The Parables of Olenar
Olenar — the Keeper of Simple Truths
He doesn’t teach — he reminds.
His parables are like drops of water in which the sky is reflected.
Small. Quiet.
But they stay with you — long after you've heard them.
-
As told by Olenar, the Keeper of Simple Truths
One day, a young designer came to see Olenar.
He sat down and began speaking quickly:
“I know branding. I know target audiences. I can build AI-powered moodboards. I’ve worked with big brands. I’ve read all the marketing books. I follow trends…”Olenar nodded gently.
Then, without a word, he picked up a teapot and began pouring tea into the young man’s cup.
The cup filled. And kept filling.
Tea spilled over — onto the table, the floor, his shoes.“Hey! What are you doing? The cup is full!” the designer cried out.
Olenar looked into his eyes and said softly:
“Then how can anything new fit inside?” -
As told by Olenar, the Keeper of Simple Truths
A man once created a logo.
He poured into it the golden ratio, sacred geometry, ancient alphabets, and hidden meanings.
He showed it to people —
and they said:
“Looks fine. But… why green?”He showed it to wise men —
and they said:
“You’ve hidden yourself behind beauty.”So he came to Olenar.
Sat in silence.
Long silence.
And then asked:
“I did everything right. Why don’t they feel it?”Olenar replied:
“Because you spoke to their minds.
But the heart reads without font.”“Then what should I do?” the man asked.
“Ask yourself,” Olenar said,
“Did you make the logo to understand —
or to be understood?”The man left.
A year later, he returned with a new logo.
It looked… foolish.
Simple.
But when people saw it — they smiled.Olenar nodded:
“Now they hear you.
Not with their eyes.
But from within.” -
As told by Olenar, the Keeper of Simple Truths
One day, a developer came to Olenar.
He said:
“I’ve built the perfect interface.
The button is bold. High contrast.
The call-to-action follows every rule.
But… people don’t click.”Olenar asked to see the button.
He looked at it for a long time.
Then closed his eyes and asked:
“Would you click it?”The developer hesitated.
“Well… probably.”“No,” Olenar said.
“You already know what happens next.
But the one seeing it for the first time — they don’t.
They’re not afraid of the button.
They’re afraid of regret.”Olenar walked to a circle drawn in sand.
He drew a finger, hovering above a button.
And said:
“Make them feel:
clicking won’t cost them —
it will bring them closer.”The developer left.
Later, he returned.
The button was gone.
In its place — a single word.
And beneath it — a whisper of meaning.People clicked.
Because they felt:
this wasn't a product.
It was a response. -
A creative came to Olenar.
He looked confident. His voice was clear.
But his eyes kept drifting.
“I don’t know who I am in all this noise,” he said.
“If I speak simply — no one will notice.
If I speak softly — no one will hear.
If I’m just myself… I’ll disappear.”
Olenar stayed silent.
Then he took out two stones:
One — polished like a diamond.
The other — plain, smooth, gray.
“Which one is older?”
“I don’t know…”
“Which one lay closer to the Earth’s heart?”
The man paused.
“Maybe… the simple one.”
“Exactly,” said Olenar.
“You’re afraid to be simple —
but it’s the simple things that carry warmth.
The rest just reflect the light.
They’re not the source.”
The man didn’t reply.
He sat down,
took off his shoes —
and quietly wept. -
A brand entered the market.
Its creators had chosen a strong name.
They tested it. Ran focus groups.
Launched campaigns.
But the name… fell flat.
It was perfect.
And lifeless.
They came to Olenar.
“Why isn’t it working?” they asked.
“We did everything right. It’s bold, memorable.”
Olenar drew a slow line through the air.
Then asked,
“Did you listen to how that word sounds in the dark?”
“In the what?”
“In the quiet.
When someone is alone.
When they’re anxious.
When they don’t know what they want — but they’re searching.
What does your word do in that moment?”
“…We didn’t think of that.”
“That’s the problem,” he said.
“You chose a name to sell.
You should’ve chosen one to call.
A name is a cry that echoes in the heart.
If it doesn’t call — it disappears.”
The brand left.
Returned a season later with a different name.
Less flashy.
