Stories

Lepapillon0311 · 发表于 2006-1-25 00:17:30

Old Seven Dollar
 
 
 
 When we moved to our Itty Bitty Dirt Farm in the late 70’s after my huS*and Roy retired from the US Navy, he fell heir to a barn full of unidentifiable, valuable junk from the former owners.
 
 Way back in the left corner of the barn was a rickety, broken lawn mower trying valiantly to stand on three wheels. Looking at the old mower and the expanse of hay that would become our lawn, and knowing we had a combined brood of kids to feed, he scrounged through the junk piles to find parts to repair the dilapidated machine. However, no amount of digging through the random cultch could uncover the missing wheel. A new spark plug was required for the machine to run with gusto.
 
 After a quick trip to the local farm supply store, Roy returned with the replacement parts, a spray can of red paint, and a receipt for seven dollars. Thus Old Seven Dollar was born and would practically become a member of the family.
 
 Over the next ten years or so, Roy and Old Seven Dollar beat back the hay fields until they became proud owners of an “estate.” To complete the job, man and machine spent a leisurely Saturday afternoon in the sun.
 
 After a bit of discussion, we decided that it really was time to upgrade to a riding mower. Yes, you guessed it, Roy found a machine that had been repaired by an elderly gentleman in his tinker shop. Old Seven Dollar still had a mission: to mow the lawn patches directly in front of the house that I hadn’t converted into a weeping tree collection and perennial garden. The riding mower couldn’t maneuver in and out of the narrow garden paths.
 
 With this new toy, Roy began testing the limits of the hay field! Each passing year expanded the perimeters of our estate. A couple years later, he announced, “I stopped at Sears. They’ve got a mower with a bigger mowing deck. I could get the mowing job done quicker and have more time for play.” Proudly, he purchased his first new riding mower. I purchased a T-shirt for him to wear while riding it that proclaimed, “I Fought the Lawn, and the Lawn Won!”
 
 Old Seven Dollar still had its mission of manicuring the area in the front yard that wasn’t a garden yet.
 
 Eventually, Roy spent a full Saturday mowing our lawn that was taking on the appearance of a country club golf course. Occasionally, I’d take pity on him. “How about a duel? I can mow more than you in an hour!” I chided. With both of us mowing, we could conquer the lawn in under five hours.
 
 When he began eyeballing the industrial strength mowers at Agway, I suggested we sell our extra mowers or we’d have to hire all the neighbors to help us mow! Roy got the subtle hint.
 
 Yesterday, he lamented, “Old Seven Dollar is acting sick and won’t stay running. What do you think, should I buy new power mower without all the bells and whistles to mow that patch or two of grass in the front garden?”
 
 “What happened to ‘Make do, use it up, wear it out?’ ‘We’re going to be in the poorhouse if you buy another mower!’” I teased borrowing expressions handed down by his frugal Wisconsin father and mother.
 
 Old Seven Dollar, thank you for your many years of dependable service. Even Roy believes you have finally earned your well deserved retirement. There is a special niche in the left hand corner of the barn just for you... May you rust in peace!
 
 
 
 
 The Cracked Pot
 
 
 
 Prolog -- A parable we can all learn from . . .
 
 A water bearer in India had two large pots, one hung on each end of a pole which, he carried across his neck. One of the pots had a crack in it, but the other pot was perfect, and always delivered a full portion of water at the end of the long walk from the stream to the master's house, while the cracked pot arrived only half full.
 
 For a full two years this went on daily, with the bearer delivering only one and a half pots full of water to his master's house. Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments, perfect to the end for which it was made. But the poor cracked pot was very ashamed of its imperfection, and was miserable that it could only do half of what it had been made to do -- or so it thought.
 
 The cracked pot, after two years of what it perceived to be a bitter failure, spoke to the water bearer one day by the stream. "I am very ashamed of myself, and I want to apologize to you."
 
 "Why?" asked the water bearer. "What are you ashamed of?"
 
 "For the past two years, I have only been able to deliver half of my real capacity, because this crack in my side allows water to leak out all the way back to the master's house. Because of my flaws, you have to do all of this work, and you don't get full value from your efforts," the cracked pot said.
 
 The water bearer felt sorry for the old cracked pot, and compassionately said, "As we return to the master's house, I want you to notice the beautiful flowers along the path."
 
 As they went up the hill, the old cracked pot did notice the sun shining on the beautiful wild flowers growing along his side of the path, and this cheered it some. However, at the end of the trail, it still felt bad because it had again leaked out half its load, and so it apologized to the water bearer for its failure.
 
 The bearer said to the pot, "Did you notice that there were flowers only on your side of the path, but not on the other pot's side? That's because I have always known about your flaw, and put it to good use. I planted flower seeds on your side of the path (for the return trip), and every day while we walk back from the stream, you've watered them. For over two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate my master's table. If you weren't the way you are, he wouldn't have the flowers for his house."
 
 Each of us has our own unique flaws. We're all cracked pots. But if we will allow Him, the Lord will use us, in spite of our flaws, to grace His Father's table in some way. In God's great economy, nothing goes to waste.
 
 So as we seek ways to minister, and as God calls you to the job He has appointed for you, don't be afraid of your flaws. Acknowledge them, and allow Him to use them, so you too can help add beauty along the pathways He has chosen for you.
 
 
 Addendum -- 2 Timothy 2:21 "Therefore if anyone cleanses himself from the latter, he will be a vessel for honor, sanctified and useful for the Master, prepared for every good work."
 
 
 The Power of Prayer
 
 
 
 
 
 A missionary on furlough told this true story while visiting his home church in Michigan...
 
 While serving at a small field hospital in Africa, every two weeks I traveled by bicycle through the jungle to a nearby city for supplies. This was a journey of two days and required camping overnight at the halfway point. On one of these journeys, I arrived in the city where I planned to collect money from a bank, purchase medicine and supplies, and then begin my two-day journey back to the field hospital.
 
 Upon arrival in the city, I observed two men fighting, one of whom had been seriously injured. I treated him for his injuries and at the same time witnessed to him of the Lord Jesus Christ. I then traveled two days, camping overnight, and arrived home without incident.
 
 Two weeks later I repeated my journey. Upon arriving in the city, I was approached by the young man I had treated. He told me that he had known I carried money and medicines. He said, "Some friends and I followed you into the jungle, knowing you would camp overnight. We planned to kill you and take your money and drugs. But just as we were about to move into your camp, we saw that you were surrounded by 26 armed guards." At this I laughed and said that I was certainly all alone out in that jungle campsite. The young man pressed the point, 26 guards. "My five friends also saw them and we all counted them. It was because of those guards that we were afraid, and left you alone."
 
 At this point in the sermon, one of the men in the congregation jumped to his feet and interrupted the missionary and asked if he could tell him the exact day that this happened. The missionary told the church congregation the date, and the man who interrupted told him this story: "On the night of your incident in Africa, it was morning here and I was preparing to go play golf. I was about to putt when I felt the urge to pray for you. In fact, the urging of the Lord was so strong, I called men in this church to meet with me here in the sanctuary to pray for you. Would all of those men who met with me on that day stand up?" The men who had met together to pray that day stood up. The missionary wasn't concerned with who they were -- he was to busy counting how many men he saw. There were 26.
 
 **This story is an incredible example of how the Spirit of the Lord moves in mysterious ways. If you ever feel such prodding, go along with it. Nothing is ever hurt by prayer except the gates of hell. I encourage you to forward this to as many people as you know. If we all take it to heart, we can turn this world towards Christ once again. Have a great day!**
 
 THE POWER OF PRAYER -- as the above true story clearly illustrates, "with God all things are possible" and more importantly, how God hears and answers the prayers of the faithful. After you read this, please pause and give God thanks for the beautiful gift of your faith, for the powerful gift of prayer, and for the many miracles He works in your own daily life... and then pass it on...

Lepapillon0311 · 发表于 2006-1-25 00:18:10

The Great Lesson
 
 
 
 To encourage her young son's progress on the piano, a mother took the small boy to a Paderewski concert. After they were seated, the mother spotted a friend in the audience and walked down the aisle to greet her.
 
 Seizing the opportunity to explore the wonders of the concert hall, the little boy rose and eventually explored his way through a door marked: "NO ADMITTANCE."
 
 When the house lights dimmed, and the concert was about to begin, the mother returned to her seat and discovered that her son was missing. Suddenly, the curtains parted and spotlights focused on the impressive Steinway on stage. In horror, the mother saw her little boy sitting at the keyboard, innocently picking out "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star."
 
 At that moment, the great piano master made his entrance, quickly moved to the piano, and whispered in the boy's ear, "Don't quit. Keep playing." Then leaning over, Paderewski reached down with his left hand and began filling in a bass part. Soon his right arm reached around to the other side of the child and he added a running obbligato.
 
