The Middlest

Once upon a time, there was a clan with five children. There were very close in age and talent and skill, but ever since they were young there was tension between them. In those days, there was never quite enough to go around, so there was always competition for affection, for recognition, and, of course, food. The clan became a micro-culture of scarcity in which all five ot them competed, and lost. Even when the day came that they had access to abundance beyond measure, they continued to count, who got what and how much, and why it was not fair. The oldest among them was kingly. The youngest was subversive. Then there were the three in the middle muddle. Of the three one resented being second to the king and another felt frightened of the young subversive. Then there was the middlest of them all. She was hopeful and pragmatic and was always trying to come up with solutions so they wouldn’t have to count everything anymore. This was really irritating to the rest of them, but then everything each of them did was irritating in one way or another. There was no peace in the clan.

One day, the one in the very middle went to the kingly one and said: “Kingly one, apple of our origin’s eye, what would you think if we all stopped counting all of the time and collaborated rather than competed with each other? Look at all that we have, more than anyone could ever need. Instead of quarrelling and counting we could appreciate our bounty and help each other make better use of it. Perhaps, we could even share our bounty with others!”

“I’m the only one who counts,” said the Kingly one. “The rest of you are just wasting your time and my time as well. Please take your Kumbaya nonsense back to your invisible middle, and do it now before I get angry.” The kingly one's anger was legendary and none of the clan wanted to become the object of his kingly wrath. The king was rather skilled at war, and if truth be told, rather liked it. He had no interest in peace.

The revolutionary set off emotional car bombs to try to unseat the king. The bombs rarely had any impact on the king himself, but the collateral damage to the middle was substantial and the health of the clan was rapidly deteriorating. The older they got, the worse things got.

The middlest had a pretty good idea where the counting came from. Back in the days when resources were scarce and love was counted by the cookie each of them felt that they had been shorted. Each of them began to feel that they were either unworthy of cookies or were resentful of the fact that any cookies had to be shared.

One day, back in the mists of time, one of the origins told the middlest that she had all of the cookies necessary to be happy and that she was, in fact, blessed. One of the origins took the time to tell her that she was good and hoped that she would share.

Inevitably the time came when the origins had done whatever they could. They were tired. They were aware that they had made many mistakes and that they had done much that was good. They wished the clan was more satisfied. They put the middlest in charge of their affairs and took their leave.

The middlest understood that she had no real power. She could only encourage cooperation. The kingly one raged and threw stones at her. The subversive laughed in the corner, and the muddlers muddled. And they all continued to count, except the middlest, who had stopped counting years ago because she knew that she already had all the cookies she would ever need, and even if she could not persuade the others to stop their counting and live in peace, she could continue to share and to rejoice in the peace that existed within herself.

— DanielSouthGate