The traveler went to the city "above the mountain". And on the way the village sees, where does the native call him to his hut to taste the local "cheburek". The traveler stopped for the night.
Penetrated the locals, told where the path holds, what saw wonderful. And shared what is rich. I was going on the road, and the residents suddenly do not want to let go!
He told them: "Who wants, let him come with me ”. But the words, like a sieve, jetted. Who grabbed hold of a dead grip. Who sang songs so sweet, that the sweetly sweetened phrases fermented like yeast in kvass.
Who whined and lamented for life, like a rotten pie, which won't get any better. Who was dripping so annoyingly, like from a leaky roof, that "there is no place higher". Who spoke, that the traveler’s goal is garbage, because in it there is only one philosophy. Why look for that city, that i never saw? Did not see – and therefore not him… And the traveler looked at everyone and went his way. So I got to the city.
They talk, that a nagging still comes from that village.
The essence of this fable is this. Go there, where does the soul strive. And those, who stops your development, leave in their habitual abode.