Long, long time ago... there were little people living on the earth. Most of them lived in the village of Swabedoo, and they called themselves Swabedoodahs. They were very happy and walked around with a smile behind their ears and greeted everyone. What the Swabedoodahs loved most was to give each other warm, soft furs. Each of them carried a bag over his shoulder and the bag was filled with soft furs. As often as Swabedoodahs met, one would give the other a little fur. It is very nice to give a warm, soft little fur to another. It tells the other that he is special it is a way of saying „I like you!“ And it is equally beautiful to receive such a little fur from another. You feel how warm and fuzzy it is against your face, and it‘s a wonderful feeling when you gently and lightly put it in your pouch with the others. You feel appreciated and loved when someone gives you a little fur, and you want to do something good and beautiful right away. The little people of Swabedoo liked to give and receive soft, warm furs, and their life together was undoubtedly very happy and joyful.
Outside the village, in a cold, dark cave, lived a big, green goblin. Actually, he didn‘t want to live alone out there, and sometimes he was very lonely. He had already stood at the edge of the village a few times and wished he could be there in the midst of the happy Swabedoodahs, but he had nothing to add, and he thought the exchange of warm, soft furs was a great nonsense. If he met one of the little people at the edge of the forest, he only growled incomprehensibly and quickly ran back into his damp, dark cave.
One evening, when the big green goblin was once again standing at the edge of the forest, a friendly little Swabedoodah met him. „Isn‘t it a beautiful day today?“ the little one asked with a smile. The green goblin only pulled a sullen face and made no reply. „Here, take a warm, soft little fur,“ said the little one, „here is a particularly nice one. I‘m sure it‘s meant for you, otherwise‘ I would have given it away long ago.“ But the goblin did not take the fur. First he looked around to make sure that no one was watching or listening, then he bent down to the little one and whispered in his ear: „Listen, don‘t be so generous with your furs. Don‘t you know that one day you won‘t have any fur left if you always give it away so easily to everyone who crosses your path?“ Astonished and a little helpless, little Swabedoodah looked up at the goblin. In the meantime, he had taken the bag from the little one‘s shoulder and opened it. It sounded really satisfied when he said: „Didn‘t I say it! You have hardly more than 217 furs left in your bag. So, if I were you: I‘d be careful about giving them away!“ With that, the goblin toddled off on his big green feet, leaving a confused and unhappy Swabedoodah at the edge of the forest. He was so confused, so unhappy, that he didn‘t even think about the fact that what the goblin was saying couldn‘t be true at all. For every Swabedoodah had an inexhaustible supply of furs. If he gave a little fur, he immediately got a little fur from someone else, and this happened over and over again, for a lifetime - how could the little furs run out?
The goblin knew this too, but he relied on the good faith of the little people. And he also relied on something else, something he had discovered in himself, and which he wanted to know if it was also in the little Swabedoodahs. So he deliberately lied to little Swabedoodah, sat down in the entrance to his cave and waited.In front of his house in Swabedoo, little, confused Swabedoodah sat brooding to himself.
Not long, along came a good acquaintance with whom he had already exchanged many warm, soft furs. „How beautiful this day is!“ cried the friend, reaching into his pouch and giving the other a little fur. But he did not accept it joyfully, but fought it off with his hands. „No, no! You‘d better keep it,“ cried the little one, „otherwise who knows how quickly your supply will dwindle. One day you‘ll be left without any fur!“ The friend just shrugged his shoulders, put the fur back into his pouch and walked away with a quiet greeting. But he took confused thoughts with him, and that same evening one Swabedoodah could be heard saying to another three times in the village, „I‘m sorry, but I don‘t have a warm, soft little fur for you. I have to make sure I don‘t run out. „By the next day, all this had spread throughout the village. Everyone began to pick up their furs. They still gave one away now and then, but they did so only after long, careful consideration and very, very carefully.
And then it wasn‘t usually the very beautiful furs, but the small ones with a somewhat worn spot. The little Swabedoodahs became suspicious. They began to watch each other suspiciously, they thought about whether the other was really worth a little fur. Some went so far as to hide their fur bags under their beds at night. Arguments broke out about how many furs this or that person owned. And eventually people began to trade warm, soft furs for things instead of just giving them away. The mayor of Swabedoo even made a census of how many furballs there were in total, then let it be known that the number was limited and proclaimed the furballs as a medium of exchange. Soon the little people were arguing about how many furballs, an overnight stay or a meal in someone else‘s house should be worth. Really, there were even some cases of furbaby theft! On dusky evenings, it no longer felt safe to be outside, evenings when Swabedoodahs used to enjoy walking in the park or on the streets to greet each other, to give each other warm, soft furs. Up at the edge of the forest sat the big green leprechaun, watching everything and rubbing his hands together.