 Together, the old master and the young novice transformed a frightening situation into a wonderfully creative experience. The audience was mesmerized.
 
 That's the way it is with God. What we can accomplish on our own is hardly noteworthy. We try our best, but the results aren't exactly graceful flowing music. But with the hand of the Master, our life's work truly can be beautiful.
 
 Next time you set out to accomplish great feats, listen carefully. You can hear the voice of the Master, whispering in your ear, "Don't quit. Keep playing. "Feel His loving arms around you. Know that His strong hands are playing the concerto of your life.
 
 Remember, God doesn't call the equipped, He equips the called.
 
 
 
 
 
 A Story To Live By
 
 
 
 My brother-in-law opened the bottom drawer of my sister's bureau and lifted out a tissue-wrapped package. "This," he said, "is not a slip. This is lingerie." He discarded the tissue and handed me the slip. It was exquisite; silk, handmade and trimmed with a cobweb of lace. The price tag with an astronomical figure on it was still attached. "Jan bought this the first time we went to New York, at least 8 or 9 years ago. She never wore it. She was saving it for a special occasion. Well, I guess this is the occasion." He took the slip from me and put it on the bed with the other clothes we were taking to the mortician. His hands lingered on the soft material for a moment, then he slammed the drawer shut and turned to me. "Don't ever save anything for a special occasion. Every day you're alive is a special occasion."
 
 I remembered those words through the funeral and the days that followed when I helped him and my niece attend to all the sad chores that follow an unexpected death. I thought about them on the plane returning to California from the Midwestern town where my sister's family lives. I thought about all the things that she hadn't seen or heard or done. I thought about the things that she had done without realizing that they were special. I'm still thinking about his words, and they've changed my life.
 
 I'm reading more and dusting less. I'm sitting on the deck and admiring the view without fussing about the weeds in the garden.
 
 I'm spending more time with my family and friends and less time in committee meetings. Whenever possible, life should be a pattern of experience to savor, not endure. I'm trying to recognize these moments now and cherish them.
 
 I'm not "saving" anything; we use our good china and crystal for every special event-such as losing a pound, getting the sink unstopped, the first camellia blossom.
 
 I wear my good blazer to the market if I feel like it. My theory is if I look prosperous, I can shell out $28.49 for one small bag of groceries without wincing.
 
 I'm not saving my good perfume for special parties; clerks in hardware stores and tellers in banks have noses that function as well as my party-going friends'.
 
 "Someday" and "one of these days" are losing their grip on my vocabulary. If it's worth seeing or hearing or doing, I want to see and hear and do it now. I'm not sure what my sister would have done had she known that she wouldn't be here for the tomorrow we all take for granted.
 
 It's those little things left undone that would make me angry if I knew that my hours were limited. Angry because I put off seeing good friends whom I was going to get in touch with-someday. Angry because I hadn't written certain letters that I intended to write-one of these days. Angry and sorry that I didn't tell my huS*and and daughter often enough how much I truly love them.
 
 I'm trying very hard not to put off, hold back, or save anything that would add laughter and luster to our lives. And every morning when I open my eyes, I tell myself that it is special. Every day, every minute, every breath truly is... a gift from God.

Lepapillon0311 · 发表于 2006-1-25 00:19:21

The Social Worker and the Ragged Lad
 
 
 
 Amelia liked to walk the five blocks to work each day. It was good exercise. In order for her to get to her office, she had to pass a slum area. She never paid much attention to it. After all, slums were just part of urban dwelling. The ironical thing was, she was a social worker and had to deal with the "unfortunates" of life every day. Only her "cases" were all on the computer screen, or on paper. It was someone else who had to deal with the real people.
 
 That is, until she met the ragged wee lad. Even though Amelia had never seen the lad, he had seen her every day for the past several months, as she passed his dwelling. He had even followed her to her office on several occasions. He knew that she was the head of the social services… but no one from her office had ever called on him and his mom. But even so, he liked the way she looked. He liked the way she walked. He liked her voice. He had heard her talking to people, as he crouched outside her office door. Her voice sounded like that angel he kept dreaming about.
 
 Day after day Jackie tried to get up courage to talk to her. He didn't know her name, of course, but he was sure she could help--if only he could get up the courage to ask her… But on this day he knew he could wait no longer. His mother was very sick. He knew that this kind lady would help him find his dad. Oh, he so desperately needed to find his dad.
 
 Amelia felt a tug on her sleeve. She pulled her arm away quickly, looking around to see who it was that was trying to accost her. That was when she saw the ragged wee lad.
 
 The rest of the story, except for the conclusion, I want to tell you in rhyme.
 
 She locked up the door of her office, her mind on the caseload she had. At the foot of the long winding staircase, she spotted a ragged wee lad. She started to go right on by him, but he reached out and touched her, and said: "Please, missus, oh please can you help me? I'm looking real hard for my dad."
 
 His eyes were as big as two saucers; his hands looked so cold and so blue. The counsellor stooped and she clasped them. She said, "Sonny, what does your dad do?"
 
 He shrugged his frail shoulders, and answered, "Lady, I ain't got even a clue. My mama said he upped and left us, before I had even turned two."
 
 The next words he said were heart wrenching: "My mamma, you know, ain't too well. She now is too weak to go workin, cleanin’ rooms at the downtown motel. This morning the landlord came knockin’. He was mad, and he started to yell: 'You'll have to go find you a new place if you don't soon pay up your full bill.'
 
 "So I thought, that for my mamma's birthday that I'd like to go look for my dad. I know it would be the best present that my mamma ever has had. She said she don't want him to come back, but she must, cause she's always so sad. I'll tell him that we really love him, and we need him, so awfully bad."
 
 The lady, whose name was Amelia, said, "Take me now, son, to your home. Do you have any brothers or sisters, or are you and she there all alone?"
 
 "Just Mama and me," was his answer, "since my daddy took off for to roam. My mama said that's just what happened. And she told me she's glad that he's gone."
 
 Amelia smiled down at the small boy, who told her that his name was Jack. He led her on down a dark alley, through debris, to a ramshackle shack.
 
 He burst through the door and he shouted. "Hey, Mommy. It's me, and I'm back." His mother could not even answer. She was choking from a coughing attack.
 
 The mother soon went to the hospital. She knew her life nearly was through. She said to her boy, "You know, Jackie, I know God will look after you. I prayed to Him this very morning: Please show me, dear God, what to do. And then you came burstin’ in, callin’, 'I'm back, and I've brought a friend, too.'"
 
 She reached out her hand to Amelia. She said, "Please find a home for my son. Won't you see that he's love and protected? Please don't leave him with just anyone."
 
 Amelia took her hand and she held it. She told her, "Rest assured. It is done. I've found him a family who wants him. He'll have both a dad and a mom."
 
 
 
 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
 
 So Jackie went home with Amelia. God also had answered her prayer. Her huS*and and she had no children: a house without kids seems so bare.
 
 And now as she leaves work each evening, it seems she is walking on air. She knows that at home there'll be laughter; for Jack, with his new dad are there.
 
 Ever since Amelia took Jackie home to become her son, she had a new outlook on life. She took a new interest in the "cases" that came into her office each day. To her they were no longer merely names in the computer or on paper. To her they were people just like herself, who had not had the opportunities she had had. She did all she could to see to it that each case was given individual attention. It wasn't easy. She ran into political snags and red tape, but she did not rest until she knew she had done everything in her power to do the job God had given her to do.
 
 
 
 The Shack On The Side Of The Hill
 
 
 
 Back in the late 1950's we lived in a remote place in Northern British Columbia, where there was neither electricity nor running water. Our neighbors were few and far between, and often the only time we saw them was when we went past their places on our way to town. We met some colourful characters during our time there. One of the most interesting was an old gentleman whom everyone called "Grampa Rice." The story that I am about to tell, in poetry form, is a true story about this "classic" man.
 
 
 
 * * * * * * * * *
 
 
 He was just an old man with a toothless grin, a wrinkled up face and a stubbled chin. His clothes were all tattered, and his house was cold, but old Grandpa Rice had a heart made of gold.
 
 If ever a stranger would pass by Gramp’s shack, he’d rush out to greet him, and he’d call him on back. He’d holler, "Come in friend, set and chat fer a spell." Then he’d serve up some tea, and his stories he’d tell.
 
 His yarns were of the "old times", when first he "came here;" how he’d brought his new bride - oh, he loved her so dear. His eyes filled with tears as he talked of "dear Bell." He buried her there - and a wee babe, as well.
 
 With him in his shack on the side of a hill, lived a mangy old cat, and a dog he called "Bill." He existed on tea and boiled up dried beans, and the odd time he’d stew up some dandelion greens.
 
