STORIES TO MAKE YOU THINK

No less than 79 thoughtful stories, motivational tales,

and pieces of wisdom from around the world

Some of the most memorable lessons in life come from stories - whether
these be nursery rhymes or children's fables read to us by our parents,
parables from the Bible or Jewish wisdom tales, or motivational booklets
like "Who Moved My Cheese?" [click here]. I thought that it would be fun
and helpful to collect some of the stories that I've found meaningful and
share them with you. Each new story is added at the top of the page, so
visit as often as you like and feel free to e-mail me your story.
"Tell me a fact and I’ll learn. Tell me a truth and I’ll believe. But tell me a
story and it will live in my heart forever."
Native American proverb
"All stories teach, whether the storyteller intends them to or not. They
teach the world we create. They teach the morality we live by. They teach
it much more effectively than moral precepts and instructions".
Philip Pullman, author of the "His Dark Materials" trilogy, speaking in
1996
"Everything we know comes in the form of a story, a narrative with a
beginning and end. Delia Smith’ s recipes and the handbook of latest
version of Windows are stories just as much as 'Coronation Street'. A
thing becomes meaningful only when we can embed it in a story."
Dorothy Rowe, "The Independent on Sunday", 31 March 1996
"Human beings are meaning-seeking creatures; we crave narratives that
have a beginning and an end - something that we rarely encounter in
everyday life. Stories give coherence to the confusion of our experience."
Author Karen Armstrong, "Guardian", 26 August 2006
"Stories are memory aids, instruction manuals and moral compasses."
Aleks Krotoski, "Observer", 7 August 2011
"Stories are compensatory. The world is unfair, unjust, unknowable, out
of control."
"Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?" by Jeannette Winterson
(2011)
"Telling stories is our way of coping, a way of creating shape out of a
mess. It binds everyone together."
Canadian film director Sarah Polley, "Observer", 23 June 2013
“The key to the future of the world is finding the optimistic stories and
letting them be known.”
American singer-songwriter Pete Seeger (1919-2014)
Contents

 Contentment
 The donkey
 The trouble tree
 The folly of clinging
 The cracked pot
 The pencil's tale
 The battle of the beetles
 The seven wonders of the world
 A very special bank account
 Love stays
 The black dot
 An autobiography in five very short chapters
 Changing our vision
 The two pebbles
 We are never alone
 What love is all about
 The magical mustard seed
 How to change the world
 The two brothers
 The other side of the wall
 The two lumberjacks
 The last ride
 I wanted to change the world
 The law of the garbage truck
 The two hospital patients
 The tiger's whisker
 The hedgehogs
 The fence
 Your influence on the universe
 A turn of the screw
 Every bucket counts
 Two frogs in the milk
 A story for Passover
 Piece of mind
 Jumping the queue
 Knowledge and wisdom
 The starfish
 The American dream
 Alexander and Diogenes
 Testing for gossip
 Rafting
 The mouse trap
 A foot has no nose
 From Russia with love
 Virtually no competition
 The little wave
 Believe what you feel
 Everyone can play
 I must at least try
 King Arthur and the witch
 Helping hands
 The teacher and the taught
  Going the extra mile
 Who you are
 Different perspectives
 The eagle
 The three races
 The obstacle in our path
 Bad by name; bad by nature?
 Everyone is important
 The carrot, the egg, and the coffee bean
 The two wolves
 The great fire and the little water
 A sense of a goose
 The seeker of truth
 A meeting of minds
 Chopsticks
 The problem with dandelions
 In the same boat
 The frogs and the tower
 The international food shortage
 The Japanese master
 The secret of happiness
 The house with the golden windows
 Nothing is written
 The Chinese farmer
 King Solomon and the baby
 The wise teacher and the jar
 Listening - at Christmas and always

Contentment

It was spring but it was summer I wanted; the warm days and the great
outdoors.

It was summer but it was autumn I wanted; the colourful leaves and the
cool dry air.

It was autumn but it was winter I wanted; the beautiful snow and the joy
of the holiday season.

It was winter but it was spring I wanted; the warmth and the blossoming
of nature.

I was a child but it was adulthood I wanted; the freedom and the respect.

I was twenty but it was thirty I wanted; to be mature and sophisticated.

I was middle-aged but it was twenty I wanted; the youth and the free
spirit.
I was retired but it was middle-age that I wanted; the presence of mind
without limitations.

My life was over but I never got what I wanted.

Source: "Calm My Anxious Heart" by Linda Dillow

The donkey

An old man, a boy and a donkey were going to town. The boy rode on the
donkey and the old man walked. As they went along, they passed some
people who remarked it was a shame the old man was walking and the
boy was riding. The man and boy thought maybe the critics were right, so
they changed positions.

Then, later, they passed some people who remarked, "What a shame, he
makes that little boy walk." So they then decided they'd both walk!

Soon they passed some more people who thought they were stupid to
walk when they had a decent donkey to ride. So, they both rode the
donkey. Now they passed some people who shamed them by saying how
awful to put such a load on a poor donkey.

The boy and man figured they were probably right, so they decided to
carry the donkey. As they crossed the bridge, they lost their grip on the
animal and he fell into the river and drowned.

The moral of the story? If you try to please everyone, you might as well...
Kiss your “donkey" goodbye! And even this ending won’t please everyone.

The trouble tree

The carpenter I hired to help me restore an old farmhouse had just

finished a rough first day on the job. A flat tire made him lose an hour of
work, his electric saw quit and now his ancient pickup truck refused to
start.

While I drove him home, he sat in stony silence. On arriving he invited

me in to meet his family. As we walked toward the front door, he paused
briefly at a small tree, touching the tips of the branches with both hands.
Upon opening the door he underwent an amazing transformation. His tan
face was wreathed in smiles and he hugged his two small children and
gave his wife a kiss.

