Once upon a time, there was a big man who was known throughout the village for his strength. He won one competition after another; no one could match him. And that, despite accepting every challenge.
The big man was sitting in his small log cabin when a knock sounded at the door. Grumpy and sleepy, he staggered to the door. It was a beautiful windy day, the sun had already risen. To his surprise, there stood a small, elderly gentleman in front of his hut. His beard, long and white, swayed in the wind, his eyes emitted a pleasant aura that calmed the big man. He had a walking stick — no, an axe, sharper than any he had seen before.
“What do you want, old man?” said the big man. The man remained silent. It seemed as though he was looking right through him, as if he wasn’t there at all. “I want to challenge you. I’ve heard you’ve never lost until today. Meet me at the old hilltop, south of Tarifa, there I will wait for you.” The big man nodded. “So be it.” But the old man had already disappeared.
The big man was a proud man; he didn’t want to be taught by anyone, not even today. And so, with firm conviction in his victory, he left the hut and set off for the old hilltop. The old hilltop was known for its myths. Supposedly, it was haunted and teeming with mysteries. But the big man wasn’t intimidated.
After several hours, he reached his destination. The big man entered a gorge that split the hill at the entrance. It smelled of decomposing animal carcasses; death made its mark here. It was silent, only his heavy steps created an echo that spread throughout the room. He felt confined. It seemed as if the walls were looking at him, and every second he thought the walls were closing in with each step. He could hardly feel better when he entered a green valley, bursting with flowers in all colors. But one thing caught his eye in particular: a tree.
In the midst of the wide valley stood a tree. He had never seen such beauty in his life. Its trunk was mighty, like a ton-heavy anvil rammed into the ground. At the crown, a branched network of branches and leaves widened, casting a shadow on the flowers that wound around the tree. Its leaves were fresher and greener than the ripest trees in the area. The sunlight shone through the leaves, leaving a warm impression on his face. He had never felt so free as in this moment. He was hypnotized as he heard footsteps and the old man appeared out of nowhere.
“Take this axe.” He handed him the axe he had noticed at the hut. “If you manage to fell this tree before sunset, then you have won. That should be a piece of cake for someone as strong as you.”
The big man obeyed, although he admired the beauty of the tree. Victory was within his reach. He wielded the axe, took a big swing, and plunged the iron directly into the trunk. The tree began to vibrate, the shockwave of the blow spreading to the crown. The leaves trembled, the branches crackled.
The big man took the next swing. Bullseye. But after several blows, the man began to doubt. He seemed to make no progress at all. And so, he decided on another spot on the trunk and continued. But here, too, he gave up again and changed position. The tree trembled and gasped, blow followed blow.
After a thousand blows, the big, strong man was exhausted. The trunk was riddled with cracks; his blows had left rings around the trunk because he kept starting anew, and this at many different spots. The big man couldn’t believe it. The sun set, and he stood sweating and defeated in front of the tree. He had failed. His reputation, ruined.
The old man looked over at him. He smiled and touched his beard. “Let me show you where your mistake lay.” The wise man took the axe, sharpened it, and struck fiercely. But it wasn’t the strength that mattered. The old man struck again. Blow followed blow, always at the same spot on the trunk. It was a drumming, a rhythmic game that resounded throughout the valley. After several blows at the same spot, the magnificent tree fell to the ground.
The big man felt his pride hurt. How could such a fragile old man have defeated him? He could never have believed that he was not up to the task. And yet… it was over.
“Do you see? As soon as you doubted, you chose another spot on the trunk. But just because you don’t see progress at first doesn’t mean you’re not making progress. A tree that is struck at a thousand different spots will never fall. The tree fell because I focused only on one spot. And it was precisely on this spot that I kept striking until the tree gave in.”
The big man stared into his golden eyes. Although he had lost, he felt strong. As if he had learned something important.
“What is your name, my friend?” called the big man. “Call me Discipline.”
The old man disappeared. No trace, far and wide. He dissolved into thin air as if he had never been there. The big man closed his eyes. A tear ran down his face. When he opened his eyes, the beautiful tree was there again.
