tyb
blood moon rising
flat mullah
ok now do fatullah gulan
perfection
cuba?
what they do now?
A master carpenter named Shih is traveling with his apprentice. They pass a huge, old tree near a shrine—a tree so big that “a thousand teams of horses” could rest in its shade. The apprentice is amazed, but the master doesn’t even stop to look.
Later, the apprentice asks why such a gigantic tree didn’t interest him. The carpenter replies that the wood is useless: it’s twisted, full of knots, bad for planks or beams, no good for boats, coffins, doors, or posts. Precisely because it’s useless, no one has ever cut it down—so it has survived long enough to grow that huge.
That night, the carpenter dreams the tree appears and speaks to him. The tree says something like:
You call me “useless” and think that’s an insult. But look at the “useful” trees—fruit trees, timber trees. As soon as they are useful, people strip their fruit, break their branches, cut them down for wood. Their usefulness makes their lives short and miserable. I, on the other hand, have spent my whole life being of no use, and that is why I am still here, old and vast. My “uselessness” is my protection.
It also scolds the carpenter: you, a man about to die, calling me worthless—how do you know what is truly useful or useless?