Afterward he walked me to the car. We passed the tree and my curiosity

got the better of me. I asked him about what I had seen him do earlier.
"Oh, that's my trouble tree", he replied. " I know I can't help having
troubles on the job, but one thing for sure, troubles don't belong in the
house with my wife and children. So I just hang them up on the tree
every night when I come home. Then in the morning I pick them up
again." "Funny thing is," he smiled, "when I come out in the morning to
pick them up, there aren't nearly as many as I remember hanging up the
night before."

The folly of clinging

The little boy walked slowly into the room where his mother was sitting at
her desk writing. She glanced down at him and saw that he was carrying
a very precious vase that her grandmother had given her. Almost
absentmindedly she said to him, “Robert, go put the vase down before
you drop it and break it.”

“I can’t,” he replied, “I can’t get my hand out.”

“Of course you can,” she said, “you got it down there.”

He said, “I know, mom, but it won’t come out.” The neck of the vase was
very narrow and his hand had fit it neatly inside and it was now up to his
wrist. He continued to insist that he could not get it out. Growing a little
concerned, his mother called out to his dad.

Dad calmly took control and began gently pulling the arm trying to extract
the hand from the vase. He tried loosening it up with soapy water. Still
nothing. He then got some vegetable oil from the kitchen and poured it
around the wrist and let it seep into the vase. He wiggled it some. It still
did not budge.

“I give up,” the dad said in desperation. “I’d give a dollar right now to
know how to get it out.”

“Really?” little Robert exclaimed. Then they heard a clinking sound and
his hand slid right out of the vase. They turned the vase upside down and
a penny plopped out. “What’s this?” they said in unison.

“Oh, that’s the penny I put inside. I wanted to get it out so I was
clutching it in my hand. But when I heard Dad say he would give a dollar
to have the vase free, I let go.”

How often do we cling to things when they are nothing in comparison to

what could be ours?

The cracked pot

A water bearer in China had two large pots, each hung on the ends of a
pole which he carried across his neck. One of the pots had a crack in it,
while 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 house, 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 house. Of course, the perfect pot was
proud of its accomplishments, perfect for which it was made. But the poor
cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it
was able to accomplish only half of what it had been made to do.

After two years of what it perceived to be a bitter failure, it spoke to the

water bearer one day by the stream. "I am ashamed of myself, because
this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your
house."

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 I planted flower seeds on your
side of the path, and every day while we walk back, you've watered them.
For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate
the table. Without you being just the way you are, there would not be this
beauty to grace the house."

The pencil's tale

An old pencil maker took his newest pencil aside, just before he was
about to pack him into a box. Imagining the little fellow as a person he
recalled a few things about the pencil.

“There are five things you need to know,” he said to his pencil, “before I
send you out into the world. Always remember these five things - never
forget them - and you will become the best pencil you can be!

“The first thing is to remember that you will be able to do many great
things, but only if you put yourself in someone else’s hands.

“From time to time you will experience a painful sharpening, but

remember that this will make you a better pencil.

“Also, keep in mind that you will be able to correct any mistakes you
might make along the way.

“And the most important part of you is what’s on the inside.

“And remember this, as well, upon every surface that you are used, you
must leave your mark. No matter what else happens, you must continue
to write.”
It seemed the pencil listened to him and promised he would remember
these five things so that he could live his life with heart and purpose.

The battle of the beetles

On the slope of Long’s Peak in Colorado lies the ruin of a gigantic tree.
Naturalists tell us that it stood for some four hundred years. It was a
seedling when Columbus landed at San Salvador, and half grown when
the pilgrims settled at Plymouth.

During the course of its long life it was struck by lightning fourteen times
and the innumerable avalanches and storms of four centuries thundered
past it. It survived them all. In the end, however, an army of beetles
attacked the tree and leveled it to the ground. The insects ate their way
through the bark and gradually destroyed the inner strength of the tree
by their tiny but incessant attacks. A forest giant which age had not
withered, nor lightning blasted, nor storms subdued, fell at last before
beetles so small that a man could crush them between his forefinger and
his thumb.

There is a parallel in this story which should serve as a warning to us.

Most of us can survive times of crisis. We summon the strength of faith or
resolve for most any battle that we face head on. Whether it is in our
professional or personal lives, we often overcome great obstacles. It is
the small things like jealousy, anger, resentment, pettiness and negativity
that eat us from the inside, which often bring about our downfall. Unlike a
giant tree, we can identify and fight those moral or ethical “beetles.” We
must, however, be constantly on guard.

Author: Dr. Harry Emerson Fosdick

The seven wonders of the world

A group of American school children were asked to list what they thought
were the present "Seven Wonders Of The World." Though there were
some disagreements, the following received the most votes:

1. Egypt's Great Pyramids

2. Taj Mahal
3. Grand Canyon
4. Panama Canal
5. Empire State Building
6. St. Peter's Basilica
7. Great Wall of China

While gathering the votes, the teacher noted that one student had not
finished her paper yet. So she asked the girl if she was having trouble
with her list. The little girl replied, "Yes, a little. I couldn't quite make up
my mind because there are so many." The teacher said, "Well, tell us
what you have, and maybe we can help." The girl hesitated, then read, "I
think the "Seven Wonders Of The World" are:

1. To see
2. To hear
3. To touch
4. To taste
5. To feel
6. To laugh
7. To love

The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. The things we overlook
as simple and ordinary and that we take for granted are truly wondrous. A
gentle reminder - that the most precious things in life cannot be built by
hand or bought by man.

A very special bank account

Imagine there is a bank which credits your account each morning with
£86,400, carries over no balance from day to day, allows you to keep no
cash balance, and every evening cancels whatever part of the amount you
had failed to use during the day. What would you do? Draw out every
pound, of course!
Well, everyone has such a bank. Its name is Time. Every morning, it
credits you with 86,400 seconds. Every night it writes off, as lost,
whatever of this you have failed to invest to good purpose. It carries over
no balance. It allows no overdraft. Each day it opens a new account for
you. Each night it burns the records of the day. If you fail to use the day's
deposits, the loss is yours.
There is no going back. There is no drawing against the "tomorrow".
Therefore, there is never not enough time or too much time. Time
management is decided by us alone and nobody else. It is never the case
of us not having enough time to do things, but the case of whether we
want to do it.

