In the star Sirius there is only one inhabitable planet that is called False. The men and women lived quietly in the shade since the dog-star burst and spewed great many ideas in wake of solar flares. Some suddenly would strip themselves and dance around a tree or two and speak utter nonsense. But in a planet like False the wizened old men would nod their heads and say,’they are shooting wind. We have heard so many and none has spoken against the grain of our existence.’ The inhabitants were as we might here on earth say,’wise men.’
One day a man came. Whether he surfed the solar roller coster of a giant flare or in a space shuttle I cannot tell.
He urged them to think of eternity. ‘I give you a religion where all you need to do is obey a set of rules. Five times you bow your rear to the Andromeda galaxy and leave your nostril clean; and mouth shut unless you want to speak something fair and in praise of your fellow men.’ He lived and he raised a family. Before he left he said,’Above all things don’t you make the error of having any creature between you and your Maker.No Priest talk but do what is good and speak what is set down in the book of rules.’ All agreed that it was indeed spoken like a great prophet.
Years went on and the family of the prophet chose from among them the Grand Turk of Bazaar that was the capital city. Eons later the prophet came to see how it fared in the planet False. There were great many exhortation Halls for the inhabitants to converge and there were thousands of teachers all claiming authority on the Prophet’s wise sayings.
The Old prophet went everywhere and no one recognized him. He asked the teachers if there were some rules left by the founder of their religion.
No one knew what the old man was harping about.
In the end he was taken to the Grand Turk of Bazaar who politely heard the old man and said,’ In this planet called False what set of rules you require? What I say is Law; every thing else is false.’
Poor prophet as he went back to his home he kept on muttering,I went as wise man and now I return sad and broken.’
This fable reminds me of Andre Rafflovich a wealthy Russian who settled in a fashionable area of London. Oscar Wilde knew him and on one occasion he said,’ Poor Andre! he came to London to found a salon. Instead he ended with a saloon’. This is how all religions have ended up.’