But people started writing it —
in the sand,
on mirrors,
on their wrists.
Olenar smiled.
“Now,” he said,
“it’s alive.” -
A young designer made a banner.
Bold. Loud. Dazzling.
Colors like fireworks.
Fonts like fists.
He brought it proudly to Olenar.
“Look! You can’t ignore it.”
Olenar stared at it for a long time.
Then asked,
“What do you want someone to feel when they see this?”
“Well… awe.
Desire.
Urgency.”
“And have you ever seen what thirst for silence looks like?”
“…What?”
“Sometimes people aren’t seeking noise.
They’re looking for proof
that they’re still allowed to breathe.”
He held up a blank page.
Just one faint mark.
Barely visible.
But when someone looked at it —
something inside them softened.
“This,” he said, “is design.
It doesn’t grab the throat.
It touches the soul.”
The young designer didn’t answer.
He just sat down.
And began to draw — in silence. -
There once was a brand.
It began with a spark:
To help people sleep deeply.
To offer peace.
To be a gentle embrace for the night.But then came the investor.
Then a marketer.
Then a copywriter obsessed with KPIs.
The product became beautiful — like a dream from an ad.
But cold.Customers said:
“It’s fine. But something’s missing.”The founders came to Olenar.
“We’ve improved everything — ingredients, price, packaging.
But sales are flat. Reviews are lukewarm.”Olenar looked at them and asked:
“Can you still remember
who you created this for in the beginning?”
“Well… for people.
So they could finally get real rest.
Because we couldn’t, when we started.”
“And now?”
“Now… it’s for growth.”Olenar nodded.
He placed a mirror in front of them.“Look.
If your product forgets why it was born —
people will feel it.”
“So what do we do?”
“Return to the night where it all began.
Only from that place
can you create something people truly rest in —
with trust.” -
There was once a brand that became generous.
It gave bonuses, discounts, freebies, gifts.
It wanted to be liked — deeply.
It feared that without constant “more” — people would leave.
And indeed:
They came. They took.
But they didn’t return.The founder came to Olenar.
“I give everything I can,” he said.
“But they disappear.
What else should I offer?”Olenar picked up a bowl.
He filled it with water — to the brim.
Then added one more drop.
The water spilled.
And vanished.“Do you see?”
“See what?”
“Generosity without measure isn’t a gift.
It’s fear — fear of being forgotten.”
“Then what should I give?”
“Not what overflows from your shelf.
But what overflows from your heart.
Sometimes it’s silence.
Sometimes — a word.
Sometimes — quiet care, without expectation.”The man left.
And stopped luring.
He began speaking truth.
Gently. Clearly. Without shouting.And people began returning.
Not for the freebies —
but for the resonance. -
There was a young brand entering the world.
It was honest. Soft. Off-trend.
But warm.It looked around:
Bright colors. Trendy slogans.
Memes. Tricks. Hacks.So it began to copy.
Changed its voice.
Changed its style.
Changed itself.And soon, it became just like the rest.
But people stopped noticing.The founder came to Olenar.
“I tried to follow trends.
But I feel like I’ve lost myself.
What did I do wrong?”Olenar took out three seeds.
One — rice.
One — wheat.
One — pomegranate.“If a pomegranate seed tries to become wheat,
it loses itself —
and becomes nothing.”
“But people love wheat…”
“People love truth.
Not what’s new —
but what’s real, spoken in your own voice.”He placed the pomegranate seed in the founder’s hand.
“This is you.
Come back.
It was you they needed —
not your imitation.” -
A brand entered the world with a stunning face.
Its logo was crafted down to the millimeter.
Animations whispered like stars.
Fonts flowed like music.
Everything — flawless.But when people encountered it —
they felt… nothing.
No trust.
No pull to stay.The founder went to Olenar.
“What should I fix? The color? The shape? The font?”Olenar closed his eyes.
And asked:
“What’s behind the logo?”
“What do you mean?”
“What pain are you healing?
What path are you lighting up?
What story lives inside that circle?”The man was silent.
Olenar said:
“A good logo isn’t a face.
It’s a window.
And if there’s no light behind it —
people won’t stay.”“So what do I do?”