Love stays

A nurse took the tired, anxious serviceman to the bedside. "Your son is
here," she said to the old man. She had to repeat the words several times
before the patient's eyes opened. Heavily sedated because of the pain of
his heart attack, he dimly saw the young uniformed marine standing
outside the oxygen tent. He reached out his hand. The marine wrapped
his toughened fingers around the old man's limp ones, squeezing a
message of love and encouragement.
The nurse brought a chair so that the marine could sit beside the bed. All
through the night, the young marine sat there in the poorly lighted ward,
holding the old man's hand and offering him words of love and strength.
Occasionally, the nurse suggested that the Marine move away and rest
awhile. He refused. Whenever the nurse came into the ward, the marine
was oblivious of her and of the night noises of the hospital – the clanking
of the oxygen tank, the laughter of the night staff members exchanging
greetings, the cries and moans of the other patients.
Now and then she heard him say a few gentle words. The dying man said
nothing, only held tightly to his son all through the night. Along towards
dawn, the old man died. The marine released the now lifeless hand he
had been holding and went to tell the nurse. While she did what she had
to do, he waited. Finally, she returned. She started to offer words of
sympathy, but the Marine interrupted her.
"Who was that man?" he asked. The nurse was startled, "He was your
father," she answered.
"No, he wasn't," the marine replied. "I never saw him before in my life."
"Then why didn't you say something when I took you to him?"
"I knew right away there had been a mistake, but I also knew he needed
his son, and his son just wasn't here. When I realised that he was too sick
to tell whether or not I was his son, knowing how much he needed me, I
stayed."
The next time someone needs you ... just be there. Stay.

The black dot

One day, a professor entered his classroom and asked his students to
prepare for a surprise test. They all waited anxiously at their desks for the
exam to begin.
The professor handed out the exams with the text facing down, as usual.
Once he handed them all out, he asked the students to turn over the
papers.
To everyone’s surprise, there were no questions–just a black dot in the
center of the paper. The professor, seeing the expression on everyone’s
faces, told them the following: “I want you to write about what you see
there.” The students, confused, got started on the inexplicable task.
At the end of the class, the professor took all the exams, and started
reading each one of them out loud in front of all the students.
All of them, with no exception, defined the black dot, trying to explain its
position in the center of the sheet. After all had been read, the classroom
silent, the professor started to explain:
“I’m not going to grade you on this, I just wanted to give you something
to think about. No one wrote about the white part of the paper. Everyone
focused on the black dot – and the same thing happens in our lives.
However, we insist on focusing only on the black dot – the health issues
that bother us, the lack of money, the complicated relationship with a
family member, the disappointment with a friend. The dark spots are very
small when compared to everything we have in our lives, but they are the
ones that pollute our minds. Take your the eyes away from the black dots
in your lives. Enjoy each one of your blessings, each moment that life
gives you. Be happy and live a life filled with love!”
An autobiography in five very short chapters

CHAPTER ONE
I walk down the street. There's a hole in the sidewalk.
It is a very deep hole. I fall in ... I am helpless.
It isn't my fault.
It takes forever to find a way out.
CHAPTER TWO
I walk down the same street. There's a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don't see it. I fall in ... again.
I can't believe I'm in the same place, but it isn't my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.
CHAPTER THREE
I walk down the same street. There's a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there. I still fall in ... it's a habit, but my eyes are open.
I know where I am. It is my fault.
I get out immediately.
CHAPTER FOUR
I walk down the same street. There's a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.
CHAPTER FIVE
I walk down another street.
Author: Portia Nelson

Changing our vision

There was a very wealthy man who was bothered by severe eye pain. He
consulted many physicians and was being treated by several. He did not
stop consulting a galaxy of medical experts; he consumed heavy loads of
drugs and underwent hundreds of injections. But the ache persisted with
more vigour than before.
At last, a monk who was supposed to be an expert in treating such
patients was called for by the suffering man. The monk understood his
problem and said that for sometime he should concentrate only on green
colours and not to let his eyes fall on any other colours. It was a strange
prescription, but he was desperate and decided to try it.
The millionaire got together a group of painters and purchased barrels of
green paint and directed that every object his eye was likely to fall to be
painted green just as the monk had directed. When the monk came to
visit him after few days, the millionaire's servants ran with buckets of
green paint and poured it on him since he was in red dress, lest their
master see any other colour and his eye ache would come back.
Hearing this, the monk laughed and said "If only you had purchased a
pair of green spectacles, worth just a few dollars, you could have saved
these walls and trees and pots and all other articles and also could have
saved a large share of his fortune. You cannot paint the world green."
Let us change our vision and the world will appear accordingly. It is
foolish to shape the world, let us shape ourselves first.
The two pebbles

Many years ago in a small Italian town, a merchant had the misfortune of
owing a large sum of money to the moneylender. The moneylender, who
was old and ugly, fancied the merchant's beautiful daughter, so he
proposed a bargain. He said he would forgo the merchant's debt if he
could marry the daughter. Both the merchant and his daughter were
horrified by the proposal.
The moneylender told them that he would put a black pebble and a white
pebble into an empty bag. The girl would then have to pick one pebble
from the bag. If she picked the black pebble, she would become the
moneylender's wife and her father's debt would be forgiven. If she picked
the white pebble, she need not marry him and her father's debt would still
be forgiven. But, if she refused to pick a pebble, her father would be
thrown into jail.
They were standing on a pebble-strewn path in the merchant's garden. As
they talked, the moneylender bent over to pick up two pebbles. As he
picked them up, the sharp-eyed girl noticed that he had picked up two
black pebbles and put them into the bag. He then asked the girl to pick
her pebble from the bag.
The girl put her hand into the bag and drew out a pebble. Without looking
at it, she fumbled and let it fall onto the pebble-strewn path where it
immediately became lost among all the other pebbles. "Oh, how clumsy of
me," she said. "But never mind, if you look into the bag for the one that is
left, you will be able to tell which pebble I picked."
Sometimes it is necessary to think out of the box or, in this case, out of
the bag.

