Whoever has ears to hear, let them hear.
Once there was a man with a garden. He looked out on his garden and loved it. The sun rose and the sun set on this garden and the man could not help but love it. One day, while considering his garden, he realized that something disturbed him: he could see land that was not his garden, which could not compare with the wondrous beauty he had created in his own. The man thought to himself "I am a man of wealth and taste. I know another who will understand this problem and help to solve it." So the next day, he spoke to an architect. "I love my garden," he said. "I love to consider its beauty. But I wish to shut out that which is not my garden for it is not beautiful. Can you help me?"
The architect had eyes to see and agreed that the garden was indeed very beautiful. He was wise and understood what had to be done. He agreed to the task and went away for some days. When he returned, he had a drawing of the man's garden. The man was not pleased. “I already know what my garden looks like!” he said. The architect was patient and instructed the man to look again. The man looked and he saw that it was only his garden and done so cleverly that instead of a wall, he saw the completion of his garden. The man saw the architect's wisdom and took pride in hiring him. "Let it be so," he told the architect.
The architect was troubled for he knew that no one had ever done anything like the wall he had drawn. He was downcast at the thought that it could not be done so he sought the counsel of others, never disclosing his doubts to the man of wealth. His wise friends solved told of a fabulous bricklayer, the finest they had ever seen. He could make this wall happen. If he is so wonderful, wondered the architect, why isn't he a mason? That is not for us to say, his friends said. See him. He can help you. So the architect went to see the bricklayer.
The bricklayer was a man in love with beauty. He did not want to build just any walls. He built what he must to keep his family fed, but his heart was not in love with walls, but with great walls, challenging walls. His family did not suffer, but he would not become a mason. When the architect arrived and showed him the beautiful drawing of the beautiful garden, the bricklayer knew at once that this would be the greatest thing he had ever done and that it could not be done the way this man had drawn it. But he held his tongue, so great was his desire to build this wall. He loved the idea of this wall, so the bricklayer kept quiet. He had not worked in some time and he wanted this wall from this strange man. So he agreed that he would build the perfect wall for the man of wealth and taste's exquisite garden.
Work began, much to the delight of the man of wealth. He stared at the picture the architect had drawn him and considered the work in his garden. Things were going well, even the bricklayer agreed. He could see the problems that would soon come, that the stone and the brick would not look or be as the architect had drawn them. But work was going well, so he kept quiet. Eventually, it was too much, the work had gone too far and the bricklayer could not keep silent any longer. He chose his words carefully. "This part of the wall cannot be like this," he said to the architect. "Why not?" asked the architect. The bricklayer could talk of stone and how it wanted to be and strength and how to make the wall great, but he could not find the words for the architect. He remained silent. "Think about it." said the architect.
The bricklayer did not like it. He did not sleep. He thought about it. The next day, he said. "It cannot be done." "But--" "--something very much like it can be done." And he spoke in the architect's language, haltingly and not as well, for he could not draw in words or on paper as the architect had done. But even the architect could see what the bricklayer meant. "Agreed," he said "Let it be so." And the worked continued this way for some time. Problems arose and the bricklayer and the architect would cajole and argue and wheedle and plead and dance and work would continue.
But the bricklayer was troubled for he had never said what he wanted to say, never spoke of the entrance to the wall, the arch of the wall, for this part truly was impossible. The bricklayer thought if he could consider it for as long as possible, he could make it work. He thought “Perhaps if I do my best and it fails, they will see that it cannot be done. We understand each other now.” For the bricklayer had spent a great deal of time with the man of wealth and they seemed like friends. The man had even sent gifts to his family.
So the time came to complete the wall and the beautiful arch that would make it whole and it went exactly as the bricklayer had expected. They built it as best they could, but it would not hold. The architect and the man of wealth were furious. "I thought you were the best!" said the architect. "It cannot be done," replied the bricklayer. "I thought you loved beauty!" raged the architect. “It cannot be done," said the bricklayer in shame and agony. He was unhappy to find that the architect and the man of wealth were not hist friends and they would not listen as he hoped they would. "It will be done." they insisted. "It cannot be done." "You cannot do it," they said. "If you wish to hire someone else to finish this, you can. It cannot be done," said the bricklayer. "If I hire someone else, then I will take your pay and give it all to whoever finishes my wall," said the man of wealth. There was silence. The bricklayer said "I will see it done." He trudged home.
The bricklayer knew that his plan had failed. What they asked was impossible and that he could no longer ask their permission to change it or make it seem like it was their idea. He stayed up late into the night and finally came upon a solution, a devious solution. It could be done and it would look like they wanted it to, but it would be unlike anything he had ever built. He forbad them the use of the garden during his time so that he could finish it. And when it was done and everything held up and it was beautiful, the friendly looks returned. The man of wealth handed the bricklayer his payment and it was more than the bricklayer had ever known. It would feed his family, it would raise his children. It was his proudest moment. And then the man of wealth paid the architect ten times what he had paid the bricklayer. The bricklayer swallowed his tongue. And then the man of wealth heaped praise and honor on the man who had done the impossible: the architect. Then they left the bricklayer with his pay and joined a party the man of wealth called in the architect's honor.
The bricklayer went home and considered the meaning of these events, of what he had done and what had been done to him, since he had done the impossible thing. What the architect done? He had put pen to paper! I laid the bricks, I made it happen, thought the bricklayer. His eyes were darkened and his days were bleak and bitter, though his family did not suffer, indeed his family was happy. He returned to his old walls because he was a practical man and a man of habit. But these walls filled him with revulsion. He had known beauty and he had known greatness and these walls could never make him happy. He knew that he would not be happy again. The bricklayer spent his days avoiding the thought of the architect and the beautiful garden. On the most painful days, when he could not forget, he dreamed of what foul imprecations he would hurl on the man who had stolen his shining moment, who had received all of the honor and glory for the greatest work any bricklayer had ever done. He wondered why he should not be an architect. But in his heart, the bricklayer knew this was folly and he would return to laying his brick.
And one day, the architect returned. "Great news!" He said, "This will be the greatest wall you've ever built." The bricklayer was silent. "What's wrong?" asked the architect "This is an even greater wall than your last. Look at this beautiful drawing!" And the bricklayer did. And he was silent. "Tell me, will you do it?" cried the architect. "You are the only one who can build this wall. Will you do it?" The bricklayer thought about all that he wanted to say, all the terrible, impossible things he wanted to scream at the architect thief. He was shaking with the rage he felt at this man and his pen and paper. And when he opened his mouth to speak, the bricklayer, said only "Yes."