“Don’t touch the mark.
Touch the meaning.
Fill it.
Then even the simplest symbol
can become a candle in someone’s night.” -
A brand was given a name.
Bold. Sharp. Loud.
It caught eyes.
It hit like a drumbeat.But over time, it began to wear.
Too much volume.
Too little meaning.The founder came to Olenar.
“This name brought me success.
But now… it feels heavy.
I’m tired of how loud it is.”Olenar picked up a smooth stone.
Placed it in the man’s hand.
“This name is like a stone around your neck.
You’ve grown used to it.
It shines.
But you’ve forgotten:
a name should not be a burden.”“What should it be?”
“An open space.
A place where people can hear their own names echo.”Olenar continued:
“A clever name calls attention.
A wise name makes space for connection.”The man thought.
He didn’t change the name.
But he changed how he spoke.
Not about himself.
But from himself — to others.And in that quiet,
the name found its voice again.
Not as a shout.
But as an invitation. -
A brand began with an honest price.
Not cheap.
But fair — like bread shaped by hand.Time passed.
Competitors dropped their prices.
Customers demanded deals.So the founder gave in.
Discounts came.
Then more.
Then permanent ones.Sales rose — a little.
But each month,
he felt more hollow inside.He came to Olenar.
“I feel like I’m betraying the work I put in.
But otherwise, no one buys.”Olenar stood up.
Handed him a cup of clear water.“Try it,” he said.
The man drank —
Clean. Pure.Then Olenar dropped in a handful of sugar.
Stirred.
“Now try again.”
The man tasted.
“Too sweet… It’s no longer water.”“That’s your price,” Olenar said.
“You added too much desire to please.
And lost the true taste.”“What should I do?”
“Remember:
You are not a number.
You are value.
If you don’t respect your own work,
no one will.Better to sell less —
and with dignity,
than to sell more —
and lose yourself in the process.” -
A brand wanted so badly to be understood.
It wrote. A lot.
Explained. Repeated. Broke down every benefit, every detail, every reason.It feared that if it didn’t say everything,
people wouldn’t hear anything.But the more it spoke,
the less people listened.So the brand came to Olenar.
“I’m doing everything I can to be clear.
But they still pass me by.
What else should I say?”Olenar poured water into a bowl.
Then dropped in some ink.
The water turned cloudy.“Words,” he said, “are like ink.
Too many, and the water loses clarity.”He filled another bowl.
This time, just one petal.
It floated in silence.“This,” he said, “is presence.
No noise.
Just a sign
that you’re here
and can be trusted.”Then he added:
“Sometimes,
a single word,
spoken from stillness,
reaches farther
than a hundred words
spoken from fear of being forgotten.” -
There once was a brand as bright as a store window at noon.
Its colors shouted — neon, bold, electric.
“Look at me! Pick me! Buy me!”And people did look.
But they didn’t stay.A wise one said,
“This brand calls out to everyone —
but sees no one.”The founder heard this.
And came to Olenar.
“I wanted to stand out.
Is that wrong? Is brightness bad?”Olenar took him to a hilltop at dawn.
The sky shimmered in pastels —
soft as breath, gentle as sleep.“What do you feel?”
“Peace,” said the founder.
“I’m listening, even though nothing is speaking.”Olenar nodded.
“Color isn’t meant to scream.
It’s the tone of your brand’s soul.
It shouldn’t blind.
It should speak the language of the heart.”Then he added:
“When you shout, people may hear you.
When you glow — they’re drawn to you.”From that day on,
the brand didn’t go dull.
It went deep.
Its colors no longer fought for attention —
they invited connection. -
This brand was always busy.
Posting daily.
Stories, slogans, banners, sales.It feared silence —
as if pausing meant disappearing.But one day,
it accidentally fell silent.
Just for a day.And that day,
more people reached out than ever before.“Are you okay?”
“Still with us?”
“We were waiting.”The founder was stunned.
He went to Olenar.
“I thought silence meant absence.
But… it’s not empty, is it?”Olenar nodded.
“In silence, you become you.
In noise, you become like everyone.”He pointed to a mountain in the distance.
“See that?