We are never alone

Do you know the legend of the Cherokee Indian youth's rite of passage?
His father takes him into the forrest...blindfolded...and leaves
him....alone. He is required to sit on a stump the whole night...and not
take off the blindfold until the ray of sun shines through it. He is all by
himself. He cannot cry out for help to anyone.
Once he survives the night...he is a MAN. He cannot tell the other boys of
this experience. Each boy must come into his own manhood.
The boy was terrified...could hear all kinds of noise...Beasts were all
around him. Maybe even some human would hurt him. The wind blew the
grass and earth... and it shook his stump. But he sat stoically...never
removing the blindfold. It would be the only way he could be a man.
Finally, after a horrific night...the sun appeared and he removed his
blindfold. It was then that he saw his father...sitting on the stump next to
him...at watch...the entire night.
We are never truly alone. Even when we do not know it, our family and
friends are watching out for us...sitting on a stump beside us.

What love is all about

It was a busy morning, approximately 8:30 am, when an elderly
gentleman, in his 80s arrived to have stitches removed from his thumb.
He stated that he was in a hurry and that he had an appointment at 9:00
am. I took his vital signs, and had him take a seat, knowing it would be
over an hour before someone would be able to see him. I saw him looking
at his watch and decided, since I was not busy with another patient, I
would evaluate his wound.
On exam it was well healed, so I talked to one of the doctors, got the
needed supplies to remove his sutures and redressed his wound. While
taking care of him, we began to engage in conversation. I asked him if he
had a doctor's appointment this morning, as he was in such a hurry. The
gentleman told me no, that he needed to go to the nursing home to eat
breakfast with his wife. I then inquired as to her health. He told me that
she had been there for awhile and was a victim of Alzheimer's Disease.
As we talked and I finished dressing his wound, I asked if she would be
worried if he was a bit late. He replied that she no longer knew who he
was, and hadn't recognized him in five years. I was surprised, and asked
him, "And you still go every morning, even though she doesn't know who
you are?" He smiled and patted my hand and said, "She doesn't know
me, but I still know who she is."

The magical mustard seed

There is an old Chinese tale about a woman whose only son died. In her
grief, she went to the holy man and asked, "What prayers, what magical
incantations do you have to bring my son back to life?"
Instead of sending her away or reasoning with her, he said to her, "Fetch
me a mustard seed from a home that has never known sorrow. We will
use it to drive the sorrow out of your life." The woman went off at once in
search of that magical mustard seed.
She came first to a splendid mansion, knocked at the door, and said, "I
am looking for a home that has never known sorrow. Is this such a place?
It is very important to me."
They told her, "You've certainly come to the wrong place," and began to
describe all the tragic things that recently had befallen them.
The woman said to herself, "Who is better able to help these poor,
unfortunate people than I, who have had misfortune of my my own?"
She stayed to comfort them, then went on in search of a home that had
never known sorrow. But wherever she turned, in hotels and in other
places, she found one tale after another of sadness and misfortune.
The woman became so involved in helping others cope with their sorrows
that she eventually let go of her own. She would later come to understand
that it was the quest to find the magical mustard seed that drove away
her suffering.

How to change the world

The ninth week of SEAL training is referred to as Hell Week. It is six days
of no sleep, constant physical and mental harassment and one special day
at the Mud Flats. The Mud Flats are an area between San Diego and
Tijuana where the water runs off and creates the Tijuana slues—a
swampy patch of terrain where the mud will engulf you.
It is on Wednesday of Hell Week that you paddle down to the mud flats
and spend the next 15 hours trying to survive the freezing-cold mud, the
howling wind and the incessant pressure from the instructors to quit. As
the sun began to set that Wednesday evening, my training class, having
committed some "egregious infraction of the rules" was ordered into the
mud. The mud consumed each man till there was nothing visible but our
heads. The instructors told us we could leave the mud if only five men
would quit—just five men and we could get out of the oppressive cold.
Looking around the mud flat, it was apparent that some students were
about to give up. It was still over eight hours till the sun came up—eight
more hours of bone-chilling cold. The chattering teeth and shivering
moans of the trainees were so loud it was hard to hear anything. And
then, one voice began to echo through the night—one voice raised in
song. The song was terribly out of tune, but sung with great enthusiasm.
One voice became two, and two became three, and before long everyone
in the class was singing. We knew that if one man could rise above the
misery then others could as well. The instructors threatened us with more
time in the mud if we kept up the singing—but the singing persisted. And
somehow, the mud seemed a little warmer, the wind a little tamer and
the dawn not so far away.
If I have learned anything in my time traveling the world, it is the power
of hope. The power of one person—Washington, Lincoln, King, Mandela
and even a young girl from Pakistan named Malala—can change the world
by giving people hope.
So, if you want to change the world, start singing when you're up to your
neck in mud.
Source: The commencement address by Admiral William H. McRaven,
ninth commander of U.S. Special Operations Command, at the University
of Texas at Austin on 17 May 2014

The two brothers

Once upon a time, two brothers who lived on adjoining farms fell into
conflict. It was the first serious rift in 40 years of farming side by side,
sharing machinery, and trading labour and goods as needed without a
hitch. Then the long collaboration fell apart. It began with a small
misunderstanding and it grew into a major difference, and finally it
exploded into an exchange of bitter words followed by weeks of silence.

One morning there was a knock on John's door. He opened it to find a

man with a carpenter's toolbox. "I'm looking for a few days work," he
said. "Perhaps you would have a few small jobs here and there. Could I
help you?" "Yes," said the older brother. "I do have a job for you. Look
across the creek at that farm. That's my neighboor. In fact, it's my
younger brother. Last week there was a meadow between us and he took
his bulldozer to the river levee and now there is a creek between us. Well,
he may have done this to spite me, but I'll go him one better. See that
pile of lumber curing by the barn? I want you to build me a fence - an 8-
foot fence - so I won't need to see his place anymore. Cool him down
anyhow."

