There was a man thousands years ago that loved to hear stories. He traveled a lot around the world and met thousands of people. To every man, woman or child he met he did the same question. “Tell me a story from your life” People talked to him and he wrote their stories.
After some year doing the same thing he noticed that some stories where similar. Then he started to categorize them and created 64 different categories. From that day, every night was putting the stories he wrote during the day in the 64 different small bags he had made. During wintertime when traveling wasn’t easy he opened each of the 64 bags and reread the stories. He noticed that in each bag, there where 6 differed kind of stories. He kept traveling, he kept asking but he was writing down less new stories. As the years were passing he was writing less and less. The stories he was hearing was already known to him. Till the time came where for almost two year he didn’t find a new story. Everything he heard was already written. It was the time to stop traveling.
The winter was almost there so he found a place to stay, make a wooden box and put his stories in the box. One night he saw a dream. He heard a knock at his door. He opened it and he saw a crowd of people entering into his house. We want the wooden box they told him. No its mine he replied. But the people start searching in the house to find the box. It belongs to us they keep telling him. He woke up . The dream was so vivid in his mind but he couldn’t understand the message. The dream keep coming night after night until one day, pondering on the dream and holding the box , he thought. Maybe gods don’t wanted from me to collect the stories but to spread them and those people coming in my dream and looking for the box try to tell me that.
When the spring came, he took the box and a bag and start traveling again. This time he didn’t ask people. People where asking him. “what do you keep in that box?” “stories” he replied. “can I read one ?” some people were asking. Of course the man was saying and opening the box. They were picking a story and start reading. From their face expressions and the tone of their voice the man noticed that something was happening. The people reading the story at the and were telling him. This is exactly what is going on in my life now.
The man at the beginning thought it might be a coincidence but after a long time the same thing happening again and again realized that this was not just a coincidence but something else that he couldn’t explain. Some of the people who read the stories visited again the man. There were people told him that the story they read help them to solve their problem and some others told him that they wish to pay more attention to the story they read because it turn to be the solution of their problem but they realized when it was too late.
“You are a wise man” one day someone told to the man with the box. No I’m not, he replied. I don’t do anything, the box does. The box and you.
There are many stories about what happened to the man and the box. Some stories say that when he was near to the end of his life he gave it to a young man and told him “remember, it doesn’t belong to you but to all the people” Some other stories say that he met some people that he trust him and let them make a copy of the stories saying them the same thing. “Never forget that you are just the carrier of this box. It’s the box and the people who search for it that make the magic. Don’t force the people to use it. Those who need it they will come and find you”
This is the story of the magic box.