Far, far away, on the seashore lived a Master. And he was a master in pottery. And he had no equal in making jugs. Some jugs were for storing wine, others for water, and others for milk. And for each case, the potter used different mixtures of clay. In such jugs, the water did not go rotten, the wine did not spoil, and the milk did not sour. This was the secret of his skill. One day at the market, a potter saw something with a wonderful aroma. It was rose oil. Never before had he had such an unusual product. None of his previous jugs were capable of retaining the aroma of oil. And then the potter made a new jug and named it Sebastian. The Master poured rose oil into it, and Sebastian joined the family of jugs who lived with the Master. The aroma of the oil spread throughout the room where the jugs lived. It was so delicious that others also wanted this amazing elixir to be stored in them. They began to complain to the jug that they were not appreciated, that their life was monotonous and boring. And they asked the Jug to talk to the Master. Sebastian really wanted to help his brothers, he wanted to be accepted into the family and went along with it. He talked to the Master: - Dear Master, please store rose oil not only in me, but also in other jugs. - I can’t do this. - Well, why? - Because each jug has its own purpose. It is no worse and no better than the others. Each vessel was made in such a way that it could fulfill its purpose in the best possible way. I love and appreciate every jug, regardless of what I store in it: water, milk or wine. The jug conveyed the words of the potter, but they did not believe him. Envy and anger appeared in his brothers. Now they no longer came to him to complain about their bitter fate, they slandered and accused him. “You are lucky.” They pour rose oil into you. Why do you?! Why did you get such a destiny, and not us?! You are just a hypocritical, cunning deceiver. You please the Master in everything, and therefore he is favorable to you. Sebastian again turned to the potter with the same request, and in response he heard the same as before. Then he said: “Keep water, wine or milk in me too.” “I can’t do this,” said the potter, “these products will disappear in you.” You can only store rose oil. I value and respect all pitchers. The pitcher also conveyed this conversation. But again no one believed him. The envy of his brothers grew into hatred, and life became difficult for our hero. He cursed himself for being born this way, and the Master for being so stubborn and not wanting to understand anything. And he decided to abandon his destiny. “Master, my life is joyless, by your grace I am envied and hated.” I don't want to store butter anymore. And if I’m not fit for anything else, then it’s better for me to stand empty. - Dear Sebastian, it’s not because of me that your life is joyless. I pour the most wonderful elixir into you. You are almost always full, to the brim. You just don't love yourself enough. Be patient, learn to love what you are, and the anger and envy of others will go away over time. - No, they won’t go away. I don’t want this anymore, I’m lonely and in pain. And if I am empty, they will accept me and begin to love me. I will be happy. - You are mistaken. But our hero insisted on his own, and the potter gave up. He stopped pouring rose oil into it. And the jug became empty. It remained empty for a year, and two, and three... They stopped being angry, offended, and slandering him. They even began to invite him to visit, but the love that Sebastian had been waiting for never came. Melancholy, despondency, and sadness settled in his emptiness. Then resentment and anger showed up, and they remained there. One day the Master came to him again. “My dear Jug, how is your life?” Are you happy? - Oh, Master, for some reason now I feel even more unhappy than when I stored the oil. It was hard for me then, but I was full, and that warmed me. And now I’m cold. “Maybe you’ll start doing what you did before again?” Sebastian thought about it. But the fear of experiencing anger again, hatred from one’s fellows was greater than that.