The carpenter said, "I think I understand the situation. Show me the nails
and the post hole digger and I'll be able to do a job that pleases you." The
older brother had to go to town for supplies, so he helped the carpenter
get the materials ready and then he was off for the day.

The carpenter worked hard all that day measuring, sawing, and nailing.
About sunset when the farmer returned, the carpenter had just finished
his job. The farmer's eyes opened wide, his jaw dropped. There was no
fence there at all. It was a bridge - a bridge stretching from one side of
the creek to the other! A fine piece of work - handrails and all - and the
neighbour, his younger brother, was coming across, his hand
outstretched. "You are quite a fellow to build this bridge after all I've said
and done." The two brothers stood at each end of the bridge, and then
they met in the middle, taking each other's hand.

They turned to see the carpenter hoist his toolbox on his shoulder. "No,
wait! Stay a few days. I've a lot of other projects for you," said the older
brother. "I'd love to stay on," the carpenter said, " but I have many more
bridges to build."

Everyday we have the choice of building fences or bridges. One leads to

isolation and the other to openness.

The other side of the wall

There was a young woman who took great pride in the growth and care of
the flowers in her flower garden. She had been raised by her grandmother
who taught her to love and care for flowers as she herself had done. So,
like her grandmother, her flower garden was second to none.
One day while looking through a flower catalogue she often ordered from,
a picture of a plant immediately caught her eye. She had never seen
blooms on a flower like that before. “I have to have it,” she said to
herself, and she immediately ordered it.
When it arrived, she already had a place prepared to plant it. She planted
it at the base of a stone wall at the back of her yard. It grew vigorously,
with beautiful green leaves all over it, but there were no blooms. Day
after day she continued to cultivate it, water it, feed it, and she even
talked to it attempting to coax it to bloom. But, it was to no avail.
One morning weeks later, as she stood before the vine, she contemplated
how disappointed she was that her plant had not bloomed. She was giving
considerable thought to cutting it down and planting something else in its
place.
It was at this point that her invalid neighbor, whose lot joined hers, called
over to her. “Thank you so much! You can’t imagine how much I have
enjoyed the blooms of that vine you planted.” The young woman walked
through the gate into her neighbor’s yard, and sure enough, she saw that
on the other side of the wall the vine was filled with blooms.
There were indeed the most beautiful blooms she had ever seen. The vine
had crept through the crevices and it had not flowered on her side of the
fence, it had flowered luxuriantly on the other side.
Just because you cannot see the good result of your labour does not
mean that it bore no fruit.
Author: Randy Reynolds

The two lumberjacks

It was the annual lumberjack competition and the final was between an
older, experienced lumberjack and a younger, stronger lumberjack. The
rule of the competition was quite simply who could fell the most trees in a
day was the winner.

The younger lumberjack was full of enthusiasm and went off into the
wood and set to work straight away. He worked all through the day and
all through the night. As he worked, he could hear the older lumberjack
working in another part of the forest and he felt more and more confident
with every tree he felled that he would win.
At regular intervals throughout the day, the noise of trees being felled
coming from the other part of the forest would stop. The younger
lumberjack took heart from this, knowing that this meant the older
lumberjack was taking a rest, whereas he could use his superior youth
and strength and stamina to keep going.
At the end of the competition, the younger lumberjack felt confident he
had won. He looked in front of him at the piles of felled trees that were
the result of his superhuman effort.
At the medal ceremony, he stood on the podium confident and expecting
to be awarded the prize of champion lumberjack. Next to him stood the
older lumberjack who looked surprisingly less exhausted than he felt.
When the results were read out, he was devastated to hear that the older
lumberjack had chopped down significantly more trees than he had. He
turned to the older lumber jack and said: “How can this be? I heard you
take a rest every hour and I worked continuously through the night.
What's more, I am stronger and fitter than you old man”.
The older lumberjack turned to him and said: “Every hour, I took a break
to rest and sharpen my saw”.

The last ride

I arrived at the address and honked the horn. After waiting a few
minutes, I honked again. Since this was going to be my last ride of my
shift, I thought about just driving away, but instead I put the car in park
and walked up to the door and knocked.

'Just a minute', answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something

being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A
small woman in her 90s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress
and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s
movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if
no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets.
There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the
counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and
glassware.
'Would you carry my bag out to the car?' she said. I took the suitcase to
the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we
walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness.
'It's nothing', I told her. 'I just try to treat my passengers the way I would
want my mother to be treated.' 'Oh, you're such a good boy', she said.
When we got in the cab, she gave me an address and then asked, 'Could
you drive through downtown?' 'It's not the shortest way',' I answered
quickly. 'Oh, I don't mind,' she said. 'I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a
hospice.' I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. 'I
don't have any family left', she continued in a soft voice. 'The doctor says
I don't have very long.' I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.
'What route would you like me to take?' I asked. For the next two hours,
we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had
once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood
where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She
had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a
ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl. Sometimes she'd ask me
to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into
the darkness, saying nothing.

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, 'I'm
tired. Let's go now'. We drove in silence to the address she had given me.
It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway
that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as
we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move.
They must have been expecting her.

I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman
was already seated in a wheelchair. 'How much do I owe you?' She asked,
reaching into her purse. 'Nothing', I said 'You have to make a living', she
answered. 'There are other passengers', I responded. Almost without
thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly. 'You gave
an old woman a little moment of joy', she said. 'Thank you.' I squeezed
her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light.
Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life. I didn't
pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought.
For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had
gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if
I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away? On
a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in
my life. We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great
moments. But great moments often catch us unaware - beautifully
wrapped in what others may consider a small one.
Author: New York City taxi driver
I wanted to change the world

When I was a young man, I wanted to change the world.

I found it was difficult to change the world, so I tried to change my

nation.

When I found I couldn't change the nation, I began to focus on my town.