 He’d say, "Let’s go huntin’ to find us some game." Then old Bill would follow, though the poor dog was lame. If perchance they should spy a jack rabbit or mole, they would stand still and watch it run into its hole. Neither one would attempt to catch, or to kill. They both were alike -- Grandpa Rice and old Bill. The word spread around to the "animal folk" that the pair’s hunting habit were merely a joke.
 
 One day out of nowhere came a massive buck-deer. He held his head high, showing no trace of fear. He watched as the man cocked his rusty old gun. He heard him tell Bill, "Now, this’ll be fun!"
 
 Grandpa Rice, through the sight, looked the buck in the eye, then he lowered his gun, with a long weary sigh. The deer gave a snort as he trotted away; "G’bye Gramps and Bill; there’ll be no meat today!"
 
 Grandpa Rice said, "C’mon, Bill, let’s amble on home. Jist mebby I’ll find you a dried up old bone. As for me, I kin brew me some dandelion tea, and boil up some taters, maybe toss in some peas."
 
 Then on came a winter, of storm after storm. Just nothing Gramps did could get the shack warm. He ran out of tea, had no more dried beans. How he longed for a stew of dandelion greens. So, soon Grandpa Rice became terribly ill. He crawled on his cot beside Cat and old Bill.
 
 One day- - near to springtime -- a trapper named, Jack, by chance stumbled on to a shabby old shack. He ventured inside to check out the site. He thought that perhaps he could sleep there that night. But there curled together, under a mat, lay a frozen old man, a dog, and a cat.
 
 Jack won’t soon forget what he saw in that place, Old Grandpa Rice died with a smile on his face.
 
 
 * * * * * * * * *
 
 
 Now, many years later, in that very same spot, lies a pile of old lumber, and a rusted-out pot. Just stand still and listen, and listen real well. You might hear him calling, "Come set fer a spell." Amidst all the rubble on the side of that hill, lies the spirit of Gramps, his cat, and old Bill.

Lepapillon0311 · 发表于 2006-1-25 00:20:34

SHEP
 
 
 
 Shep looked big as a car to a four-year-old. He belonged to the people across the street from the Clarks who lived three houses down from us towards Oak Park. They didn't really own him. The way we looked at it, he was the property of all us little brats that lived on Oak Park Avenue during the war. My mother said he was a German Police Dog and anything German or Japanese was bad back then. I would always bring it up that we were German and she would say, "Go on outside and play."
 
 Looking back, Shep was a pretty smart dog. He could chisel you out of most of your sandwich, cookies, or whatever you had, but he couldn't get much of our Fleer's Double Bubble gum. It had just been invented and sold for a penny a piece. When Plemon's store had it, they would only allow one piece per person from a shipment. I guess sugar rationing was still on. We brats in the neighborhood -- guess there were ten or more of us -- remind me today of Our Gang, with me playing Spanky. I was always into deep doo for something, however good or bad it might be.
 
 Most of us had Radio Flyer wagons that we could pull around. They were all in different stages of disrepair, but we had figured out how to jam a stick into the spot where the handle joined the front wheel yoke and the handle would stick up about the height of Shep's back. We would tie a rope to this, then put a loop around Shep's body and he would pull us around like the stagecoach horses in the movies. We would all take turns riding when we would go to Oak Park. Each of us would get to be pulled five or so house lengths then another would get in for their turn. Seemed like this went on for the longest till one day we brats found out that the neighbors that owned him were moving and we inquired if they had kids where they were moving to for Shep to play with. They said that they wouldn't be able to take him with them and were going to give him to the pound. Talk about a bunch of unhappy kids, but when we found out that they kill dogs that are there for a few days and aren't adopted, a bowl of Prozac for breakfast wouldn't have made our spirits any better.
 
 A new family was moving in down the street. I had seen them for a few days now, going back and forth in and out of the house carrying stuff from a little trailer behind their car. They had a little girl and I noticed that she was always sitting on the porch or in the shade of a tree in the front yard and her mother carried her everywhere. Being the nosy type, I went and started asking questions, introducing myself and the rest of the gang. Then I asked if the little girl - she must have been my age - could go to the park and play with us. We all had permission to go and the mothers between here and the park watched as we made our journey to play, then returned. She told us that she had to carry Gloria everywhere because she had had polio and that she couldn't carry her that far. Bingo! We went and got a wagon, hooked it up to Shep, and rode up like Roy Rogers to save the day. We took her to the park every day, put her in the swings, pushed her on the merry-go-round, and did doubles on the seesaws because she couldn't use her legs.
 
 Then the dark day loomed, the folks were moving the next day and we didn't know what to do. We just sat around moping, sometimes crying because we were going to lose Shep. Holy Cow, they were going to kill him. We all begged our parents till they threatened us with our lives to let us adopt Shep, all to no avail.
 
 We were all sitting on the curb in front of my house, in total tears and runny noses, watching the people loading the last of their stuff when I had this brainstorm. "Let's go sneak a bunch of groceries from our houses, put them in a wagon, hook Shep up to the wagon and take them to Gloria's house, then tell her mom that if she will adopt Shep, we can keep playing with her in the park and we will furnish all his food." Her mother looked us over in silence; I guess looking at our dusty, tear-streaked faces from our sitting by the street all morning crying. I could see tears starting to well up in her eyes as she looked at the wagon piled up high with food. Cans of everything imaginable, Spam, spinach, corn, packages of bologna, loaves of bread, just everything. Shep just stood there, waiting for a command to do something. I finally said, "They are going to kill him if you don't." "Then we won't be able to take Gloria to the park and play with her either," someone else chimed in.
 
 She said, and the words hung like a dark cold cloud over us as she paused, "I guess we'll just have to keep him then." Hooray! We all started dancing around, shouting and carrying on. She finally said for us to take the food back home, that she would get regular dog food for Shep. Several of us said we didn't want to because we didn't like the stuff anyway, but she insisted.
 
 Well, time rocked on when, lo and behold, Gloria's father came home with a puppy that looked like a little Shep. He said that older dogs train younger ones to do things easier than people do and they have a better attitude toward their work when they learn from other dogs. It must be true because it wasn't long before "Miss Doogey" and Shep were competing to get hooked up to pull Gloria or any of us in the wagon. Mr. Sullivan built a miniature buggy in his garage, just like in the movies, to fit on a sidewalk. It had two poles and traces to hook up Shep and Miss Doogey, and they would bring Gloria everywhere we went so she could play with us.
 
 I have some pictures of that somewhere, probably in my mother's old cedar chest. I think I'll get one out and frame it. Might remind me from time to time why I always take food and stuff to P.A.L.S. where they save animals instead of killing them.

Lepapillon0311 · 发表于 2006-1-25 00:21:31

Find Joy In The Ordinary
 
 
 
 We played every game we knew. We ran up and down the hall. We played "find me" behind the couch. We bounced the beach ball off each other's heads. We wrestled, played tag, and danced. It was a big evening for Mom, Dad, and little Jenna. We were having so much fun that we ignored the bedtime hour and turned off the T.V. And if the storm hadn't hit, who knows how late we would have played.
 
 But then the storm hit. Rain pattered, then tapped, then slapped against the windows. The winds roared in off the Atlantic and gushed through the nearby mountains with such force that all the power went off. The adjacent valley acted as a funnel, hosing wind on the city. We all went into the bedroom and lay on the bed. In the darkness we listened to the divine orchestra. Electricity danced in the sky like a conductor's baton summoning the deep kettledrums of thunder.
 
 I sensed it as we were lying on the bed. It blew over me mixed with the sweet fragrance of fresh rain. My wife was lying silently at my side. Jenna was using my stomach for her pillow. She, too, was quiet. Our second child, only a month from birth, rested within the womb of her mother. They must have sensed it, for no one spoke. It entered our presence as if introduced by God himself. And no one dared stir for fear it would leave prematurely.
 
 What was it? An eternal instant.
 
 An instant in time that had no time. A picture that froze in mid- frame, demanding to be savored. A minute that refused to die after sixty seconds. A moment that was lifted off the time line and amplified into a forever so all the angels could witness its majesty.
 
 An eternal instant.
 
 A moment that reminds you of the treasures surrounding you. Your home. Your peace of mind. Your health. A moment that tenderly rebukes you for spending so much time on temporal preoccupations such as savings accounts, houses, and punctuality. A moment that can bring a mist to the manliest of eyes and perspective to the darkest life.
 
 Eternal instants have dotted history.
 
 It was an eternal instant when the Creator smiled and said, "It is good." It was a timeless moment when Abraham pleaded for mercy from the God of mercy, "But if there are just ten faithful." I was a moment without time when Noah pushed open the rain-soaked hatch and breathed in the clean air. And it was a moment in the "fullness of time" when a carpenter, some smelly shepherds, and an exhausted, young mother stood in silent awe at the sight of the infant in the manger.
 
