When John was a teenager at his local High School, he had two best friends.
One boy was known as the school tough guy, so it was good to be his friend, as he offered a measure of protection to John at times.
The other boy, was a rather shy type of a boy, a bit like John was himself. Like John, he was talented at both maths, and chess.
This was the boy that John used to sit next to in most of his classes.
The other boy was more his friend, because he was also the neighbour’s son, of the man and woman, who lived right behind John’s father’s house.
They had been friends ever since they were very young, and they had even gone to the same kindergarten together.
At High school, though, the first boy Alan, was rather jealous, of John having another best friend now in Bruce.
Alan used to do little things to try and create some animosity, or friction between them.
Alan would spread rumours about Bruce, or he would even threaten not to protect John any-more, from the other bullies, who used to pick on John, who was a sickly, spindly, little runt of a boy, that is, if he didn’t drop Bruce as his friend.
One day, this all came to a nasty head in the playground.
Alan had yelled out the crowd-attracting words, “fight, fight.”
And then he had pushed both Bruce and John into the center of the gathered ring of other students, all cranked up now to witness a brutal brawl.
Trapped in the ring now, with students all around yelling to Bruce, to hit the little jerk, or with other words to that effect. Bruce raised his hands up a bit, into some type of a fighting defensive stanced position.
John never raised his hands, but he did take a stance too, with his hands on his hips, and then he said one, or two words to Alan, and this was, “Stop this, my friend. Now!”
Alan stepped into the center of the combatant’s circle, and then he said,
“Yes, there will be no fight here between these two. They are friends of each other, and true friends do not fight.”
And so another nasty incident was prevented in John’s teenage life, not by his fighting, but by his choice of some choice words, instead.
The right words carry real power in them, and they can defuse any such situation like this, and bring about again, a renewed spirit of peace.
Everything is poor translation, except for the silence.
Rumi, that great 13th-century Persian poet said this. Now I might add to this that although silence might be the language of God, he can certainly speak volumes, through each one of us.
Sometimes, the use of one or two such words of authoritative power, with God behind them, can bring about peace again, and silence the bully too, as they did here for young John.