I couldn't change the town and as an older man, I tried to change my
family.

Now, as an old man, I realize the only thing I can change is myself, and
suddenly I realize that if long ago I had changed myself, I could have
made an impact on my family. My family and I could have made an
impact on our town. Their impact could have changed the nation and I
could indeed have changed the world.

Author: unknown monk around 1100 AD

The law of the garbage truck

One day I hopped in a taxi and we took off for the airport. We were
driving in the right lane when suddenly a black car jumped out of a
parking space right in front of us. My taxi driver slammed on his brakes,
skidded, and missed the other car by just inches!

The driver of the other car whipped his head around and started yelling at
us. My taxi driver just smiled and waved at the guy. And I mean, he was
really friendly. So I asked, 'Why did you just do that? This guy almost
ruined your car and sent us to the hospital!' This is when my taxi driver
taught me what I now call, 'The Law of the Garbage Truck'.

He explained that many people are like garbage trucks. They run around
full of garbage, full of frustration, full of anger, and full of disappointment.
As their garbage piles up, they need a place to dump it and sometimes
they'll dump it on you. Don't take it personally, just smile, wave, wish
them well, and move on. Don't take their garbage and spread it to other
people at work, at home, or on the streets.

The two hospital patients

Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room. One man
was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour each afternoon to help drain
the fluid from his lungs. His bed was next to the room's only window. The
other man had to spend all his time flat on his back. The men talked for
hours on end. They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their
jobs, their involvement in the military service, where they had been on
holiday.

And every afternoon when the man in the bed by the window could sit up,
he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things he
could see outside the window. The man in the other bed began to live for
those one-hour periods where his world would be broadened and
enlivened by all the activity and colour of the world outside.

The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake. Ducks and swans played
on the water while children sailed their model boats. Young lovers walked
arm in arm amidst flowers of every colour of the rainbow. Grand old trees
graced the landscape and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in
the distance.

As the man by the window described all this in exquisite detail, the man
on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine the
picturesque scene.

One warm afternoon the man by the window described a parade passing
by. Although the other man couldn't hear the band - he could see it in his
mind's eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with descriptive
words. Days and weeks passed.

One morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths only to
find the lifeless body of the man by the window, who had died peacefully
in his sleep. She was saddened and called the hospital attendants to take
the body away. As soon as it seemed appropriate, the other man asked if
he could be moved next to the window. The nurse was happy to make the
switch and, after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone.
Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first
look at the world outside. Finally, he would have the joy of seeing it for
himself. He strained to slowly turn to look out the window beside the bed.

It faced a blank wall. The man asked the nurse what could have
compelled his deceased roommate who had described such wonderful
things outside this window. The nurse responded that the man was blind
and could not even see the wall. She said, "Perhaps he just wanted to
encourage you."

The tiger's whisker

Once upon a time, a young wife named Yun Ok was at her wit's end. Her
husband had always been a tender and loving soulmate before he had left
for the wars but, ever since he returned home, he was cross, angry, and
unpredictable. She was almost afraid to live with her own husband. Only
in glancing moments did she catch a shadow of the husband she used to
know and love.
When one ailment or another bothered people in her village, they would
often rush for a cure to a hermit who lived deep in the mountains. Not
Yun Ok. She always prided herself that she could heal her own troubles.
But this time was different. She was desperate.

As Yun Ok approached the hermit's hut, she saw the door was open. The
old man said without turning around: "I hear you. What's your problem?"

She explained the situation. His back still to her, he said, "Ah yes, it's
often that way when soldiers return from the war. What do you expect me
to do about it?"

"Make me a potion!" cried the young wife. "Or an amulet, a drink,

whatever it takes to get my husband back the way he used to be."

The old man turned around. "Young woman, your request doesn't exactly
fall into the same category as a broken bone or ear infection."

"I know", said she.

"It will take three days before I can even look into it. Come back then."

Three days later, Yun Ok returned to the hermit's hut. "Yun Ok", he
greeted her with a smile, "I have good news. There is a potion that will
restore your husband to the way he used to be, but you should know that
it requires an unusual ingredient. You must bring me a whisker from a
live tiger."

"What?" she gasped. "Such a thing is impossible!"

"I cannot make the potion without it!" he shouted, startling her. He
turned his back. "There is nothing more to say. As you can see, I'm very
busy."

That night Yun Ok tossed and turned. How could she get a whisker from a
live tiger?

The next day before dawn, she crept out of the house with a bowl of rice
covered with meat sauce. She went to a cave on the mountainside where
a tiger was known to live. She clicked her tongue very softly as she crept
up, her heart pounding, and carefully set the bowl on the grass. Then,
trying to make as little noise as she could, she backed away.

The next day before dawn, she took another bowl of rice covered with
meat sauce to the cave. She approached the same spot, clicking softly
with her tongue. She saw that the bowl was empty, replaced the empty
one with a fresh one, and again left, clicking softly and trying not to break
twigs or rustle leaves, or do anything else to startle and unsettle the wild
beast.
So it went, day after day, for several months. She never saw the tiger
(thank goodness for that! she thought) though she knew from footprints
on the ground that the tiger - and not a smaller mountain creature - had
been eating her food. Then one day as she approached, she noticed the
tiger's head poking out of its cave. Glancing downward, she stepped very
carefully to the same spot and with as little noise as she could, set down
the fresh bowl and, her heart pounding, picked up the one that was
empty.

After a few weeks, she noticed the tiger would come out of its cave as it
heard her footsteps, though it stayed a distance away (again, thank
goodness! she thought, though she knew that someday, in order to get
the whisker, she'd have to come closer to it).

Another month went by. Then the tiger would wait by the empty food
bowl as it heard her approaching. As she picked up the old bowl and
replaced it with a fresh one, she could smell its scent, as it could surely
smell hers.