It makes no sound.
And yet we’ve watched it for centuries.”Then he added:
“Your audience isn’t just ears.
They are hearts.
And the heart hears what’s unspoken —
if you dare to be quiet.”From that day on,
the brand no longer feared stillness.
It knew:
silence is not absence.
It is presence — without the noise. -
A designer created a brand —
flawlessly crafted.
Every line measured.
Every element calculated, almost mathematically.But when people looked at it,
they felt… cold.“It’s beautiful,” they said,
“but somehow… unapproachable.”The creator was confused.
He had put his skill into every detail.
Everything was designed perfectly.So he came to Olenar.
“Why, if the form is right,
does the brand feel closed?”Olenar placed a white box in front of him —
smooth, clean, no markings.“Open it.”
The man tried.
He couldn’t.
It was sealed like a stone.Then Olenar placed another box —
this one had a tiny slit, almost invisible.“Now try.”
The man lifted the lid with ease.
Inside — there was light.“You see,” said Olenar,
“form doesn’t need to be perfect.
It needs to be an invitation.Not to protect the brand —
but to welcome others in.”He added:
“Great design always leaves space for light.
A window.
A way in.”From that day,
the designer stopped building walls.
He started building doors. -
A brand had a voice.
Polished. Confident. Professional.It could persuade, inspire, explain.
And it spoke everywhere —
videos, websites, emails, chats.It spoke constantly.
At first, people liked it.
But soon, it became exhausting.They stopped listening.
The founder was puzzled.
“If we speak so well,
why don’t they want to hear us anymore?”So he came to Olenar.
Olenar said nothing.
He just sat in silence.Five minutes passed.
Then ten.
Then fifteen.The founder finally burst out:
“Why aren’t you saying anything?”Olenar replied:
“Because you only hear when you're not speaking.”He poured water into a bowl.
Then added one drop of oil.“See?
The oil stands out.
But if I keep pouring,
the bowl loses its essence.”He looked the man in the eyes:
“A brand’s voice is like that drop.
It should be noticed — not everywhere.
Let silence breathe.”From that day forward,
the brand spoke less —
but with more depth.And people started listening again.
-
There was a brand in the marketplace.
It didn’t shout.
Didn’t run flashy campaigns.
Didn’t chase attention.But its product carried care.
Its packaging felt warm.
Its writing spoke like a human.It was simply… there.
But no one talked about it.
No articles. No buzz.The founder began to doubt.
“Maybe I’m doing something wrong.
Maybe I need to be louder, flashier, more aggressive.”So he went to Olenar.
“If kindness goes unnoticed,
does that mean it’s not needed?”Olenar lit a candle in the dim room.
“Look,” he said.
“This candle doesn’t blaze like a fire.
But if you're here,
you see it.
And if you're cold,
you come closer.”He added:
“Not all goodness is meant for the stage.
Some of it is like a lamp beside your bed —
unseen by the crowd,
but irreplaceable in solitude.”From that day,
the founder stopped chasing attention.He chose to glow — not glare.
And over time,
people began to speak of the brand.Not like a product.
But like a friend. -
There was a font living in a design studio.
Elegant.
Straight as an arrow.
Perfect as a showroom window.It was proud.
“I am the face of the brand,” it would say.
“I set the tone, build trust, demand respect.”One day, a small brand approached —
warm, humble, like a grandmother’s hands.“You’re beautiful,” it said,
“but you make me feel cold.
You’re like a stranger in a tie.”The font felt offended.
It was premium, after all.
Perfectly aligned.
Precise.It went to Olenar.
“What should I do?
I’m flawless — but I was rejected.”Olenar sat it by a window.
Handed it a quill and an inkwell.“Write the word love,
as if it were the last time you could.”The font hesitated.
Its lines wavered.
Letters leaned slightly.
The word looked like a whisper.Olenar smiled.
“Now you’re alive.”“But… it’s imperfect,” the font replied.
“Exactly.
That’s why it’s real.”From that day forward,
the font was no longer just a shape.
It became a voice — that felt. -
A modest, everyday product sat on a shelf.
It was useful — but bought without joy.
No glance. No emotion.“I’m just a thing,” it whispered.
