The Best Law of Attraction Book for Children You’ve Never Read (Chapter 2)
THE BEST LAW OF ATTRACTION BOOK FOR CHILDREN YOU’VE NEVER READ
Please find below the complete second chapter of Cory Groshek‘s debut, middle grade children’s book, Breaking Away: Book One of the Rabylon Series. It is being provided to you free-of-charge by the author, exclusively through this site and courtesy of Manifestation Machine Books, because the author believes the information contained within the book is simply too important to be given only to those of us (parents, guardians, caretakers, and children) who can afford to pay for it.
(PLEASE NOTE: This book is copyrighted by Cory Groshek and all rights with regards to it are reserved. Accordingly, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise (except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews) without written permission of the publisher (Manifestation Machine). For information regarding permission, write to: Manifestation Machine, Attention: Permissions Department, 300 Packerland Dr # 13464, Green Bay, WI 54307.)
This book, which was written over the course of about 2.5 years by Groshek, encapsulates Groshek’s entire philosophy with regards to dreaming big, taking risks, trusting our gut, and choosing faith over fear in all that we do. Furthermore, the book brings together lessons about the Law of Attraction, the principles of Hermetic philosophy, and the teachings of Jesus Christ relative to abundance in a way that no other book in history has.
Whether we regard this book simply as a “Law of Attraction book for kids”, a self-help book for children cleverly disguised as an action-adventure, or a distinctly spiritual slant on classic storytelling (all of which are accurate descriptions), the fact remains that Breaking Away: Book One of the Rabylon Series stands as the one and only Law of Attraction book in existence today which puts the Law into language our children can understand. It is a must-read for anyone, parent or child, who dreams of someday finding their own abundance on the other side of the obstacles that stand between us and our dreams and should be required reading in every elementary school on Earth.
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BREAKING AWAY: BOOK ONE OF THE RABYLON SERIES (Chapter 2)
As usual, the day had grown late by the time Remy and Rhea had filled their carts with as many weeds as they could find. Covered in dirt from head to toe and thoroughly exhausted, they took a look around the fields. Some of their co-workers had filled their carts full of carrot greens while others had filled theirs full of bright orange roots. Rabbits that had no carts were walking up and down their assigned rows with wooden pails filled with creek water, spilling a little water here and a little water there. It was the same scene the bunnies had seen play itself out at this time of year for as long as they could remember, and they wondered if things would ever change.
Every spring, like clockwork, Rabylon’s most capable bucks and does, or female rabbits, took to the fields to begin the process of carrot planting. They would start by picking out stray rocks from the soil and would then dig rows that ran the length of the fields. In those rows, they would plant thousands of tiny carrot seeds, dropping about a pinch of them onto every inch of dirt before burying them. Then they would water the ground to keep the seeds moist, sprinkle mulch to help them grow, and pull out any weeds that would happen to pop up. Within a few weeks, leafy greens would begin to sprout, and then it wouldn’t be long before the bright orange crowns of the carrots would reveal themselves.
Once the carrots were big enough and juicy enough to eat, they were pulled from the dirt, with their tough green tops twisted off and placed into one set of carts—which Remy and Rhea called “green carts”—and their delicious orange roots placed into another—which the bunnies called “carrot carts”. The only roots not kept were the bruised ones. All Rabylonians knew that bruised roots were bad roots, and that bad roots turned mushy soon after being picked. Those roots were thrown into a third and final set of carts, or “garbage carts”, along with the weeds, and were destined to be disposed of.
This process continued from the beginning of every spring through the end of every fall, until the first frost would appear on the crops. And when that happened, it would only be a matter of time before the ground would become frozen solid and covered in snow, with carrots unable to be grown for five to six months. Those months—the hardest of all for most Rabylonians—would see families hunkered down in their homes, forced to boil the tough green tops of their carrots into a sad, watery stew just to survive, and venturing outside only occasionally to fetch snow for melting into drinking water. Of the rabbits fortunate enough to see another spring, most felt anything but fortunate by the time it finally arrived.