 Eternal instants.
 
 You've had them. We all have. Sharing a porch swing on a summer evening with your grandchild. Seeing her face in the glow of the candle. Putting your arm into your huS*and's as you stroll through the golden leaves and breathe the brisk autumn air. Listening to your six-year-old thank God for everything from goldfish to Grandma.
 
 Such moments are necessary because they remind us that everything is okay. The King is still on the throne and life is still worth living. Eternal instants remind us that love is still the greatest possession and the future is nothing to fear.
 
 The next time an instant in your life begins to be eternal, let it. Put your head back on the pillow and soak it in. Resist the urge to cut it short. Don't interrupt the silence or shatter the solemnity. You are, in a very special way, on holy ground.
 
 
 
 Simply The Best
 
 
 
 A trip to the bookstore with my granddaughter is always a big production. She peruses the aisles for hours, touching the books, running her hands over the covers, picking them up, putting them back, looking at a few pages here and looking at a few pages there.
 
 I never realized the full importance my five-year-old Grand Angel placed on these excursions, until the day I suggested she pick the book she liked best, so we could get on home for dinner. Her response was remarkable.
 
 "But Grammy, I like them all the best. All the covers are bee-yoo-tiful and all the pictures are bee-yoo-tiful AND they're all different. Just like people. Remember when you told me about people?"
 
 I most certainly remembered when I 'told her about people'. I had explained that we are all beautiful in our own different way. Each of us has a story to tell and no two stories are the same. We learn by sharing our stories and listening to the stories of others. Difference is the thing that makes each and every one of us special.
 
 I had no idea she'd equated the lesson with books. What a wondrous revelation!
 
 A good head and shoulders taller than the bookshelves in the children's section of the store, I looked out over the sea of multi-shaped, multi-weighted, multi-colored books, with their multitude of content, and the accuracy of the equation shot straight through me.
 
 It was perfect.
 
 No one book was better than any other book. They were equally beautiful and equally special.
 
 With dinner still waiting and our stomachs beginning to growl, decision time was finally at hand. But how to choose?
 
 I hit on the right question when I asked, "Which book wants to go home the most with you today?"
 
 After a short moment of deliberation, her eyes lit up. She ran to a specific book and removed it from its place on the shelf.
 
 The deciding factor was the picture on the cover, a turtle with sad eyes. "We need to find out why the turtle's eyes are sad."
 
 Later, snuggled deep in the covers of her bed, that's exactly what we did.

Lepapillon0311 · 发表于 2006-1-25 00:22:38

The Winner
 
 
 
 I was watching some little kids play soccer. These kids were only five or six years old, but they were playing a real game - - a serious game _ two teams, complete with coaches, uniforms, and parents. I didn't know any of them, so I was able to enjoy the game without the distraction of being anxious about winning or losing - I wished the parents and coaches could have done the same.
 
 The teams were pretty evenly matched. I will just call them Team One and Team Two. Nobody scored in the first period. The kids were hilarious. They were clumsy and terribly inefficient. They fell over their own feet, they stumbled over the ball, they kicked at the ball and missed it but they didn't seem to care. They were having fun.
 
 In the second quarter, the Team One coach pulled out what must have been his first team and put in the scrubs, except for his best player who now guarded the goal.
 
 The game took a dramatic turn. I guess winning is important even when you're five years old -- because the Team Two coach left his best players in, and the Team One scrubs were no match for them. Team Two swarmed around the little guy who was now the Team One goalie. He was an outstanding athlete, but he was no match for three or four who were also very good. Team Two began to score. The lone goalie gave it everything he had, recklessly throwing his body in front of incoming balls, trying valiantly to stop them.
 
 Team Two scored two goals in quick succession. It infuriated the young boy. He became a raging maniac -- shouting, running, diving. With all the stamina he could muster, he covered the boy who now had the ball, but that boy kicked it to another boy twenty feet away, and by the time he repositioned himself, it was too late -- they scored a third goal.
 
 I soon learned who the goalie's parents were. They were nice, decent-looking people. I could tell that his dad had just come from the office -- he still had his suit and tie on. They yelled encouragement to their son. I became totally absorbed, watching the boy on the field and his parents on the sidelines. After the third goal, the little kid changed. He could see it was no use; he couldn't stop them.
 
 He didn't quit, but he became quietly desperate futility was written all over him. His father changed too. He had been urging his son to try harder - yelling advice and encouragement. But then he changed. He became anxious. He tried to say that it was okay - to hang in there. He grieved for the pain his son was feeling.
 
 After the fourth goal, I knew what was going to happen. I've seen it before. The little boy needed help so badly, and there was no help to be had. He retrieved the ball from the net and handed to the referee - and then he cried. He just stood there while huge tears rolled down both cheeks. He went to his knees and put his fists to his eyes - and he cried the tears of the helpless and brokenhearted.
 
 When the boy went to his knees, I saw the father start onto the field. His wife clutched his arm and said, "Jim, don't. You'll embarrass him." But he tore loose from her and ran onto the field. He wasn't supposed to - the game was still in progress. Suit, tie, dress shoes, and all - he charged onto the field, and he picked up his son so everybody would know that this was his boy, and he hugged him and held him and cried with him. I've never been so proud of a man in my life.
 
 He carried him off the field, and when he got close to the sidelines I heard him say, "Scotty, I'm so proud of you. You were great out there. I want everybody to know that you are my son." "Daddy," the boy sobbed, "I couldn't stop them. I tried, Daddy, I tried and tried, and they scored on me."
 
 "Scotty, it doesn't matter how many times they scored on you. You're my son, and I'm proud of you. I want you to go back out there and finish the game. I know you want to quit, but you can't. And, son, you're going to get scored on again, but it doesn't matter. Go on, now." It made a difference - I could tell it did.
 
 When you're all alone, and you're getting scored on - and you can't stop them - it means a lot to know that it doesn't matter to those who love you. The little guy ran back on to the field - and they scored two more times - but it was okay.
 
 I get scored on every day. I try so hard. I recklessly throw my body in every direction. I fume and rage. I struggle with temptation and sin with every ounce of my being - and Satan laughs. And he scores again, and the tears come, and I go to my knees - sinful, convicted, helpless.
 
 And my Father - my Father rushes right out on the field - right in front of the whole crowd - the whole jeering, laughing world - and he picks me up, and he hugs me and he says, "I'm so proud of you. You were great out there. I want everybody to know that you are my son, and because I control the outcome of this game, I declare you -- The Winner."
 
 
 It Was In Your Eyes
 
 
 
 It was a bitter, cold evening in northern Virginia many years ago. The old man's beard was glazed by winter's frost while he waited for a ride across the river. The wait seemed endless. His body became numb and stiff from the frigid north wind.
 
 He heard the faint, steady rhythm of approaching hooves galloping along the frozen path. Anxiously, he watched as several horsemen rounded the bend. He let the first one pass by without an effort to get his attention. Then another passed by, and another. Finally, the last rider neared the spot where the old man sat like a snow statue. As this one drew near, the old man caught the rider's eye and said, "Sir, would you mind giving an old man a ride to the other side? There doesn't appear to be a passageway by foot."
 
 Reining his horse, the rider replied, "Sure thing. Hop aboard." Seeing the old man was unable to lift his half-frozen body from the ground, the horseman dismounted and helped the old man onto the horse. The horseman took the old man not just across the river, but to his destination, which was just a few miles away.
 
 As they neared the tiny but cozy cottage, the horseman's curiosity caused him to inquire, "Sir, I notice that you let several other riders pass by without making an effort to secure a ride. Then I came up and you immediately asked me for a ride. I'm curious why, on such a bitter winter night, you would wait and ask the last rider. What if I had refused and left you there?"
 
 The old man lowered himself slowly down from the horse, looked the rider straight in the eyes, and replied, "I've been around these here parts for some time. I reckon I know people pretty good." The old-timer continued, "I looked into the eyes of the other riders and immediately saw there was no concern for my situation. It would have been useless even to ask them for a ride. But when I looked into your eyes, kindness and compassion were evident. I knew, then and there, that your gentle spirit would welcome the opportunity to give me assistance in my time of need."
 
 Those heartwarming comments touched the horseman deeply.
 
 "I'm most grateful for what you have said," he told the old man. "May I never get too busy in my own affairs that I fail to respond to the needs of others with kindness and compassion."
 
 With that, Thomas Jefferson turned his horse around and made his way back to the White House.

Lepapillon0311 · 发表于 2006-1-25 17:24:02

Banishing a Ghost
 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 The wife of a man became very sick. On her deathbed, she said to him, "I love you so much! I don't want to leave you, and I don't want you to betray me. Promise that you will not see any other women once I die, or I will come back to haunt you."
 