“A receipt and some packaging.”It dreamed of being a gift.
Of bringing a smile.
Of meaning something.One day, someone walked into the shop —
a person who chose with their heart, not just their eyes.They stopped.
Touched that product.“This one,” they said.
“It’s simple… but it feels like home.”They brought it to a studio.
Wrapped it in fabric instead of plastic.
Added a card, a scent of lavender, a gentle gesture.And the product came alive.
It felt like a gift.
It understood it could be more than just an object.Olenar, seeing this, said:
“A product is a body.
But a gift — that’s a soul.If you want to be carried in someone’s hands,
first become something they’d hold in their heart.”From that day, the product never felt small again.
It knew: even simple things
can become symbols of love
— if created with pure intention. -
Two products stood on a shelf.
The first was flashy, cheap, loud.
It screamed discounts.
Everyone bought it — but no one remembered it.The second was quiet. Simple.
Its price was higher.
People passed it by, mumbling:
“What’s this even worth?”That second product began to doubt itself.
It felt guilty.
Like a fraud.
Like it didn’t deserve the price it bore.So it came to Olenar.
“I was made with care.
There’s real work and time in me.
But people just walk past.
Should I be cheaper?”Olenar took it into the mountains.
He pointed to a spring.“This water flows from the summit —
untouched, pure, distant.”He filled two cups.
One from the base, the other from the top.“Now taste.”
The product sipped.
“The second one… it feels clearer.”“Exactly,” Olenar said.
“So is your price.It’s not a sticker.
It’s a journey.A sign of respect
for the depth behind what you are.”He added:
“A price only feels shame
when there’s nothing behind it.
But if there’s truth, effort, and presence —
then price is not a wall.
It’s a doorway.”From that day on,
the product no longer stood in the sale bin.
It stood like a lighthouse —
for those seeking something real. -
A young creator wandered through a world of words.
He searched for the perfect name for his brand.
Bold. Memorable. Impressive.He tested hundreds.
“This one sounds too clever.”
“That one’s too plain.”
“This already exists…”The words began to blur.
They shouted. They competed.
And none of them felt true.He came to Olenar.
“I can’t find the name,” he said.
“It feels like I’m inventing it, not discovering it.”Olenar poured him tea.
They sat in silence.
Just breath and light.“Do you hear it?” Olenar asked.
“Hear what?”
“The name. It’s not created. It’s remembered.
It rises from the deep when the noise fades.
Not from the urge to impress —
but from the desire to be real.”The young creator went into the forest.
Three days.
No internet. No notebook. No urgency.On the fourth morning,
the name came.
Soft. Simple.
Like it had always been there —
waiting to be heard.He returned to Olenar and said:
“I didn’t invent it.
I just let it come.”Olenar smiled.
“Then your brand no longer says ‘look at me.’
It says ‘I see you.’” -
There was a product.
Not the fanciest. Not the trendiest.
But made with care.It remembered its story —
how it was designed,
how the color was chosen,
how someone packed it gently with both hands.Each morning it whispered:
“Thank you —
to those who touched me
before I reached the hands of someone new.
Thank you for making me not just a product,
but a form shaped by care.”It stood quietly on the shelf,
but radiated peace.One day, a shopper picked it up
and softly said:
“I don’t know why…
but this one feels… grateful.
And I want to hold that feeling.”Olenar heard and said:
“In a world where everything screams ‘buy me,’
be the one who whispers,
‘I’m thankful you came.’”Gratitude is an invisible thread
that connects creator to carrier,
past to present,
hands to heart.From that day forward,
other products tried to learn from it —
not how to shine or shout,
but how to serve
with quiet gratitude. -
In a world of shouting brands,
there was one that was quiet.It didn’t flaunt awards.
It didn’t scream “#1.”
It didn’t try to convince anyone it was the best.It simply was.
Its touch was warm.
Its packaging — like a home.
Its voice — honest and plain.“Why don’t you talk about how great you are?” people asked.
“I’m not better,” it said.
“I’m just true.
I don’t sell superiority —
I offer closeness.”“But people won’t notice you!”
“That’s okay.
I’m not here to win races.