"Actually", she thought, remembering its almost kittenish look as she set
down a fresh bowl, "it is a rather friendly creature, when you get to know
it." The next time she visited, she glanced up at the tiger briefly and
noticed what a lovely downturn of reddish fur it had from over one of its
eyebrows to the next. Not a week later, the tiger allowed her to gently
rub its head, and it purred and stretched like a house cat.

Then she knew the time had come. The next morning, very early, she
brought with her a small knife. After she set down the fresh bowl and the
tiger allowed her to pet its head, she said in a low voice: "Oh, my tiger,
may I please have just one of your whiskers?" While petting the tiger with
one hand, she held one whisker at its base and, with the other hand, in
one quick stroke, she carved the whisker off. She stood up, speaking
softly her thanks, and left, for the last time.

The next morning seemed endless. At last her husband left for the rice
fields. She ran to the hermit's hut, clutching the precious whisker in her
fist. Bursting in, she cried to the hermit: "I have it! I have the tiger's
whisker!"

"You don't say?" he said, turning around. "From a live tiger?"

"Yes!" she said.

"Tell me", said the hermit, interested. "How did you do it?"

Yun Ok told the hermit how, for the last six months, she had earned the
trust of the creature and it had finally permitted her to cut off one of its
whiskers. With pride she handed him the whisker. The hermit examined
it, satisfied himself that it was indeed a whisker from a live tiger, then
flicked it into the fire where it sizzled and burned in an instant.
"Yun Ok", the hermit said softly, "you no longer need the whisker. Tell
me, is a man more vicious than a tiger? If a dangerous wild beast will
respond to your gradual and patient care, do you think a man will respond
any less willingly?"

Yun Ok stood speechless. Then she turned and stepped down the trail,
turning over in her mind images of the tiger and of her husband, back and
forth. She knew what she could do.

Source: Korean fable

The hedgehogs

It was the coldest winter ever. Many animals died because of the cold.

The hedgehogs, realizing the situation, decided to group together to keep

warm. This way they covered and protected themselves; but the quills of
each one wounded their closest companions.

After awhile, they decided to distance themselves one from the other and
they began to die, alone and frozen. So they had to make a choice: either
accept the quills of their companions or disappear from the Earth.

Wisely, they decided to go back to being together. They learned to live

with the little wounds caused by the close relationship with their
companions in order to receive the heat that came from the others. This
way they were able to survive.

The best relationship is not the one that brings together perfect people,
but when each individual learns to live with the imperfections of others
and can admire the other person's good qualities.

The fence

There once was a little boy who had a bad temper. His father gave him a
bag of nails and told him that every time he lost his temper, he must
hammer a nail into the fence. The first day the boy had driven 37 nails
into the fence. Over the next few weeks as he learned to control his
anger, the number of nails hammered daily, gradually dwindled down. He
discovered it was easier to hold his temper than to drive those nails into
the fence.

Finally the day came when the boy didn’t lose his temper at all. He told
his father about it and the father suggested that the boy now pull out one
nail for each day that he was able to hold his temper. The days passed
and the young boy was finally able to tell his father that all the nails were
gone.
The father took his son by the hand and led him to the fence. He said
“you have done well, my son, but look at the holes in the fence. The fence
will never be the same. When you say things in anger, they leave a scar
just like this one.” You can put a knife in a man and draw it out. It won’t
matter how many times you say I’m sorry, the wound is still there. Make
sure you control your temper the next time you are tempted to say
something you will regret later.

Your influence on the universe

I read the first chapter of "A Brief History Of Time" when Dad was still
alive, and I got incredibly heavy boots about how relatively insignificant
life is, and how, compared to the universe and compared to time, it didn't
even matter if I existed at all.

When Dad was tucking me in that night and we were talking about the
book, I asked if he could think of a solution to that problem. "What
problem?" "The problem of how relatively insignificant we are."

He said, "Well, what would happen if a plane dropped you in the middle of
the Sahara Desert and you picked up a single grain of sand with tweezers
and moved it one millimetre?" I said, "I'd probably die of dehydration." He
said, "I just mean right then, when you moved that single grain of sand.
What would that mean?"
I said, "I dunno, what?" He said. "Think about it." I thought about it. "I
guess I would have moved a grain of sand." "Which would mean?" "Which
would mean I moved a grain of sand?" "Which would mean you changed
the Sahara."
"So?" "So?" So the Sahara is a vast desert. And it has existed for million
of years. And you changed it!" "That's true!" I said, sitting up. "I changed
the Sahara!"
"Which means?" he said. "What? Tell me." "Well, I'm not talking about
painting the Mona Lisa or curing cancer. I'm just talking about moving
that one grain of sand one millimetre."
"Yeah?" "If you hadn't done it, human history would have been one way
..." "Uh-huh?" "But, you did do it, so...?"
I stood on the bed, pointed my fingers at the fake stars, and screamed: "I
changed the universe!" "You did."

Source: "Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close" by Jonathan Safran Foer

A turn of the screw

There was an industrialist whose production line inexplicably breaks

down, costing him millions per day. He finally tracks down an expert who
takes out a screwdriver, turns one screw, and then - as the factory cranks
back to life - presents a bill for £10,000.
Affronted, the factory owner demands an itemised version. The expert is
happy to oblige: "For turning a screw: £1. For knowing which screw to
turn: £9,999."

Author: Oliver Burkeman in "The Guardian Weekend", 13 August 2011

Every bucket counts

Once day, having learned that the King of Fez was hunting lions in the
neighbourhood, they decided to invite him and his court, and killed a
number of sheep in his honour. The sovereign had dinner and went to
bed. Wishing to show their generosity, they placed a huge goatskin bottle
before his door and agreed to fill it up with milk for the royal breakfast.

The villagers all had to milk their goats and then each of them had to tip
his bucket into the container. Given its great size, each of them said to
himself that he might just as well dilute his milk with a good quantity of
water without anyone noticing.

To the extent that, in the morning, such a thin liquid was poured out for
the king and his court that it had no taste than the taste of meanness and
greed.