 For several months after her death, the huS*and did avoid other women, but then he met someone and fell in love. On the night that they were engaged to be married, the ghost of his former wife appeared to him. She blamed him for not keeping the promise, and every night thereafter she returned to taunt him. The ghost would remind him of everything that transpired between him and his fiancee that day, even to the point of repeating, word for word, their conversations. It upset him so badly that he couldn't sleep at all.
 
 Desperate, he sought the advice of a Zen master who lived near the village. "This is a very clever ghost," the master said upon hearing the man's story. "It is!" replied the man. "She remembers every detail of what I say and do. It knows everything!" The master smiled, "You should admire such a ghost, but I will tell you what to do the next time you see it."
 
 That night the ghost returned. The man responded just as the master had advised. "You are such a wise ghost," the man said, "You know that I can hide nothing from you. If you can answer me one question, I will break off the engagement and remain single for the rest of my life." "Ask your question," the ghost replied. The man scooped up a handful of beans from a large bag on the floor, "Tell me exactly how many beans there are in my hand."
 
 At that moment the ghost disappeared and never returned.
 
 
 
 People's reactions to this story:
 "Ghosts are just human and can't know or do anything that a human can't."
 
 "No one knows everything. Not even a spirit. You can be wise in some ways, but not in all ways."
 
 "The ghost kept coming back because the man was always impressed by how it seemed to know everything. It had power over him. But when he finally stood up to it, and challenged it, the ghost disappeared forever."
 
 "The ghost is actually a part of the man. So it couldn't know anything that the man himself didn't know."
 
 "The ghost comes from the man's own mind. He created it. It is his own guilt that came back to haunt him."
 
 "The reason something haunts us is because we keep our attention on it. When we move on beyond it it will disappear."
 
 "To me, this story just shows that souls have memories, but not enlightenment."
 
 "I don't like the ending. I read the story with high expectations, but felt let down in the
 end."
 
 "Why didn't the ghost know that the man had seen a Zen master?"
 
 "If the wife really loved the huS*and, how could she subject him to such a promise?"
 
 "Everything the ghost knew didn't amount to a handful of beans!"
 
 
 Spider
 
 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 A Tibetan story tells of a meditation student who, while meditating in his room, believed he saw a spider descending in front of him. Each day the menacing creature returned, growing larger and larger each time. So frightened was the student, that he went to his teacher to report his dilemma. He said he planned to place a knife in his lap during meditation, so when the spider appeared he would kill it. The teacher advised him against this plan. Instead, he suggested, bring a piece of chalk to meditation, and when the spider appeared, mark an "X" on its belly. Then report back.
 The student returned to his meditation. When the spider again appeared, he resisted the urge to attack it, and instead did just what the master suggested. When he later reported back to the master, the teacher told him to lift up his shirt and look at his own belly. There was the "X".
 
 
 
 
 
 People's reactions to this story:
 "Always look at yourself first."
 
 "This guy obviously doesn't have great self-esteem or self-worth. He is afraid and ashamed of what he is. He can't face the reality that he doesn't like who he is."
 
 "The spider could represent the evil within himself - or the evil all around us in the world."
 
 "We are our own worst enemy. It is our own self that is the greatest threat to our own existence - now that's a paradox, isn't it?"
 
 "This story reminds me of The Scarlet Letter."
 
 "Humans, by their very nature, seem to want to destroy those things that they don't understand and fear."
 
 "I guess the message is that we shouldn't kill any other being, including animals and insects. Everything that is alive has a right to live. The spider and the student BOTH have the "X" of life on them. So if he killed the spider, he would be killing one of his own kind."
 
 "This reminds me off we cannot see something about ourselves that is right there in front of us - like the day I heard a psychologist say that we usually marry someone like our same-sex parent. A bell went off in my head because I suddenly realized I had married A MAN who was just like my mother!"
 
 "The spider symbolizes a deep seeded guilt or frustration within the student. These problems are growing larger as the spider grows. Until he lets out his problems, this spider will always be there to threaten him."
 
 "Don't always be so ready to kill. Take a different approach. In the end it will save your own life."
 
 "This story teaches you that it is best NOT to jump to conclusions. Don't judge things by appearance alone."
 
 "Apparently this teacher has taken a few psychology courses. But I think the story would have been more interesting if the student DID stab himself. Whatever the problem is that he is facing, it is increasing to the point where it must destroy him, or he must destroy it."
 
 "I bet this student was suicidal to start off with."
 
 "I think the spider symbolizes the student growing more focused and immersed into his meditation - so much so that he is seeing himself. But that scares him, because he doesn't know that he is looking at himself, and no one wants to really look at oneself."
 
 
 Dreaming
 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 The great Taoist master Chuang Tzu once dreamt that he was a butterfly fluttering here and there. In the dream he had no awareness of his individuality as a person. He was only a butterfly. Suddenly, he awoke and found himself laying there, a person once again. But then he thought to himself, "Was I before a man who dreamt about being a butterfly, or am I now a butterfly who dreams about being a man?"
 
 People's reactions to this story:
 "I can identify with this story. Many times I have awakened from a dream and didn't know, for a moment, what was real and what was the dream."
 
 "Dreams are weird. Are they trying to tell us something. If so, how are we to know what they mean?"
 
 "You are who you perceive yourself to be."
 
 "I've sometimes dreamed that I could fly. It's such a wonderful, free feeling. It seemed so real."
 
 "This Zen master had an out-of-body experience, and now isn't sure about his identity."
 
 "When you're a butterfly, there are no worries. You can flutter around without a care in the world. Perhaps this monk is wishing there were not so many responsibilities and barriers in his life."
 
 "I think this Zen master wants some peace and quiet in his life. He wishes he were a normal person and not a Zen master with so many demands put on him by others."
 
 "I think it's important for us to have dreams, but always remember that reality is much more important."
 
 "Sounds like this guy conforms to what others think of him and allows them to govern his life."
 
 "In my opinion, this is the kind of question asked by people who are struggling with their sense of individuality and self esteem."
 
 "Only you know who you are - and sometimes it takes some soul-searching to find that identity."
 
 "We should be content with who we are. If we try to be someone or something else, we will lose our sense of identity."
 
 "I sometimes wonder whether we really exist as people, or whether we are only dreaming our lives. And if we are dreaming, when and how will we wake up?"
 
 "It would be strange if our life were really part of someone else's dream. Our lives might seem long and tedious, but it would pass in the blink of an eye for that dreaming person."
 
 "Are we really just living out someone else's dream or fantasy? I think that everyone at one time or another feels this kind of detachment from their lives."
 
 "It's funny how we sometimes have to pinch ourselves to make sure we're really ourselves, to make sure we really exist. It's just like watching a movie, except in real life you don't follow a script."
 
 "This reminds me of a philosophy course I once took. We discussed reality and how we know that we really exist. All I can remember from the course is 'I think therefore I am.'"
 
 "Is this really reality? Or are we ALL dreaming this?"
 
 "Thinking about this kind of thing for too long can drive you crazy."
 
 "Blah, blah, blah. Philosophical babble..."
 
 "I think this story has to do with being close to nature, and not forgetting that humans are as much a part of nature as a butterfly. Ultimately, we are all equal and should treat each other as equals."
 
 "This story reminds me of Kafka's Metamorphosis. What would it be like if I woke up one morning and found that I had been completed transformed? Could I make a smooth transition into my new existence, or would I be really screwed up?"
 
 "This story is a wake-up call for all those preoccupied with materialism and the mundane."
 
 "I think that this Zen master is thinking too much. How can a butterfly dream?"
 
 "This person is schizophrenic, and is having trouble distinguishing reality."
 
 "Dumb! How can he not know whether he is a butterfly or not!?"
 
 "Do butterflies really dream like humans, or is this monk just anthropomorphizing?"
 
 "I can't think about this too long, because it will control my mind for the rest of the week."
 
 "It's not important if what I perceive is a dream or if I'm someone elses reality or not. What matters is the principle of doing the right thing with the situations, real or not, I am confronted with."
 
 "Why would a man want to be a butterfly, or a butterfly a man?"
 
 "Reality is one's perception of reality, nothing more."

Lepapillon0311 · 发表于 2006-1-25 17:26:37

Knowing Fish
 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 One day Chuang Tzu and a friend were walking by a river. "Look at the fish swimming about," said Chuang Tzu, "They are really enjoying themselves."
 "You are not a fish," replied the friend, "So you can't truly know that they are enjoying themselves."
 
 "You are not me," said Chuang Tzu. "So how do you know that I do not know that the fish are enjoying themselves?"
 
 
 (A western version of this story describes two philosophers on a walk while discussing phenomenology. One of them kicks a dog and says, "See! This dog is experiencing pain".... etc.)
 