But for now, winter was a long way off and Remy and Rhea had a lot more work to do before they could even begin to worry about whether this year’s would or wouldn’t be their last. Begrudgingly, they grabbed a hold of the wooden handles on either side of their carts and began the final leg of their work day, which involved pushing their carts all the way to the other side of the village, to a trash pile behind the Mayor’s house.
That pile, situated inside a three-walled brick enclosure which, fortunately, had no roof, was the most rancid thing they’d ever smelled. To say that they didn’t look forward to visiting it would have been an enormous understatement, as just the thought of it could have their stomachs doing somersaults. Every time they’d come near it in the past, they’d tried to hold their breath until after they’d dropped off their garbage but, unfortunately, they never could hold their breath quite long enough, so every trash pile trip ended the same way: With the smell of rotten garbage flooding their noses and them dry-heaving almost all the way home.
As they dragged their sun-baked bodies through the village, they passed hundreds of houses that looked as tired and worn-out as they felt. Some, like theirs, were larger and designed for multi-rabbit families, while others were smaller, single-rabbit homes. All had been built ages ago with stones that may have been sound and sturdy at one time, but which now threatened to crumble and collapse without warning. Making matters worse were the birch bark shingles on the homes’ wooden roofs that hadn’t been replaced for decades and thus leaked during every rainstorm.
The bunnies often wondered how easily the homes could have been made safe with new stones from the creek, or how quickly the roofs could have been repaired with some fresh bark from the forest, but then they’d remember that no one had the time to fetch either the stones or the bark, let alone to make the necessary repairs. Even if it weren’t for a complete lack of free time, it was simply out of the question for villagers to do their own home repairs. Doing so, they’d been told, was not only dangerous but would take precious time away from their work, and time away from work was not allowed—that was, unless it was approved by the Mayor.
As it was, home repairs were not a priority for the Mayor, nor were the dirt roads that ran all throughout Rabylon, which could easily have been cobbled or made beautiful with brick, but were instead neglected and allowed to deteriorate into a dusty, mucky mess. As Remy and Rhea trudged along, they couldn’t help but wonder: What was it exactly that they were getting in return for all of their hard work?
“Everything around here is falling apart…” Remy muttered as he and his sister approached the Mayor’s property.
“Except for the Mayor’s house,” whispered Rhea. “It looks like it was build yesterday.”
And indeed it did. The home, set inside an enormous estate that comprised nearly the entire eastern fourth of the village, was much larger and grander than any other home in Rabylon. Its interior, which was scarcely seen by anyone outside of the Mayor and his small army of live-in employees, was rumored to contain at least twenty rooms, a cavernous hall in which the Mayor held court, and a multitude of the most marvelous paintings, statues, and wood carvings the world had ever seen.
As for the home’s exterior, its walls had been built with the most brilliant, beautiful stones and adorned with torches that encircled the entire abode. A circular, cobblestone courtyard lay just outside the home’s huge, ornate, crimson red front door and featured a functional water fountain in the shape of a fish at its center. Finally, the surrounding estate was filled with freshly cut grass, expertly trimmed trees and shrubs, and various stone decorations, including several statues of the Mayor.
The statues, carved of the finest granite that carrots could buy, depicted a much leaner and more muscular Mayor in various fighting stances, holding things like daggers, swords, and shields. Some had him battling huge hawks and enormous eagles, while others showed him grappling with ferocious foxes, but the most impressive one of all, at least to Remy and Rhea, was of him standing, seemingly victorious, with a sword slung over his shoulder and one foot atop a wolf he’d apparently slain. Whenever the bunnies saw that statue, especially after having seen the Mayor on his palanquin, they couldn’t help but think that their “Hero and Savior” had really let himself go.
When Remy and Rhea finally reached the Mayor’s estate, they took their usual place in a long line of rabbits awaiting entry through an enormous, wide-open iron gate on its west side. The gate, which had been built into a tall brick wall that surrounded the entire estate, loomed over cart after cart of carrots, greens, and weeds as they inched forward, steered by scrawny bucks and emaciated does, many of who appeared on the brink of collapse.
