Fabre filled a flower pot close to the rim with dirt. He then carefully arranged some Processionary Caterpillars in a circle around the rim of the flower pot, so that the lead caterpillar actually touched the last one, making a complete circle. In the center of the flower pot he put pine needles, which is food for the Processionary Caterpillar.
The caterpillars started walking around the circular flower pot. Around and around they went, hour after hour, day after day, night after night. They obtained no nourishment, no rest. For seven full days and seven full nights they went around the flower pot. Finally, they dropped dead of starvation and exhaustion. Which begs the question for us all...
What Purpose Is Your Activity Serving?
"Here beneath rest the ashes of a man who was in habit of always postponing everything till the day after. However, at last he improved and really died...Jan 31 1972"
~Unknown
So, the man takes the chainsaw home and begins working on the trees. After cutting for several hours and only cutting two cords, he decides to quit. He thinks there is something wrong with the chainsaw. "How can I cut for hours and only cut two cords?" the man asks himself. "I will begin first thing in the morning and cut all day," the man tells himself. So, the next morning the man gets up at 4 am in the morning and cuts and cuts, and cuts till nightfall, and still he only manages to cut five cords.
The man is convinced this is a bad saw. "The dealer told me it would cut one hundred cords of wood in a day, no problem. I will take this saw back to the dealer," the man says to himself.
The very next day the man brings the saw back to the dealer and explains the problem. The dealer, baffled by the man's claim, removes the chainsaw from the case. The dealer says, "Hmm, it looks fine."
Then the dealer starts the chainsaw, to which the man responds, "What's that noise?
To love is not a passive thing, To love is active
Voice. When I love I do something. I function, I give.
I do not love in order that I may be loved back again,
But for the creative joy of loving. And every time
I do so love I am feed, at least a little by the outgoing of love,
from enslavement to that most intolerable master ... Myself.
~ Bernard Iddings Bell
