of?"
( Read more... )