I’m here to be recognized.”Olenar heard and told his students:
“Remember this —
Greatness isn’t in volume.
It’s in depth.Truth doesn’t need to prove itself.
It glows — from within.”From that day on,
many brands stopped shouting.
They began living.And people didn’t come to them as customers —
but as those who saw themselves reflected. -
A young designer came to Olenar.
“I’ve created a logo,” he said.
“It’s modern. Stylish. Beautiful.
But… it doesn’t leave a mark.
People look — then forget.
What did I do wrong?”Olenar smiled.
“You made an image,” he said.
“But you need to make a trace.”“A trace?”
“A logo isn’t just graphics.
It’s the imprint of a choice.
It shouldn’t talk about what you sell —
but what a person chooses when they choose you.”He poured a thin layer of sand into a wooden bowl,
then ran his finger gently through it.
A groove remained.“This,” he said, “is a logo.
It doesn’t need to impress.
It needs to live in the body —
in the gesture, in the soul, in a moment.
Recognizable not by shape,
but by feeling. Like a familiar gaze.”The young designer paused.
Then he returned to his work —
not to software,
but to silence.He listened for what should remain in someone
after they walk away.And one day,
the symbol came on its own.
Simple. Warm. Precise.It didn’t shout.
It felt like it had known you
before you knew the brand. -
A master craftsman created something with love.
He poured in time, attention, and clarity.Then came the moment to name a price.
He hesitated.
“What if it’s too much?
What if I push people away?
What if they can’t afford it?”He asked the market, the trends, the data.
But inside — there was unease.So he came to Olenar.
“How do I name a price,” he asked,
“that doesn’t scare people…
but still feels honest?
How do I avoid sounding cheap — or arrogant?”Olenar lit a candle.
“Look at this light,” he said.
“It doesn’t charge for itself.
But if you want to carry it through the dark,
you must be ready.”He continued:
“Price isn’t punishment.
It’s not a test of wealth.
It’s a form of respect —
for the work, for the path,
and for the one who chooses it.”“And if they don’t buy?”
“Then it’s not their time.
Price isn’t bait.
It’s a doorway to awareness.”He added:
“Set a price that makes your customer feel elevated,
not diminished.”From then on,
the master stopped highlighting price in red,
stopped shouting “limited offer.”Instead, he wrote it simply.
With love. With trust.And people didn’t just buy.
They began to respect. -
In a quiet village, a new brand appeared.
It had a beautiful website,
bright packaging,
and lots of text.Slogans. Descriptions. Triggers. Proof.
Everything was perfectly crafted.But people just passed by.
They read.
They nodded.
They left.The founder went to Olenar.
“I wrote everything right,” he said.
“But no one seems to hear me.”Olenar looked at him gently.
“You’re too afraid of being misunderstood,” he said.
“So you speak too much.
But words — like people —
only speak when silence allows them.”He handed him a bowl of water
and dropped in a single drop of ink.
Ripples spread across the surface.“That’s what a real phrase does.
It doesn’t persuade.
It resonates.”“So what should I do?”
“Find the words
you’re not afraid to say quietly.
The phrases that still speak
even when your packaging is silent.”The founder removed half the text.
He left only the essence.
Warmth.
Truth.And one day, a customer said:
“I don’t know why…
but this brand feels like home.” -
There was a brand that had everything:
a logo, colors, even a mission statement.
But something felt… hollow.“Who am I?” the brand asked itself.
“What makes me different?
Why do I feel empty?”It tried imitating others.
Changed styles. Ran flashy promos.
Wrote clever copy it didn’t even believe.But the emptiness grew louder.
One day, the brand went to Olenar.
“I don’t know who I am,” it said.
“I exist… but I feel soulless.”Olenar picked up a lump of clay.
“This is clay,” he said.
“It doesn’t know what it will become
until a hand reaches for it
and needs it to be a cup.”He continued:
“You won’t find yourself by looking inward.
You’ll find yourself in the eyes
of someone whose life is lighter because you exist.
Don’t ask who you are.
Ask: Who feels relief when I arrive?”The brand returned home.
It stopped trying to impress.
It began to listen.
