only with open fingers can we recieve.

There was previously a happy monkey. He wandered through the jungle, happy to become alive. He stopped to eat delicious fruit when he had been hungry, and resting when he was tired.
One day he discovered a house, where he saw a bowl of the the majority of beautiful apples. He took one in each hand and ran back to the forest. He sniffed the apples and smelled nothing. He tried to consume them, but hurt his teeth. They were made of wooden. They appeared beautiful, however, and when the other monkeys noticed them, he held onto them even tighter.
He held their new wooden apples proudly as he wandered the jungle. They glistened red within the sun, and seemed perfect to him. He payed so much focus on them, that he didn't even notice his growing hunger.
The fruit tree reminded him. He squeezed the apples in their hands, and couldn't bear to let go of them to be able to reach for the real fruit. In fact, he couldn't unwind, either, if he was to defend his apples. A very pleased, but hungry and less happy monkey continued to walk across the forest trails.
The wooden apples became heavier, and the poor little monkey began to consider leaving them behind. He was tired, hungry, and he couldn't climb trees or collect fruit together with his hands full. What if he just let go?
Letting proceed seemed crazy, but what else could he do? He had been so tired. Seeing the next fruit tree, and smelling it is fruit was enough. He dropped the wooden apples, reached upward for his meal, and was happy again.
Letting Go Associated with Wooden Apples
Like that little monkey, we sometimes carry stuff that seem too valuable to let go. A man carries a picture of himself as "productive" - carries it like a gleaming wooden apple. But in reality, his busyness leaves him exhausted, and hungry for a better life. Still, letting go appears crazy. Even his worries are sacred apples - they prove he's "doing everything he is able to. " He holds onto them compulsively.
This is a hard thing to determine. We identify so strongly with our things even, feeling discomfort when our cars are dented. How much more powerfully do we identify with this beliefs and self-ideas? Yet they don't always feed our spirits, do they? And we become tired of defending them.
Exactly how else could the story end? The monkey might be discovered dead of hunger, under a beautiful tree, with fruit at your fingertips, but still grasping his wooden apples. I chose to finish it with him letting go, because only with open fingers can we recieve.

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