As each rabbit arrived at the gate, they were met by an Enforcer whose duty it was to keep track of the number and contents of each cart coming onto the estate. After each cart was tallied, its pusher was directed to either walk along the southern side of the Mayor’s house, to the trash pile in its rear, which was unguarded, or to one of three vault doors on its northern side—one for carrot roots, one for carrot greens, and one that only the Mayor had access to, which was apparently where he kept what he called “poisonous plants” locked away for safety’s sake—all of which were guarded by a second Enforcer.
After dropping off their cartloads in the appropriate areas, rabbits were to leave their carts in a designated area near the gate of the estate for pickup the next day, and then to head straight home. Any rabbit caught loitering would be suspected of criminal activity and could be arrested, and any rabbit caught stealing, or even just attempting to steal, would be executed. It mattered not whether they were stealing wilted weeds from the trash pile or fresh produce from the vaults, because theft of any kind, the Mayor had long ago decreed, was an act of treason—the most serious crime in all of Rabylon. He said it took food off the tables of others, created inequality amongst villagers, and could even spread disease, and thus it could not be tolerated under any circumstances or for any reason.
After dropping off their trash, Remy and Rhea began their long, arduous journey home. Normally, they’d have done so on two feet, but because their backs and feet ached so terribly from all of the bending, stooping, and standing back up they’d just done, they decided to lope along on all fours instead, as their ancestors had done hundreds of years earlier.
When they finally made it home to their tiny, underwhelming stone house, they saw that the basket outside the front door was empty, which meant that their parents had beaten them home. While that fact may have brought comfort to most bunnies, it had the opposite effect on Remy and Rhea. To them, it was just a reminder of the bunnyhood they’d never had—a bunnyhood that should have been spent running around, laughing, and playing, but had instead been spent working, sometimes even longer and harder than their parents.
The moment they walked through their home’s creaky, splintered front door and across its cold, dirt floor, the gap between their lifestyle and the Mayor’s became painfully obvious. To their left, the living area was an empty space with an earthen floor, save for an unlit brick fireplace in the center of its far wall and a makeshift bed of leaves and straw in its far corner. To their right, the kitchen was a cramped space with a tin wash basin, a pair of wooden water pails, and a cast-iron, wood-burning cook stove with a small stack of firewood beside it.
Directly ahead was a long, wooden dinner table, which had been set with five sets of tin soup bowls and wooden spoons, in the middle of the dining area, and on the other side of that was a wooden ladder leaning against the wall. There wasn’t a single painting or statue to speak of, and the only other rooms in the house were the loft at the top of the ladder where the bunnies slept and a tiny bedroom on the kitchen side of it, scarcely larger than one of the Mayor’s closets, where their parents slept.
Papa Harvey was putting out a fire in the bottom of the stove. He was still wearing the same type of dingy brown, cotton vest that all adult bucks wore to work, and from the color of his fur to the black speckles that crept out from under his vest and onto his neck, he bore a striking resemblance to Remy. Beside him, Mama Hazel was carefully pouring soup from a cast-iron cook pot into a pewter tureen. Had she been several decades younger, she could easily have passed for Rhea’s twin sister. And finally, seated on the ladder-side of the kitchen table was Grandfather Otis, with a tattered vest much like Papa Harvey’s draped across his faded gray fur. Although Remy and Rhea were terribly thin and malnourished, the three adults were frightfully so, with haggard faces, tired eyes, and fur that lacked the sheen associated with healthy rabbits.
“Oh, you’re home,” said Mama Hazel, acknowledging the bunnies’ presence with a twist of her neck and a quick glance. “Please, sit. Dinner will be ready in just a minute.”
Remy and Rhea took a seat in a pair of rickety wooden chairs across from Grandfather Otis. He’d been staring at the table since they’d arrived and said nary a word to them. He raised his eyes momentarily to meet theirs, but then quickly lowered them as soon as he made eye contact. The bunnies sat silent and stared at their empty soup bowls. Moments later, Papa Harvey made his way to the long end of the table and took a seat to the right of the bunnies.
