All farms have mice, loads of them. They usually have a gala time, there is tonnes to eat and hazzar places to bed down, when they feel like. One just has to be vary of a few things. Like the landlady's broom, or the big fat cat, or that mangy little pi-bald cur who likes to kill mice just for fun. And of course, most of all, all the mice knew, they HAD to be very vary of that big pot by the hearth. They all knew that the pot was full of fresh cream that the landlady would top each day. How the mice loved the cream and would lick every little drop that fell by the pot but to try and lick any cream from the pot itself was strictly forbidden. For many a mice had tried, slipped in and drowned.
This one little mouse didn't know any better and would keep dreaming of taking a lick right off that pot, though his mom was very clear on that issue. Don't you dare, she would say.
So one day he couldn't help himself and leaned from the brim of the pot towards the cream. 'Just a little bit more', he said.,' why? my whiskers are already touching it, a wee bit more and i bet my outstretched tongue would be there too', he thought. So he leaned a fraction more and his tongue touched the delicious cream. 'There', he squeaked in delight, 'nothing to it really' and... then.., PLONK.
Let alone his tongue, his entire self was now in the cream,,,, Uh, oh.
All the mice heard his desperate screams and rushed to the edge of the pot. The eldest mice all clicked their tongues and shook their heads. 'We told you so'. His mom was livid. More elders came and they all said just one thing. WE TOLD YOU SO.
The little mouse was frightened out of his wits. He cursed the moment he decided not to listen. And now he was going to drown.
He didn't want to die but that's what happens to mice that fall into the pot. That's what everybody says. That's what everybody was saying right now, clicking their tongues, shaking their heads and making sorry gestures with their little hands. All waiting for the little mouse to gasp and go under.
But this little mouse was different. He didn't want to give up, not just yet at least. So he began to kick and struggle. 'Oh no', they all said, 'wasting his and our time. Why cant he just go under so we all can go on with our lives'. But the little mouse kept struggling. Kicking his feet, trying with all his might to reach the brim.
One by one all the other mice got bored and went away and he was all alone, struggling. He too knew that he was eventually going to drown but not just yet, he kept telling himself. And just when his strength was about to give up he felt his feet get some purchase. All that kicking and struggling had churned the cream around him to butter. The little mouse realised he needn't drown after all. Within an hour he had churned just enough butter around him to reach the brim and haul his exhausted body over.
As he lay on the other side, his little body glistening with butter and his muscles quivering with spent energy, he pondered about what had just happened and why?
The 'what' was simple enough. He had survived.
The 'why' was a little bit deeper. Think about it.
A zen master and his disciple were on their way to a distant monastery. They had to cross a dense forest to get there. The guard at the gate had told them that they must keep walking north else they will lose their way and be lost forever. So they headed north. 