"Is this the Statue of Our Lady?"
In the faint light of dawn, a man wearing a golden crown spoke.
Before him sat a blind old man, feeling his way across a canvas as he painted.
"Yes," the old man answered.
"This is the god of foreigners," the king said. "Have you forgotten our own gods?"
"More people will buy the foreigners' god now."
"I should hang you, so you can return to the Holy Mother's embrace."
"You may certainly do so, my lord. My family all died in the war between gods and gods. The foreigners gouged out my eyes. Our gods and theirs are no different. They will not care whether a blind old man lives or dies."
"Only princes and nobles can reach Avalon after death. Only brave warriors can go to Valhalla. Only believers who have donated to the Church deserve Heaven. I am merely a blind old man who cannot even eat his fill. I cannot go to those fine places. I will always end up in Hell. Since it is Hell, whether I fall into the Celts' hell, the Vikings' underworld, or the Saxons' purgatory makes no difference."
"You are faithless. But why do they all buy your paintings?"
"Teacher, why were the gods painted by a man filled with resentment toward them so compassionate?"
A poet holding a harp looked at the teacher before him.
"Because the man who painted this knew more of the suffering in this world than the true gods and their messengers did."
"He knew that suffering was not a trial from the gods, not a stairway to Heaven, nor a guarantee of happiness in the next life. It was merely suffering."
"Suffering did not bring happiness, growth, or any good result. It merely bore down mercilessly upon people,