 
 People's reactions to this story:
 Does any of us realy know anyone else's true-sself or soul?
 You never say no to know because the truth can't be false.
 
 Only THE fish knows the fishes heart...and even then it does not Know.
 
 "I'm just assuming that, being of my kind, you're not any closer to a fish than I am."
 
 "The fish in this story doesn't actually exist because, according to our spiritual leader Aristotle, all fish in this world are only imperfect copies of a sublime fish in a different world."
 
 "This reminds me of some time spent in Scotland learning to fly fish. The secret to catching fish is to think like a fish. Disembodiment is the answer and the Tao of being the fish."
 
 "does a fish have buddha nature?"
 
 "I read an article in a fly-fishing magazine where the author (a zen philosopher name Lefty Kreh, I believe) said that you catch the fish by setting the hook just *before* you feel the strike. It took about four years of active contemplation at a local trout stream before I understand what he meant well enough do this with any consistency. Perhaps Chuang Tzu had spent more time at the trout stream than his friend."
 
 "The story is about the fundamental problem that has been treated by all big religions and philosphers. It is the question of the relationship between subject and object. Logically we will not be able to tackle this "everlasting" problem, but maybe there other ways."
 
 "To think like a fish, you have to drink like a fish"
 
 "If these guys were enlightened, wouldn't they just enjoy the fish without trying to figure out what the fish, or each other, are thinking? Would these guys be thinking at all? Come to think of it, if I'm enlightened, why am I thinking about this? And if I'm a fish, who is wondering if I'm enjoying this experience? Myself? Can I stand on the bank and watch myself as if I'm a fish?"
 
 "Read Lord Alexander's 'The remarkable Journey of Prince Jen'! This story and the butterfly dream shows up there and the whole book is about enlightenment!"
 
 "We each have our own individual perceptions of reality."
 
 "Chuang Tzu is not his friend, how can he know that his friend does not know? But I am not Chuang Tzu, how do I know that Chuang Tzu does not know that his friend does not know?"
 
 
 Not Dead Yet
 
 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
 The Emperor asked Master Gudo, "What happens to a man of enlightenment after death?"
 "How should I know?" replied Gudo.
 
 "Because you are a master," answered the Emperor.
 
 "Yes sir," said Gudo, "but not a dead one."
 
 
 
 
 People's reactions to this story:
 "Knowledgeable people are not afraid to say "I don't know" regarding things that they _cannot_ know. Observe all that you can. Do not invent what you cannot know."
 
 "This story seems to me to be saying that we should rely on our own experience. That is the only thing that we truly "know". The master could not talk about what happened to an enlightened man after death because he had never experienced death."
 
 Why should the emperor care? If he doesn't know, he's not enlightened and shouldn't try to act enlightened because he's not!!!
 
 "I believe that this story is trying to tell us that first hand experience is the only kind of knowlage we can truely have."
 
 "I guess that the master is still not enlightened completely."
 
 A wise man knows that he is not wise-just like Socrates.
 
 The truely wise are not afraid to say "I don't know."
 
 To know that you know what you know is all anyone can really know!!
 
 Your alive so mind your own business!
 
 I think master Gudo wants the emporer to realise he should not think of the future but now.
 
 The future is unforseeable and the past is but dead images, we only really experience the present moment.
 
 When one answers a question with another question that person is avoiding answering the question. Maybe the Zen master knows the answer and doesn't want to share it with the Emperor.
 
 Sometimes, if you have to answer a question with a question, maybe more thought should have been put into it before it was spoken.
 
 A fool can ask more questions than a wise man can answer.
 
 I think this story is beautiful. It states,very briefly, the great flaws I see with traditional western religions. They all promise life after death and eternal bliss-worshipping God. But they miss the point--it doesn't matter what happens after death if we live our lives right.
 
 Cross each bridge when you get to it.
 
 "The World of the Living and the World of the Dead....so close but yet so far."
 
 Just shows that you shouldn't trust all the quacks who claim to know everything about the afterlife!
 
 
 Bell Teacher
 
 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
 
 A new student approached the Zen master and asked how he should prepare himself for his training. "Think of me a bell," the master explained. "Give me a soft tap, and you will get a tiny ping. Strike hard, and you'll receive a loud, resounding peal."
 
 
 
 People's reactions to this story:
 "You get out of something what you put into it."
 
 "The more you try, the more a good teacher will help."
 
 "The more students needs a teacher, the more the good teacher will be there for them."
 
 "Be careful what you ask for. The universe may just provide you with what you seek."
 
 "You can think of the master as life. You get out what you put in. If you look for and are really open to beauty and happiness, they are everywhere. If you huddle miserably somewhere, it will all pass you by without you're even noticing."
 
 "Sounds like the master is saying pay me a lot, and I will help you a lot; pay me little, and that's what I'll give you in return."
 
 "Give and you shall receive."
 
 "I think the teacher was warning the student that if he is struck he will strike back with equal force."
 
 "All the student needs to know is within himself. The master will guide him to that knowledge by reflecting the thoughts, feelings, and questions that the student puts out to him."
 
 "When I become a teacher, I'll use this story when a student questions my purpose or integrity."
 
 
 Wanting God
 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 A hermit was meditating by a river when a young man interrupted him. "Master, I wish to become your disciple," said the man. "Why?" replied the hermit. The young man thought for a moment. "Because I want to find God."
 
 The master jumped up, grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, dragged him into the river, and plunged his head under water. After holding him there for a minute, with him kicking and struggling to free himself, the master finally pulled him up out of the river. The young man coughed up water and gasped to get his breath. When he eventually quieted down, the master spoke. "Tell me, what did you want most of all when you were under water."
 
 "Air!" answered the man.
 
 "Very well," said the master. "Go home and come back to me when you want God as much as you just wanted air."
 
 
 
 People's reactions to this story:
 "Sometimes people aren't serious when it comes to God and religion. They should be willing to dedicate their whole lives to him if they are truly serious. You must do it with passion."
 
 "For the young man to truly want God he must put all other wishes and needs aside. God must become the center of his life."
 
 "This reminds me of the passages in the Bible when Jesus tells people that they must give up everything in order to follow him to God."
 
 "This life needs to take the backseat if you pursue God. If you are seriously pursuing God, you are preparing for the afterlife."
 
 "A person who really wants God and has lived a righteous life should not fear death. The young man doesn't want to get close to God, he wants to live. Anyone who wants God should expect death at any moment and know that this death will bring him closer to God, if he has lived a good life."
 
 "The will to live is sometimes stronger than wanting God in your life."
 
 "Any person who truly wished to find God would immediately think of him when they were almost drowned!"
 
 " People sometimes want something but are afraid to give something else up in order to achieve it."
 
 "This is a reality check. Wanting God means becoming his servant. You have to put your priorities in order and know 100% what you are looking for, and what you will sacrifice along the way."
 
 "Reminds me of sports - you can say you want to be the best, but you have to really want it to accomplish it. Takes practice and hard work. Anyone can just say it."
 
 "Of course the young man wanted air - he was being drowned! That would have been any normal person's response!... But does that mean that any normal person wants God?"
 
 "If you want to find God bad enough, you don't need someone else's help."
 
 "This hermit has a bug up his ass. He wants fanatical followers or none at all. He SHOULD stay away from people."
 
 "The hermit was a bit extreme. How is the man supposed to find God at home if he has already gone looking. This story makes me angry."
 
 "What was the hermit going to do? Was he going to kill the young man to see how much he wanted to be with God?"
 
 "The hermit wanted to know if the young man could trust him."
 
 "Like air, God helps us and makes us able to breathe life."
 
 "God is not an essential for life, like air is. It's something that people only think they need. If everyone found out tomorrow that there really is a god, or that there isn't, we'd all go on living the same way anyhow."
 
 "This story seems totally irrelevant to me."
 
 "This story focuses on the difference between needs and wants."
 
 "People always want something in life. They're never satisfied with what they have."
 
 "This story shows the frivolity with which people, and societies, go about life without any compassion for anything. It seems like it's only in times of crisis or depression that people are able to FEEL for anyone. We don't appreciate the everyday phenomena with the zest we should."
 
 "I wonder if God would expect the man to want him more than air."
 
 "Why doesn't God make himself known to me? Why must I pursue Him?"

Lepapillon0311 · 发表于 2006-1-25 17:27:44

Gutei's Finger
 
 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
 Whenever anyone asked him about Zen, the great master Gutei would quietly raise one finger into the air. A boy in the village began to imitate this behavior. Whenever he heard people talking about Gutei's teachings, he would interrupt the discussion and raise his finger. Gutei heard about the boy's mischief. When he saw him in the street, he seized him and cut off his finger. The boy cried and began to run off, but Gutei called out to him. When the boy turned to look, Gutei raised his finger into the air. At that moment the boy became enlightened.
 
