The Monkey With The Wooden Apples
There once was a happy monkey wandering the jungle, eating
delicious fruit when hungry, and resting when tired. One day he
came upon a house, where he saw a bowl of the most beautiful
apples. He took one in each hand and ran back into the forest.
He sniffed the apples and smelled nothing. He tried to eat them,
but hurt his teeth. They were made of wood, but they were
beautiful, and when the other monkeys saw them, he held onto
them even tighter.
He admired his new possessions proudly as he wandered the
jungle. They glistened red in the sun, and seemed perfect to
him. He became so attached to them, that he didn't even notice
his hunger at first.
A fruit tree reminded him, but he felt the apples in his hands.
He couldn't bear to set them down to reach for the fruit. In
fact, he couldn't relax, either, if he was to defend his apples.
A proud, but less happy monkey continued to walk along the
forest trails.
The apples became heavier, and the poor little monkey thought
about leaving them behind. He was tired, hungry, and he couldn't
climb trees or collect fruit with his hands full. What if he
just let go?
Letting go of such valuable things seemed crazy, but what else
could he do? He was so tired. Seeing the next fruit tree, and
smelling it's fruit was enough. He dropped the wooden apples and
reached up for his meal. He was happy again.
Letting Go Of Wooden Apples
Like that little monkey, we sometimes carry things that seem too
valuable to let go. A man carries an image of himself as
"productive" - carries it like a shiny wooden apple. But in
reality, his busyness leaves him tired, and hungry for a better
life. Still, letting go seems crazy. Even his worries are sacred
apples - they prove he's "doing everything he can." He holds
onto them compulsively.
This is a hard thing to see. We identify so strongly with our
things even, feeling pain when our cars are dented. How much
more powerfully do we identify with our beliefs and self-ideas?
Yet they don't always feed our souls, do they? And we become
tired of defending them.
How else could the story end? The monkey might be found dead of
hunger, under a beautiful tree, with fruit within reach, but
still grasping his wooden apples. I chose to end it with him
letting go, because only with open hands can we recieve.