“Dinner is served,” said Mama Hazel with a big smile as she set the steaming tureen in the middle of the table. She ladled a tiny bit of soup into each bowl and then took her seat across from Papa Harvey.
Grandfather Otis picked up his spoon and began politely sipping his soup. Papa Harvey followed his lead, but then stopped abruptly after a single spoonful. He closed his eyes and hummed as he seemingly savored the soup’s flavor.
“Mmm, this is delicious,” said Papa Harvey, pointing his spoon at his bowl. “Hazel, honey, I think this is the best soup you’ve ever made.”
“Oh, why, thank you!” said Mama Hazel with a tiny smile. “I used a tiny bit more salt today than yesterday.”
“Well, it tastes great! Wouldn’t you agree, Otis?” Papa Harvey turned toward his father-in-law who simply nodded.
Rhea eyed the thin broth before her. It was almost all she and her family had ever had to eat for as long as she could remember. On this night, it was particularly watery and its carrot slices were especially thin. Although she was terribly hungry, she just couldn’t bring herself to eat. The soup, sad and lifeless as it was, too closely resembled her family.
Rhea sighed, “Why can’t we eat carrot bread?”
Papa Harvey and Mama Hazel immediately stopped eating and glanced at each other, somewhat in shock. This was the first time either of their bunnies had asked such a question. Grandfather Otis had also stopped sipping his soup and was sitting in what appeared to be a state of suspended animation. For a moment, the silence was deafening. Then Papa Harvey set down his spoon.
“I want roasted carrots,” Rhea continued, “and whipped carrot pudding, and carrot juice, too!”
“This soup is plenty for us, honey,” said Mama Hazel, her shock slowly wearing off.
“It is not,” said Remy in defense of his sister.
Mama Hazel was visibly taken aback at this unusual behavior on the part of her bunnies and looked to her husband for support.
“This is what we have,” said Papa Harvey firmly. “Be grateful we’re not eating the tough green tops.”
“I want candied carrots,” said a defiant Rhea, “and a carrot stew so thick you have to chew it!”
“Hush!” Mama Hazel scolded. “You heard your father; this is all we have. And you know we have to share with your grandfather.”
Rhea grew quiet and peeked at Grandfather Otis. He was still staring at the table and would not lift his eyes to meet hers. He appeared ashamed to be seated at the table with his family, and she and Remy knew exactly why that was.
A few years earlier, Grandfather Otis, during a long, hard day in the fields, had attempted to push too heavy a cartload up too steep a hill and collapsed. The cart had fallen on his leg, breaking it in several places, and rendered him unable to work. Despite his best efforts over many long, grueling months to rehabilitate himself, he’d never fully recovered from his injury and had been walking with a hobble ever since. For an independent, hard-working rabbit like him, this was the worst possible thing that could have ever happened to him.
In Rabylon, all rabbits capable of working were responsible for earning their own carrot allotment—which amounted to about a quarter of a carrot per day, plus a smidgen of greens—either through schoolwork or fieldwork. “If you want to eat, you have to work” was the unwritten rule that all Rabylonians lived by, and the only exceptions made to it were for pregnancies or bouts of short-term injury or illness. If rabbits found themselves unable to work for over two weeks at a time for any reason other than pregnancy, or unable to meet the Mayor’s strict carrot quotas, they would become subject to what was colloquially known as the “cast or keep” policy.
The “cast or keep” policy had been enacted by the Mayor’s grandfather to conserve Rabylon’s resources and increase its productivity, and it presented a choice to the families of any rabbits unable to produce their share of the village’s carrots: They could either “keep” or take such rabbits into their homes to feed and care for them, with the understanding that they’d receive no additional allotment for doing so, or they could “cast” them out, effectively banishing them to the forest to fend for themselves.
