The Daughter of the Barren Woman

I knew a guy who badly wanted a grandchild.

He believed the survival of his line depended on

that. Every one of his ancestors had had a child

that passed the family genes along. This army of

ancestors, stretching back to the first human,

demanded the passing of this torch to a new

generation. He could not bear the thought that his

only daughter would let that flame die.

His daughter was barren and it much pained her to

see her dad suffering so. She went to the most

famous sorcerer in town and asked him for a child.

The sorcerer informed her it was written in the

stars that she would never be a mother, but for a

price, he could give her an imitation child. It

wouldn’t be human or alive, but it would look

and act as if it were a real human. Her father

would be completely fooled by this child

simulacrum.

The woman paid the stiff fee, and the wizard mixed

a bunch of molecules and shaped them to look like a

baby girl. With a secret incantation, the sorcerer made

the beehive of molecules behave as a newborn child.

The wizard cautioned the mother that she not only

needed to treat the beehive as if it were a child, but

she must believe it, and love it as such, otherwise, it

would revert to its inanimate state.

The proud grandfather was ecstatic with joy, the

whole family loved the molecule beehive at first sight

and were fooled by it. I, on being shown the girl,

imprudently proclaimed, “That is not a real baby.

It’s just a bunch of molecules.”

The whole family looked at me as if I were mad. The

granddad, who was of a philosophical cast of mind,

asked me, “How is it that you can tell, and we can’t?”

“Easy, I don’t love it, therefore, I can see that it is

not real. Anything that you regard with strong

emotion becomes real to you. Whatever you love,

or hate would seem real.Only dispassion reveals

illusion.”

The grandfather stroked his chin deeply in

thought. “I pity you, my friend, I’d rather love

than see reality.”

“You’re right, reality without love is a curse.

The trick is to love illusion, and still see it as

such. Can you love something and see it as not

real?”

“No, I can’t.”

“Well, excuse my mistake then, I can see now your

granddaughter is as real as you are,” I said and left

chuckling

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