Elephant Talks to God by Dale Estey Read Free Book Online

deliberation. “You’ve made things simple by making them complicated.”
    â€œExactly.”
    â€œThat can be pretty confusing,” said the elephant.
    â€œYou’ve just summed up life in a nutshell,” said God.

Pots o’ Clay
    The elephant was kneeling on the bank of the river with an envelope of butterflies circling his head, nattering and chattering into his big ears.
    They were giving him instructions.
    And the elephant dutifully twisted in this direction and that, attempting to take their advice. But, when he moved his ears to try and hear more clearly, the air current which he created caused half of his audience to tumble away.
    It was in the midst of one of these mass agitations that he noticed a boulder leaning quizzically in his direction.
    â€œExcuse me,” said the elephant, causing even more butterflies to scatter on the wind. “I …,” he pointed with his trunk. “I have to go and talk to the … er … boulder.”
    Which he did, as he lumbered to his feet in a final flurry of butterflies.
    â€œHello,” said the elephant.
    â€œHello,” said the boulder.
    â€œA more functional form?” asked the elephant, pointing to the pitted and pocked boulder.
    â€œNo,” said God. “Safety.”
    â€œPardon me?”
    â€œI learned from the butterflies.” The boulder paused as the last few fluttered away. “I figured if I got too close to you as a cloud, I’d be blown away too. On the breezes.”
    â€œThey were trying to show me . . .” The elephant felt foolish and took a drink of water. He hiccuped slightly as he wiped his trunk against his ear.
    â€œYes?”
    â€œThey were teaching me to make pots.”
    â€œPots?”
    â€œOr at least they thought they were.” He lowered his voice. “Between you and me, they’re not very good with clay.”
    â€œPots.”
    â€œYes.” The elephant was slightly exasperated. “Earthen vessels. Ceramic containers. Hollowed out and hardened objects which function as —”
    â€œI’m God,” said God. “I do know what pots are and how they are used.” The boulder paused in memory. “Watching the evolution of such knowledge was exhilarating. And when there were enough to drink from and carry things in, the beauty created . . . It can be amazing.”
    â€œSorry,” said the elephant.
    â€œIt wasn’t the pot which surprised me.” The boulder lowered its voice. “Quite frankly, you don’t need pots.”
    â€œBut I —”
    â€œLook at your trunk,” said the boulder with enthusiasm. “You tug what you need, carry what you need, siphon what you need.”
    â€œBut the —”
    â€œA more functional organ of dexterity you won’t find.”

    â€œBut I stepped in this clay, along the riverbank,” explained the elephant, his words racing like the current. “In fact, my feet got stuck in it, and I had the devil’s own time getting out.” The elephant stuttered, and stopped. “Excuse me. No offence meant.”
    â€œNo offence taken,” said the boulder. “I readily accept that the devil has feet of clay.”
    â€œIn fact,” He held up one front foot, and then the other. “I still haven’t got it from under my toenails.”
    â€œSlosh them around in the water. It will come out.” The boulder stifled a chuckle. “But watch where you balance.
    Topple in my direction and thousands of years of durability might turn into pebbles.”
    â€œI could use them to decorate my pots,” suggested the elephant.
    â€œWe’re back to the pots.” God watched the elephant wash his feet. “Be careful, or you’ll flood me instead of flattening me.”
    â€œSorry.”
    â€œSo. Though I do hesitate to ask — and have done my best to avoid it — tell me about the pots.”
    â€œI got stuck in