 
 
 People's reactions to this story:
 "I don't get this at all."
 
 "I guess Gutei doesn't believe that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery."
 
 "I like this story, for some reason, but I don't know what it means."
 
 "Gutei is just trying to dominate and control the kid."
 
 "Whose finger did Gutei hold up at the end - the boy's or his own?"
 
 "Did the boy become enlightened because of Gutei, or just because his finger got cut off."
 
 "This story hurts!"
 
 "Yuck!"
 
 "Weird!"
 
 "You can't imitate or own enlightenment."
 
 "Imitation is no substitute for real knowledge and truth."
 
 "When you lose the single most important thing that means enlightenment to you, maybe that's when you REALLY become enlightened."
 
 "You don't know what you've got till it's gone."
 
 "I don't entirely understand this story, but I do believe that the finger pointed in the air might represent "one", as in "not two"..
 
 "In the end the boy realized Gutei uses his index finger, not his middle finger. Gutei took exception to the boy using his middle finger."
 
 "I sense that this story does tell a great truth, but I just can't see it in the darkness inside my head. I guess if I were enlightened, I could."
 
 "When you can no longer point at truth, maybe that's when you see it most clearly."
 
 "Stories like this make me want to lash out. Gutei becomes the enlightener, when maybe he should just lighten up. Now we know the reason for lawyers, To sew crazy old self appointed wise men that carry pocket knives."
 
 
 Just Two Words
 
 
 
 There once was a monastery that was very strict. Following a vow of silence, no one was allowed to speak at all. But there was one exception to this rule. Every ten years, the monks were permitted to speak just two words. After spending his first ten years at the monastery, one monk went to the head monk. "It has been ten years," said the head monk. "What are the two words you would like to speak?"
 "Bed... hard..." said the monk.
 
 "I see," replied the head monk.
 
 Ten years later, the monk returned to the head monk's office. "It has been ten more years," said the head monk. "What are the two words you would like to speak?"
 
 "Food... stinks..." said the monk.
 
 "I see," replied the head monk.
 
 Yet another ten years passed and the monk once again met with the head monk who asked, "What are your two words now, after these ten years?"
 
 "I... quit!" said the monk.
 
 "Well, I can see why," replied the head monk. "All you ever do is complain."
 
 
 
 
 ( This story is a favorite in many western monasteries. It may or may not be an original Zen tale. Like any good anecdote, it makes us laugh, but also encourages us to think about why it is funny .)
 
 
 
 People's reactions to this story:
 If all you ever do is complain you can't expect to cross the finish line, you'll convince yourself otherwise first.
 
 "I heard this story, originally, from my father who heard it from a Francisican Abbot. The chuckle it evokes is welcome, of course, but it does beg the question - Why was the monk there in the first place if he refused to let go of physical, mundane and certainly egocentric concerns and not search for universal truth?"
 
 "stop...complaining."
 
 "I believe that we have the choice to either focus on the positive aspects of our lives or dwell of the negatives. He obviously chose the negatives and therefore was not accomplishing much - he was basically wasting his time with negative preoccupations."
 
 "Ha! Ha!"
 
 "The thing that makes it humourous and enjoyable is not the fact that the monk should not have been there in the first place , it's that he stayed thirty years before he left. This makes us realise that if we were in that situation then we would have simply walked out and not have waited another ten years!"
 
 "When eating, eat; when sitting, sit. These are not complaints. They are the moment. It would seem the head monk has no awareness...and talks too much!"
 
 "Enough's enough."
 
 "The head monk is shallow. The monk was enlightened."
 
 "The punchline of this story is certainly very Western. But if you look deeper, it deals with the basis of self deprivation. After thirty years the younger monk had learnt nothing. The head monk was understandably disappointed. And it was about time the younger one left."
 
 "Although he spoke only six words in thirty years, the monk did nothing but complain the whole time - in his head. That's why he had nothing better to say when he had the chance."
 
 "Although the monk only said two words every 10 years, he constantly thought of unimportant things, instead of focusing on what he was being silent for."
 
 "It's just funny............period. Quit analizing and enjoy a moment you people!"
 
 "Thank You"
 
 
 Elephant and Flea
 
 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
 Roshi Kapleau agreed to educate a group of psychoanalysts about Zen. After being introduced to the group by the director of the analytic institute, the Roshi quietly sat down upon a cushion placed on the floor. A student entered, prostrated before the master, and then seated himself on another cushion a few feet away, facing his teacher. "What is Zen?" the student asked. The Roshi produced a banana, peeled it, and started eating. "Is that all? Can't you show me anything else?" the student said. "Come closer, please," the master replied. The student moved in and the Roshi waved the remaining portion of the banana before the student's face. The student prostrated, and left.
 A second student rose to address the audience. "Do you all understand?" When there was no response, the student added, "You have just witnessed a first-rate demonstration of Zen. Are there any questions?"
 
 After a long silence, someone spoke up. "Roshi, I am not satisfied with your demonstration. You have shown us something that I am not sure I understand. It must be possible to TELL us what Zen is."
 
 "If you must insist on words," the Roshi replied, "then Zen is an elephant copulating with a flea."
 
 
 
 
 People's reactions to this story:
 "What an image this story brings to mind! I see that the infinite universe as large as that may be, is equally matched by the infinite microscopic world, joining the two in perfect harmony."
 
 "On a first reading, the final line suggests that Zen is profane or absurd. Surely this cannot be what the Roshi intended to convey. Perhaps what the Roshi means is that putting Zen into words is profane or absurd."
 
 "Some things are better learned through observation....Words only skew ones ability to establish an honest and personal opinion."
 
 "Describe the colour red to a man who has been blind from birth. Zen is more than words, fitting it into the confinement of language is like an elephant trying to copulate with a flea. It just wouldn't fit."
 
 "Zen is Zen and if you understood it you would not ask."
 
 "He is saying in symbolism how futile it is to understand Zen if you believe you can learn it through words when the only way to truly understand is through actions and feelings. This story realy makes you think."
 
 "Maybe Its inconceivable!"
 
 "To attempt to put Zen into words is as impossible as an elephant copulating with a Flea."
 
 "On top of a flagpole a cow gives birth to a calf."
 
 "My reaction to the story is that trying to explain Zen in words, or even with observations, is as impossible as an 'elephant copulation with a flea.' Also, to be able to explain meaning of Zen in words is an admission that one does not understand the meaning of Zen."
 
 "This reminds me of the story of the Master who asked his student to comment on a skein of geese flying overhead. The student said they were flying South for winter - the Master beat him. The student then said they were coming from the North and the same happened. he tried again and again and each time the student's attempt at description was rewarded with a beating. The point being that the student could not describe what he saw only what his belief systems told him what the geese might be doing. Words are often not sufficient, observation and inner understanding may be the only path."
 
 "The Roshi's imagery is spot on: Zen is impossible to explain in the talk, talk, talk of psycoanalysis."
 
 "The Roshi was certainly in a state of transe when he ate the banana because of its taste. Then he wanted to share its smell, waving it to the student. But the student didn't used the right sense and expected an answer from his ears instead of his nose. Anyway the one that was enlightened in this story was certainly the flea...."
 
 "This story is kind-of confusing, but I think it's saying that actions speak louder than words. If only people would stop and listen."
 
 "What I'd like to know is, was the flea on top?"
 
 
 Books
 
 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
 Once there was a well known philosopher and scholar who devoted himself to the study of Zen for many years. On the day that he finally attained enlightenment, he took all of his books out into the yard, and burned them all.
 
 
 
 People's reactions to this story:
 "The most important things in life you can't learn through books. You have to learn them through experience."
 
 "Life's most important lessons have to be learned for oneself, not from what other people have said."
 
 "It's your own thoughts that are important. Everything else is indoctrination from others."
 
 "Once you have gained a true understanding of something, the knowledge will be with you for the rest of your life. You'll never have to study it again."
 
 "The reason that he burned the books was because he felt that he had learned all that he could possibly could from them and that it was time to move on and learn from life itself."
 
 "One you attain a goal, you no longer need the methods that helped you get there."
 
 "Did he burn the books because he realized their uselessness. Or did he burn them because he thought there was no more knowledge left in them to gain? I get the feeling that maybe he WASN'T very enlightened."
 
 "I guess the scholar felt he was done with his studies, and didn't need his books anymore."
 
 "All systems of knowledge (conceptual beliefs), including this one, limit perception."
 
 "I don't know what enlightenment is, but I do know that you never stop learning and growing. Besides, what if the Zen master forgets something later on, and has to look it up?"
 
 "Sounds like he wanted to rid himself of his former life."
 
 "Nothing wrong with that. I'm sure the fire was pretty cool."
 
 "This story stirs up mixed feelings in me about school. Will it all be worth it when I'm done?
 Sometimes I just feel like giving up."
 