Of the rabbits that were cast out, very few survived their first night, let alone more than a week or two. If lack of clean water or starvation didn’t kill them first, the beasts that lay in wait for them, such as foxes and owls and wolves, surely would. Accordingly, being cast out was no less of a death sentence than a charge of theft from the Mayor, and in many ways it was worse. While rabbits accused of stealing could expect their end to come swiftly, rabbits that were cast out could suffer for many days before succumbing to their fate.
No one was safe from potentially having to make the heart-wrenching decision to keep or cast out their loved ones—not even Mama Hazel. Two weeks following his injury, Grandfather Otis had received written notice that his carrot allotment had been terminated and that he either needed to return to work immediately or to make arrangements for his retirement, as per the “cast or keep” policy. Initially, he’d considered simply not responding to the notice while continuing to rehabilitate himself, but Mama Hazel had been swift to remind him of the fine print of the notice, which had stated that if he did not return to work immediately, he’d be forcibly evicted from his single-rabbit home within a week. And if that were to happen, the notice had gone on to say, he could also be involuntarily cast out, and Mama Hazel had not been about to let that happen.
No one wanted to see their fellow Rabylonians cast out, least of all the Mayor who, at least according to his public statements on the subject, was the harshest critic of the “cast or keep” policy there was—despite the fact that he had the power to end the policy anytime he wished, yet had not done so to date.
In his many speeches over the years, the Mayor had emphasized time and time again that only cruel, heartless rabbits were capable of casting out their loved ones. He’d become teary-eyed on countless occasions as he’d told and re-told and told again the story of how he’d been confronted with the decision to keep or cast out his own father many, many years ago, and of how he’d known immediately that keeping him had been the “right thing” to do. And he’d have done it, too, he would add, had it not been for his father dying tragically, and quite unexpectedly, before he’d gotten the chance.
Going forward, as a tribute to his late father, and to discourage others from doing what he called “the wrong thing”, he began to hold weekly events in the Village Square, solely for the purpose of shaming anyone deplorable enough to cast out a loved one. Those events, which continued to this day, included the posting of a public list of the names of all such rabbits for anyone and everyone to see. And not surprisingly, there wasn’t a single rabbit in all of Rabylon who wanted to be on that list.
Papa Harvey definitely hadn’t wanted to be on that list. But he also hadn’t wanted another mouth to feed, let alone an adult one, and he told Mama Hazel so. He and she had just had Remy and Rhea a few years earlier and had already been struggling to make ends meet when Grandfather Otis had been injured, and he hadn’t believed the keeping of his father-in-law to have been in the best interest of their family. Accordingly, he’d made the unilateral decision to cast Grandfather Otis out, only for his decision to have been swiftly overruled by Mama Hazel, who could not stand to see her beloved father discarded so carelessly, as if he were no better than a cartload of moldy greens.
Upon Grandfather Otis learning of his daughter’s decision, rather than rejoice, he’d become despondent. Whereas he’d once been a productive, hard-working member of society, he’d now become a burden to his entire family, and that, he could not accept. He’d begged and pleaded for Mama Hazel to let him do “the right thing” and cast himself out, but she hadn’t allowed it. As a result, and ever since, his family had been compelled to share their carrot allotments with him, which meant that what had used to feed four rabbits would now have to feed five, and that every sip of soup he’d take would mean one less sip of soup for his hungry grandbunnies or their starving parents. As painful as the breaking of his leg had been, the pain of this was far worse, and he just couldn’t forgive himself for it.
Rhea thought of the Mayor’s plump ears and his even plumper bottom, “It’s not fair!” she clenched her paws. “The Mayor has more than he can eat! And he should share!”
“He already shares!” snapped Papa Harvey, growing increasingly irritated. “Who do you think our carrot allotments come from?”
“Well, they’re not enough!” said Remy in a huff, crossing his arms.
“Yeah!” said Rhea, mimicking her brother, “They’re not enough!”
Grandfather Otis didn’t dare twitch a whisker, let alone interject.
“Not enough?” said Papa Harvey. He pursed his lips and furrowed his brow, “Not enough?” He wagged his spoon at the bunnies, “Now you look here; I don’t know what’s gotten into you two, but your mother and I did not raise complainers; we raised Cloverfoots! And Cloverfoots do not bite the paw that feeds them!”
