Other people's stories is fun. This one always makes me smile:
A bard once asked me the meaning of life. I stared at him a moment, gave my chin a rub and then walked over to a rock. “The meaning of life,” I said, “is no real mystery. This rock knows it,” I said. And then it was his turn to stare at me, confused.
“A rock is not real,” he argued. What a smart one he was. I laughed and sat down beside the rock and the bard puzzled even more. “What’s the difference,” I asked him, “between me and the rock?”
“You’re alive.” Ahh, his wicked intelligence again. “And the rock is not.”
“How do you define alive?” I questioned, giving him a smile.
“You can move.” He answered. I picked up the rock and threw it across the road. “So can the rock,” I answered.
“You can think.”
“How do you know the rock cannot think?”
“Because it’s not alive.”
“So what makes it dead?”
“It’s not dead either.”
“So the rocks not dead and it’s not alive?”
“Right.” he confirmed with a nod of his head. “Then what is it?” I asked him. “What is on this earth that is neither living nor dead?” He puzzled a moment and then shrugged. “It is matter,” he answered at last, “it takes up space and causes problems.”
“Rocks cause problems?” I then asked. “Rocks cause problems.” he agreed. “What kind of problems?”
“It hurts when you step on them,” he told me, “and they make bumps in the road.”
“But rocks are used in tools and things like that, too, right?”
He took another moment and then gave a reluctant nod. “I suppose,” he said. “So rocks cause problems, but they’re also needed—right?” He shrugged. “I wouldn’t
say they’re needed. We only use rocks until we can think of a better option.”
“So rocks cause problems, and they’re needed until you can figure out what is better than a rock?” He nodded. “So what do you think life is?”
The bard walked off, confused. I guess he doesn’t know how smart he really is. He figured out life and all he needed was a rock.
