Once upon a time, there was a King of the Brick. He was mean, clever, and cared little about the chicks in his kingdom. He had his own agenda and used a Chicken Little to keep the chicks in constant fear, telling them the sky was falling — or that the barn might collapse — or any story that made them obey and think his way.
One day, Chicken Little came running to the Little Red Hen, warning that the King’s orders meant disaster. At first, the Hen was distracted, nearly fooled by the panic, almost letting worry take over. But then she remembered something essential: hungry chicks make poor choices. Bread mattered. Nourishment mattered. Action mattered.
So, the Hen set aside the fear, rolled up her sleeves, and began planting, harvesting, and baking. She kept the fire lit. She made the bread. She fed the chicks. Only after their bellies were full could they think clearly, question the stories, and see that the King’s threats were nothing more than his attempt to control them.
The moral is simple: ideology and fear cannot replace sustenance and action. You cannot make good decisions on an empty stomach — literal or figurative. The King of the Brick may shout, spin stories, or stoke panic, but the work that nourishes life cannot wait for permission or perfect understanding.
In politics, as in life, the lesson remains: principles matter, but bread matters more. Feed the people, tend to the work, and the rest — ideas, fear, ideology — can finally be seen for what it is: background noise.
Spiritual Gravity 