The worst thing of all happened a little later. Something began to change in the health of the little people. Many complained of pain in their shoulders and backs, and as time went by, more and more Swabedoodahs were afflicted with a disease called spinal stenosis. The little people walked around bent over and, in severe cases, slouched to the ground. The fur bags dragged on the ground. Many began to believe that the cause of their illness was the weight of the pouches, and that it would be better to leave them in the house, and lock them up there. It was not long before one could hardly find a Swabedoodah with a fur pouch on his back. The big, green goblin was very pleased with the result of his lie. He had wanted to find out whether the little people would also act and feel as he did when he had selfish thoughts, as was almost always the case. They had acted like that! And the goblin felt very successful. He came to the village of the little people more often now. But no one greeted him with a smile, no one offered him a fur. Instead, he was stared at suspiciously, just as the little people stared at each other.
The goblin liked that. To him, this behaviour meant the „real world“! In Swabedoo, worse and worse things happened as time went on. Maybe because of the softening of the spine, or maybe because no one gave them a warm, soft fur anymore who knows? Some people died in Swabedoo. Now all happiness had disappeared from the village. The mourning was very great. When the big green goblin heard about it, he was really frightened. „I didn‘t mean it,“ he said to himself, „I certainly didn‘t mean it. I just wanted to show them how the world really is. But I didn‘t wish them dead, did I?“ He thought about what could be done now, and something did occur to him.Deep in his cave, the goblin had discovered a mine of cold, spiky rock. He had spent many years digging the spiky rocks out of the mountain and storing them in a pit. He loved this rock because it was so nice and cold and tingled so pleasantly when he touched it. But not only that: he also loved these stones because they all belonged to him and whenever he sat in front of them and looked at them, the awareness of possessing great wealth was a beautiful, satisfying feeling for the goblin. But now, when he saw the misery of the little Swabedoodahs, he decided to share his stone wealth with them. He filled uncounted little bags with cold, spiky stones, packed the bags on a big handcart and went after them, Swabedoo.
How happy the little people were when they saw the prickly, cold stones! They gratefully accepted them. Now they had something to give themselves again. Only: when they gave a cold, prickly stone to someone else to tell them they liked it, there was an unpleasant, cold feeling in their hand and also in the hand of the person who received the stone as a gift. It wasn‘t as much fun to give cold, prickly stones as warm, soft furs. You always had a strange tug in your heart when you got a prickly stone. One was not quite sure what the giver actually meant by it. The recipient was often left confused and with slightly pricked fingers.
So it happened more and more often that a little Swabedoodah crawled under his bed, pulled out the bag with the warm, soft furs, aired them out a little in the sun and, if someone gave him a stone, returned a warm, soft fur in return. How the eyes of the recipient would light up! Yes, many a person ran back to his house, rummaged out the fur bag to give back a little fur in place of the prickly stone. The stones were not thrown away, oh no! Nor did all the Swabedoodahs retrieve their fur pouches. The grey, prickly stone thoughts had taken root too firmly in the minds of the little people. You could hear it in the remarks:
Soft furries? I wonder what‘s behind them? How do I know if my furries are really wanted? I gave a warm, soft furry, and what did I get in return? A cold, prickly stone! I don‘t want that to happen to me again. You never know where you stand: today furs, tomorrow stones. Probably all the little people of Swabedoo would have liked to go back to what was natural with their grandparents. Some of them looked at the little bags in the corner of their room, filled with cold, prickly stones, at these little bags that were so square and so heavy that they could not be taken with them, often they did not even have a stone to give away when they met a friend.
Then little Swabedoodah secretly wished, without ever saying it out loud, that someone would come and give him warm, soft furs. In his dreams he imagined them all walking down the street with a happy, laughing face, giving each other furs, just like in the old days. But when he woke up, something always held him back from actually doing it. Usually it was that he went out and saw how the world „really is“!
That‘s why giving away warm, soft furs rarely happens anymore, and no one does it in public. It is done in secret and without talking about it.
But it happens! Here and there, again and again.
Maybe one day you too ... ?
, thanks to all your tireless work again. The lighthouse must last…