To small, unspoken aches
that lived quietly in people.And one day someone said:
“Thank you. You made my day easier.
You were there when I needed someone.”From that day forward,
the brand no longer searched for itself.
It became a home for those still searching. -
A young designer came to Olenar.
He brought his portfolio, awards, trend forecasts.
“I’m ready to build great brands,” he said.
“Where do I begin?
What’s the right path?”Olenar said nothing.
He waited.
For a long time.“Don’t you hear me?” the designer asked.
“I hear you,” said Olenar.
“But you came for an answer.
That means you’re not yet ready for the question.”“What do you mean?”
“As long as you’re asking how,
you’re building a ladder
without knowing where it leads.As long as you seek a formula,
you’re afraid of the silence
where true calling is born.”He walked over to a stone.
Etched into it were the words:Wise is not the one who knows the path.
Wise is the one who questions it.“Start with a question,” Olenar said.
Not ‘What should I do?’
But ‘Who might need me if I become who I truly am?’The designer sat at the base of the stone.
For the first time in his life,
he stopped chasing answers.
He started living the question.And everything he created from that day on
spoke to a silent need —
a need no one had voiced,
but everyone felt in their hearts. -
A designer worked for a brand.
He crafted stunning layouts —
bold, complex, shimmering.
He wanted people to notice.
To say:
“Wow, that’s gorgeous!”
“So unique!”
“What talent!”But slowly, the brand began to lose touch with people.
Customers felt:
Something’s not for me.
Too perfect.
Too distant.The designer went to Olenar.
“I gave everything,” he said.
“I made it beautiful.
But people don’t connect. Why?”Olenar smiled.
“Beauty that demands attention
often distracts from meaning.
But the kind that whispers —
becomes a home for the eyes.”He ran his fingers over a clay cup.
“See this little imperfection?
That’s where the human lives.
That’s where they touch and say,
‘This is for me’
instead of
‘Look how clever the designer was.’”“But shouldn’t we impress them?”
“Impressions are fleeting,” said Olenar.
“Presence is forever.
True beauty isn’t about being seen.
It’s about being recognized.”The designer began to see differently.
He removed the excess.
He stopped trying to prove.
He began to serve the silence
in which people could find themselves.And one day, a customer said:
“I didn’t even notice the design.
But I felt… peace.”And that became the greatest compliment of his life.
-
Somewhere between cities and endless scrolls
lived a quiet brand.
It didn’t shout offers.
Didn’t fight for clicks.
Didn’t chase applause.It just… existed.
Its packaging felt warm.
Its typography… gentle.
Its layout… generous.
Everything about it was like a breath of fresh air—
nothing extra, everything essential.No one remembered its slogan.
Few recalled its color.
But when people held the product,
they often whispered:"I don’t know why…
but I feel lighter now."One day, a salesman came to Olenar.
“I want my brand to wow people,” he said.
“How can I be more noticeable?”Olenar looked at him and asked:
“What if your brand didn’t speak—
but saw?
What if it didn’t call out,
but simply… glowed?”“But no one will notice that!”
“Those who seek light
will always recognize it.
Especially when it’s quiet.”He led the salesman to a small shop,
where the quiet brand rested on a shelf.“This one doesn’t aim to impress,”
Olenar said.
“But everyone who looks at it—
feels restored.”The salesman picked up the box,
looked at it…
and for the first time in years,
he exhaled—deep and full. -
A young copywriter came to Olenar.
“I don’t know what to write,” she said.
“It feels like everything’s already been said.
Words have lost their power.
People are tired of them.”Olenar said nothing.
He poured her a cup of tea.
Silently.
He slid it toward her.
Silently.
He looked her in the eyes.
Silently.Then, softly, he asked:
“Did you hear what I just said?”She paused.
“You… offered me warmth.
You gave me space.
A pause that made me feel… seen.”“Exactly,” he nodded.
“That is the language that speaks, even in silence.”“Branding is not just about copy.
It’s gestures.
Pacing.
How you hold someone—before saying a single word.”“But I have to write…”
“Then write.
But don’t try to convince.
Try to stay close.