“But Papa,” cried Rhea, “we’re so hungry!”
“Then be quiet and eat your soup!”
“But it’s not—” started Remy.
“Enough!” Papa Harvey slammed a fist on the table, causing everyone else to flinch. “Maybe if you worked half as hard as you complain, then the Mayor would take notice and reward you! Who knows?” He raised both of his paws and gestured toward Remy, “Maybe he’d promote you to palanquin bearer!” He turned toward Rhea, “Or maybe he’d let you work in his house! I hear he takes great care of his maids!”
Mama Hazel cleared her throat and attempted to take control of the situation, “Your father is right,” she said calmly. She turned toward Remy, “Maybe if you do a good job, the Mayor would even make you an Enforcer someday. Imagine that!” Then she turned toward Rhea, “And I heard from a few of the does at work that he may start his search for a wife soon. Just think, Rhea, honey—in a few years, if you work hard enough and you manage to catch his eye, you could be the one he picks. Now wouldn’t that be something? Then you’d get to live in that big, beautiful house of his and…”
“Ew!” Rhea scrunched up her nose in disgust, “I don’t want to be his wife!”
“And I don’t want to be an Enforcer!” blurted Remy with a scowl as he again crossed his arms. “They’re mean and scary, and I don’t like them!”
“Shush!” said Mama Hazel. “It’s dangerous to talk like that! You could get yourselves cast out! What kind of a life do you think you’d have then?”
“No life at all,” said Papa Harvey matter-of-factly. “You’d starve or be eaten by foxes. The hawks would snatch you up and feed you to their young!”
“We would never see you again…” said Mama Hazel somberly.
“I…I’m sorry, Mama,” said Rhea. “I just don’t understand. Why does the Mayor have all the nice things? Why do the rabbits that work so hard have so little? Why—”
Papa Harvey thumped the floor hard with his foot. “Because he’s the Mayor, and he deserves it! Don’t you pay attention in school? He’s our Hero and our Savior, just like his father before him, and his grandfather before that!”
“Says who?” said Remy.
“Says The Great Book of Rabylon!” Papa Harvey tugged frustratedly at his ears, “The only book you’ve ever had to read!”
“But if it’s the only book,” said Rhea, “then how do we know that everything it says is true?”
“That’s enough!” Papa Harvey roared. “I didn’t work my tail off all day to be interrogated! I did it to come home, eat dinner, and enjoy a little peace! Now be quiet and eat!”
Mama Hazel fidgeted nervously and the spot between her eyes bunched up. Remy stared contemptuously at his father. Grandfather Otis’s ears lay flat as he kept his head down.
“But,” Rhea said in a soft, clear voice, “I really don’t understand. It seems like we do all the work, but then the Mayor keeps all the carrots. Shouldn’t the rabbits who work the hardest get the most carrots?”
“But honey,” said Mama Hazel demurely, “the Mayor does work the hardest. I understand this may be hard for a bunny to understand, but the Mayor is the glue that holds this village together. If it wasn’t for him—”
“Holds it together?” said Rhea. “You mean like our house? Mama, it is falling apart!”
“Yeah,” said Remy. “A couple nights ago, I woke up because the roof was creaking. I thought it was going to fall on me!”
“Oh, my, that’s terrible,” said Mama Hazel, her face betraying her concern, “but I’m sure if we tell one of the Enforcers about it, they’ll let the Mayor know, and then he’ll get it fixed for us right away.”
Papa Harvey pounded the table again with his fist. “Enough about the ceiling,” he said. “It is not going to fall on anyone! The Mayor would never let such a thing happen.” He pointed his spoon at his bowl of soup, which had long gone cold, “Now, for the last time, be quiet and eat your soup!”
Deep in their hearts, the bunnies wondered if they could be a part of their family anymore.
If you like what you’ve read here today, please be aware that Breaking Away: Book One of the Rabylon Series by Cory Groshek is also available in the following formats:
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