There’s a Zen-like proverb that can be found in many variations if a-Googling-you-go. I’m not sure of the original source. Sometimes, when I’m roaming through a bookstore or a library amidst the rows-and-rows of books, I wonder how it’s possible to write anything “original”.

There’s only 26-letters in our alphabet, and it amazes me (I’m easily amazed) the plethora of ways those letters can be mixed-and-matched and strung together to form words and sentences that attempt to move something from one head into the head of another.

Some are more successful at this attempt than others, judging by how quickly some books move from the festive, well-organized “New Arrival” section, to the random disarray of the “Just Take It” pile of discarded not so interesting sentences.

How does it feel as an author to stroll into a bookstore and find the ideas, thoughts, and whatnot that you were trying to move from your head into the heads of others, piled amongst last year’s diet, get rich, or become a likeable person books? The product of hours-and-hours of your time and effort lying there in a heap with a big red sticker over your smiling face on the cover boldly proclaiming “196% off”.

As a rule, I’m skeptical of a book whose author found it necessary to put themselves on the cover. Usually standing, arms either crossed or on the hips, with an expression attempting to convey mirth, wisdom, and vulnerability.

Good or bad…hard to say. At least they did it. They put themselves, and whatever was in their head, out there for the public to render judgment upon. In this day and age of constant and instant everything, that judgement occurs swiftly and without mercy for Mister or Miss mirth, wisdom, and vulnerability. So it goes.

Back to the Zen-like proverb…

There was once a farmer in a village. One day, his horse ran away. So, the villagers came up to him and said, “That’s bad.” The farmer shrugged his shoulders and said, “Good or bad…hard to say.”

The next day, the horse came back with seven wild horses. The villagers came up to the farmer and said, “More horses, that’s good.” The farmer shrugged his shoulders and said, “Good or bad…hard to say.”

A few weeks later, the farmer’s son was riding one of the wild horses and was thrown off it. As a result, he broke his leg. The villagers came up to the farmer and said, “That’s bad.” The farmer shrugged his shoulders and said, “Good or bad…hard to say.”

The next week, the king sent word commanding all able men to enlist in the army for the upcoming war against a neighboring kingdom. The farmer’s son wasn’t enlisted as he had a broken leg. The villagers came up to the farmer and said, “That’s good.” The farmer shrugged his shoulders and said, “Good or bad…hard to say.”

The next month the farmer and his gimpy son harvested a bumper carrot crop. A more impressive crop of carrots had never been witnessed by the villagers, and they said, “That’s good.” The farmer threw back his shoulders, puffed out his chest, and said, “Darn right!”

That night the scent of freshly picked carrots attracted a massive flock of giant flying rabbits. A flock so vast they blotted out the moonlight as they descended upon the village. Nibbling and hopping about ferociously until nary a carrot remained, reducing the village to rubble, and littering it with boulder sized…You get the idea.

The “original” proverb didn’t descend into giant flying rabbit chaos, but if that farmer kept shrugging his shoulders, and didn’t get a little cocky, the proverb would never end. A proverb in itself I suppose. Don’t get cocky about your carrot crop.

Just think of the possibilities if you could break one of those rabbits to ride…“Good or bad, hard to say.” Or as an old German proverb states, “Fortune helps the bold, but not always.” Definitely maybe…or not. Such is life.