Sometimes a single dot on a package,
a blank paragraph, a soft pause—
says more than a thousand words.”He took a pen and wrote:
"Where you don’t speak—
someone else may finally feel heard."She began to cry.
Not from sadness.
But from understanding—
her silence could also be a form of service. -
A young brand once chose bold colors.
Lemon yellow.
Neon green.
Electric turquoise.It wanted to stand out.
To pop.
To grab attention.But people looked… and turned away.
The brand panicked.
It went to Olenar.
“Why don’t they see me?” it asked.
“My colors are trendy!
Why does their silence hurt?”Olenar invited it to sit by the water.
The sun was setting—
fire meeting dusk-blue.
Leaves reflected on the surface—
not because of brightness,
but because of stillness.“See this?” Olenar said.
“This color doesn’t call itself special.
It doesn’t brand itself as therapy.
It doesn’t shout, ‘Look at me!’
It just lets you… be.
It brings you home.”“But how do I choose that kind of color?”
“Brand color isn’t a hue.
It’s an attitude toward others.
It says: I’m here so you can breathe easier.”“You can be bold—
but be gently bold.
You can be soft—
but don’t disappear in indifference.”“Will it heal people then?”
“It already does—
if you choose it from love,
not fear of being overlooked.” -
A weary designer came to Olenar.
Frustrated, drained.
He showed him a layout.“Look,” he said. “Everything’s aligned.
Grid — perfect.
Typeface — on-trend.
Technically flawless.
But... something’s missing.
There’s no soul.”Olenar looked.
It was, indeed, correct.
And yet… sharp. Cold.“Do you know how a typeface becomes an embrace?” Olenar asked.
“I thought typography was form. Technique.
As long as it’s readable…”“That matters,” said Olenar.
“But there’s another condition:
Before it’s read—
it must be felt.”“How?”
“Think of a letter from someone who loves you.
It might be messy, but every curve feels like it’s holding your hand.Now think of a bank statement.
Perfect kerning.
And yet—it’s freezing.”Olenar pointed to a wall.
Old letters, calligraphy, children’s notes.“See these?
The letters… breathe.
They don’t just carry meaning—
they reach out.”The designer closed his eyes.
“So how do I choose a font?”
“Ask yourself:
How do I want someone to feel before they even start reading?If your answer is ‘safe,’
or ‘like home’—
you’re close.” -
In a noisy city lived a brand.
It had beautiful packaging,
a clever tagline,
and a perfectly optimized website.And yet—when people came close,
they felt… empty.Then one day,
the brand went quiet.No more: “We’re the best.”
No more persuasion.
No more promises.It simply wrote:
“We’re here.
And if you feel alone—you’re not.”The next morning, someone stopped.
Didn’t buy anything.
Just stood nearby.
And left with their shoulders… slightly straighter.Then came another.
No likes, no shares.
But that night—he did something kind.
Because for a moment, he felt seen.Day by day,
the brand didn’t sell.
It bore witness.Olenar heard of it, and told his students:
“The greatness of a brand
isn’t in viral reach.
But in silent presence
in someone’s life.If after meeting you,
someone feels just a little less alone—
you’ve already begun the work of healing.” -
When Olenar grew old,
a student asked:“Master…
What matters most in the brand of the future?”He stood silently for a long time.
Then walked to an old shelf
and opened a small box.Inside:
a piece of fabric,
a torn note,
a stone with a carved symbol,
and a scrap of paper:“Thank you.
You brought me back to myself.”He turned to them and said:
“This… is the future of branding.
Not revenue.
Not fame.
Not innovation.But the chance that one day,
someone whispers:
‘You reminded me who I am.’”The students stood still.
“So… does that mean a brand is a prayer?”
“If by ‘prayer’
you mean presence—not performance,
touch—not preaching—
then yes.A brand can be a prayer.
A word without noise.
A symbol made of care.
A space where someone feels… human again.”“And how do we create such brands?”
Olenar smiled gently.
“Don’t think about how to be loved.
Think about how to be love.”Then he closed his eyes.
—
Thus ended the 36 Parables of Olenar —
Keeper of the Simple Truths.
But his voice, once heard,
remains in the hearts
of all who create
not for markets,
but for meaning.