 "This reminds me of the Pearl of Great Price story from the Bible. A man sold everything he owned to buy this pearl, and did so joyfully."
 
 "I guess once you attain perfect knowledge, you don't need to read anymore."
 
 "Why burn the knowledge attained?! Knowledge must be saved for the future. A mind can only store away so much information."
 
 "Learn it, know it _LIVE_ it!" My drill instructor in basic training knew & taught this. I do recall that he felt the need to add a few extra embellishments to be sure we were paying attention :-) "
 
 "Maybe he realized with his enlightened mind that he was cold."
 
 "I could never bring myself to burn a book! It's almost like burning the person who wrote it."
 
 "Words, words, words..... They're not reality anyhow. They're just words."

Lepapillon0311 · 发表于 2006-1-25 17:30:13

Empty Your Cup
 
 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
 A university professor went to visit a famous Zen master. While the master quietly served tea, the professor talked about Zen. The master poured the visitor's cup to the brim, and then kept pouring. The professor watched the overflowing cup until he could no longer restrain himself. "It's overfull! No more will go in!" the professor blurted. "You are like this cup," the master replied, "How can I show you Zen unless you first empty your cup."
 
 
 
 People's reactions to this story:
 "You cannot learn anything if you already feel that you know."
 
 "Preconceived ideas and prejudices always prevent us from seeing the truth."
 
 "You should open your mind before you open your mouth."
 
 "The master is trying to tell him to ease back and relax. The professor is too anxious about the whole thing."
 
 "Some people want to be taught everything in one sitting. It's not possible."
 
 "This story proves to me that you have to unlearn before you can learn."
 
 "We shouldn't get too wrapped up in one aspect of life. If we do, we close ourselves off to new experiences."
 
 "Even though you may be full of knowledge, you should always be open to the fact that there is still more to learn."
 
 "I bet the master did that just to shut the professor up!"
 
 "If you want to learn, you have to shut up and LISTEN for a change."
 
 "We should be open to the views of others, and accept them as their own. Treat each opinion individually, and don't just add it to your own."
 
 "Sometimes another person has to catch you with your guard down in order to teach you something."
 
 "The professor's understanding of Zen is too intellectualized. The master is trying to point him towards a more intuitive understanding . If you're too intellectualized about ANY subject, often you miss the boat."
 
 "I would tell this story to anyone who believed something about me that was untrue."
 
 "I think the master was trying to show him that when you can no longer take it is time to give - and you must sometimes give in order to receive."
 
 "This professor probably doesn't really believe in Zen. His prejudices are preventing him from seeing clearly. This is what the master is trying to show him."
 
 "Too much of anything is just too much!"
 
 "I don't think the professor's reaction indicated that he had a closed mind. It was perfectly normal. Wouldn't you do the same if someone was spilling tea all over the place?"
 
 
 
 No More Questions
 
 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
 Upon meeting a Zen master at a social event, a psychiatrist decided to ask him a question that had been on his mind. "Exactly how do you help people?" he inquired.
 
 "I get them where they can't ask any more questions," the Master answered.
 
 
 
 People's reactions to this story:
 "To have no questions is to be at peace with oneself."
 
 "He who is all-knowing will never be helpless."
 
 "If you can answer the questions in your own head, you are on the road to recovery."
 
 "When all of your questions in life are answered, you will become a full and complete person."
 
 "Does this mean that asking questions is bad?! Getting them to the point where they can't ask questions is good!?.... I don't get it!"
 
 "A person always needs to answer questions because this is how we grown and learn!"
 
 "How do you get a child to stop asking questions? This will make people feel inferior. Is this really what the master wants?"
 
 "If you can teach a person to answer his own questions, then he will be at peace with himself."
 
 "I can't imagine reaching a state of consciousness where I'd be free from the desire to ask questions about anything. Is it possible?"
 
 "I believe that the Zen master is also implying that his job is never complete. People will continue to ask questions until they die..."
 
 "All of our questions come from the fact that we are discontent about something. When we reach the place where we don't have to ask any more questions, we can just "be" and transcend our earthly problems."
 
 "I think the Master found it to be an absurd question coming from a trained specialist, hoping he would go away and think of how juvenile the question was."
 
 "Sometimes it's better not to dwell on questions, but just to accept."
 
 
 
 Egotism
 
 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
 The Prime Minister of the Tang Dynasty was a national hero for his success as both a statesman and military leader. But despite his fame, power, and wealth, he considered himself a humble and devout Buddhist. Often he visited his favorite Zen master to study under him, and they seemed to get along very well. The fact that he was prime minister apparently had no effect on their relationship, which seemed to be simply one of a revered master and respectful student.
 
 One day, during his usual visit, the Prime Minister asked the master, "Your Reverence, what is egotism according to Buddhism?" The master's face turned red, and in a very condescending and insulting tone of voice, he shot back, "What kind of stupid question is that!?"
 
 This unexpected response so shocked the Prime Minister that he became sullen and angry. The Zen master then smiled and said, "THIS, Your Excellency, is egotism."
 
 
 
 People's reactions to this story:
 "The best way to learn something is not by having it explained to you, but by EXPERIENCING it yourself, firsthand."
 
 "Actions speak louder than words."
 
 "It's interesting that the Zen master referred to his student as 'Your Excellency' just before he zaps him with the egotism comment. I wonder if he ever called the Prime Minister that before the Prime Minister asked the question about egotism."
 
 "People need to put aside their petty titles in order to really relate to each other. Titles are very egotistical... But then, you also should never forget who you are."
 
 "This story illustrates how enlightenment does not put the master above the student. They relate to each other as equals, including BOTH of them acting egotistical."
 
 "Egotism is a large part of who we be, Without it I'm sure the daily obits would take up most of the paper. I think I was more frightened that a man in his position would ask such a question. Fictional I Hope!"
 
 "I think the message of the story is that people already know the answer to most questions that they ask. Many questions are egotistical in themselves."
 
 "Whenever we call someone else's question stupid, we are being egotistical. Questions are necessary."
 
 "I hope the Prime Minister had a good sense of humor."
 
 "Was the Zen master really insulted by the question, or was it just an act?"
 
 "If the question got the Zen master angry, it must be because he thought the Prime Minister should know better. Maybe he really thought he was better than the Prime Minister. Or maybe the master felt inadequate because he thought he had taught the Prime Minister better. In either case, HE was the one being egotistical."
 
 "People of status sometimes try to pretend that it's no big deal, but it is... to them."
 
 Self-Control
 
 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
 One day there was an earthquake that shook the entire Zen temple. Parts of it even collapsed. Many of the monks were terrified. When the earthquake stopped the teacher said, "Now you have had the opportunity to see how a Zen man behaves in a crisis situation. You may have noticed that I did not panic. I was quite aware of what was happening and what to do. I led you all to the kitchen, the strongest part of the temple. It was a good decision, because you see we have all survived without any injuries. However, despite my self-control and composure, I did feel a little bit tense - which you may have deduced from the fact that I drank a large glass of water, something I never do under ordinary circumstances."
 
 One of the monks smiled, but didn't say anything.
 
 "What are you laughing at?" asked the teacher.
 
 "That wasn't water," the monk replied, "it was a large glass of soy sauce."
 
 
 
 
 People's reactions to this story:
 "I see this sort of behavior often in men. They feel they have to put on a front to appear to be something that they are not."
 
 "It's like someone bragging about how cool they are, and then you find out that he is just a geek underneath after all."
 
 "Sounds just like my father - always in control, always right, always the leader. But WE know the truth!"
 
 "Sometimes the calmest looking person in an emergency situation is really the most nervous."
 
 "Someone should have thrown that water into that teacher's face so he could wake up and realize that he was kidding himself."
 
 "This reminds me of people who think they are so great and are always bragging about it. Admitting that they are wrong is the hardest thing in their lives, when it should be something that's very natural."
 
 "Everyone at one time or another has been in a tense situation where you think that you are composed and in control, but then you do something weird - which shows that you're not."
 
 "Sometimes, when you're in a very stressful situation, you aren't aware of your actions until someone else points it out."
 
 "It didn't matter to her what she drank. She wasn't concentrating on the taste, but instead the action."
 
 "Even a Zen man is still human."
 
 "I'd tell this story to children so they wouldn't be afraid to be afraid."
 
 "How can you be so shaken that you can't tell the difference between water and soy sauce?!"
 
 "I think the teacher was testing the monks - to see if they noticed what he drank.
 
 "I think the teacher deliberately was trying to teach them that it's OK to do something weird in a panic situation. You can do somethings weird, but for the important decisions you still can make the right choices."
 
 "Maybe the soy sauce explains why he is so relaxed."
 
 "I really thought this story was going to have a great ending, but it was stupid."

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