Source: "Leo The African" by Amin Maalouf

Two frogs in the milk

This is the story of two frogs. One frog was fat and the other skinny. One
day, while searching for food, they inadvertently jumped into a vat of
milk. They couldn't get out, as the sides were too slippery, so they were
just swimming around.

The fat frog said to the skinny frog, "Brother frog, there's no use paddling
any longer. We're just going to drown, so we might as well give up." The
skinny frog replied, "Hold on brother, keep paddling. Somebody will get
us out." And they continued paddling for hours.

After a while, the fat frog said, "Brother frog, there's no use. I'm
becoming very tired now. I'm just going to stop paddling and drown. It's
Sunday and nobody's working. We're doomed. There's no possible way
out of here." But the skinny frog said, "Keep trying. Keep paddling.
Something will happen, keep paddling." Another couple of hours passed.

The fat frog said, "I can't go on any longer. There's no sense in doing it
because we're going to drown anyway. What's the use?" And the fat frog
stopped. He gave up. And he drowned in the milk. But the skinny frog
kept on paddling.
Ten minutes later, the skinny frog felt something solid beneath his feet.
He had churned the milk into butter and he hopped out of the vat.

Author: Melissa D Zartman

A story for Passover

A good Passover story should always involve cakes. Austrian baker

Manfred Klaschka is the subject of this year’ s story. He was in the news
because of his most recent catalogue of cake designs; Klaschka is a
pastry specialist.

Of course, Austrian pastries are famous the world over. Now, pastry baker
Manfred Klaschka’ s most recent catalogue of such tasty delights was in
the news this week because it included cakes decorated with swastikas –
as well as one with a baby raising its right arm in a Nazi salute.

Herr Klaschka insists he is not a Nazi. After the news story broke, he even
met with a Holocaust awareness group, and apologized for what he had
done, and he then baked a cake to say he was sorry – a cake with Jewish
and Christian symbols. The point of the story – the bit I found interesting
– is Herr Klaschka’ s explanation for what he did.

"I see it was a mistake, anyone who knows me knows what kind of person
I am. I am no Nazi", said Klaschka, who had earlier said he was just a
pastry maker fulfilling his customers’ wishes. Fulfilling his customers’
wishes? There is a market in Austria in 2011 for cakes with babies raising
their arms in Nazi salutes, cakes with swastikas on them? There are
parties where people serve such cakes? Maybe birthday parties for
babies?

Of course there are such people, and there are such parties, and because
of that, there is a market – there is consumer demand – for swastika
cakes. Which is why Herr Klaschka was happy to bake them. And not only
in Austria.

You may remember the case of the Campbell family from New Jersey.

When Kurt Waldheim was exposed as a war criminal his popularity rose.
The neo-Nazi Freedom Party headed by the late Jorg Haider, won 27% of
the vote in the 2000 elections and became part of the coalition
government – the first time since 1945 that Nazis had sat in a European
government.

But this never happened in New Jersey – which is why I want to talk
about the Campbell family. The Campbell family in New Jersey made the
news back in 2008 when they tried to get a birthday cake made for their
son — they have a son and two daughters — at the local Shop Rite in
Holland Township.The store refused their request.
And the reason was that Mr. Campbell wanted the cake to read "Happy
birthday Adolf Hitler". Because, you see, his son’ s name was Adolf Hitler
Campell. One of the daughters is named is named JoyceLynn Aryan
Nation Campbell. Well, you get the point.

When I read about the Austrian baker Manfred Klaschka, I thought –

here was a marketing opportunity for him. He would have happily baked a
cake for the Campbell family. So what does all this have to do with
Passover?

This week, when we are forbidden to eat Sachertore or Linzer tort or even
the delightfully named Punschkrapfen, we might want to pause and think
about something we say every year at the Passover seder: 'In every
generation it is the duty of man to consider himself as if he had come
forth from Egypt'.

Because in this generation, as in all others, there are those who order
custom-made swastika cakes. There are those who name their children
after Adolf Hitler. And there are others who fire anti-tank missiles at
school busses with Jewish children in them. Because there are those who
are building nuclear weapons, having told the world that their intention is
to wipe the Jewish state off the face of the earth. Because people like that
make Pharaoh look like a nice guy. Because getting out of the house of
bondage, out of slavery in Egypt, was not the end of the story for the
Jewish people, but was the beginning.

It is a story of a never-ending struggle for freedom, for dignity, for

respect, for human rights, that has universal resonance and meaning —
for all people, everywhere, always.

Source: Eric Lee

Peace of mind

Once Buddha was walking from one town to another town with a few of
his followers. This was in the initial days. While they were travelling, they
happened to pass a lake. They stopped there and Buddha told one of his
disciples, “ I am thirsty. Do get me some water from that lake there.”

The disciple walked up to the lake. When he reached it, he noticed that
some people were washing clothes in the water and, right at that
moment, a bullock cart started crossing through the lake. As a result, the
water became very muddy, very turbid. The disciple thought, “ How can I
give this muddy water to Buddha to drink!” So he came back and told
Buddha, “ The water in there is very muddy. I don’ t think it is fit to
drink.”

After about half an hour, again Buddha asked the same disciple to go
back to the lake and get him some water to drink. The disciple obediently
went back to the lake. This time he found that the lake had absolutely
clear water in it. The mud had settled down and the water above it looked
fit to be had. So he collected some water in a pot and brought it to
Buddha.

Buddha looked at the water, and then he looked up at the disciple and
said, “ See what you did to make the water clean. You let it be ... and the
mud settled down on its own – and you got clear water... Your mind is
also like that. When it is disturbed, just let it be. Give it a little time. It
will settle down on its own. You don’ t have to put in any effort to calm it
down. It will happen. It is effortless.”

What did Buddha emphasize here? He said, “ It is effortless.” Having

'peace of mind' is not a strenuous job; it is an effortless process. When
there is peace inside you, that peace permeates to the outside. It spreads
around you and in the environment, such that people around start feeling
that peace and grace.

Jumping the queue

Today, a true tale of heroism that takes place not in a war zone, nor a
hospital, but in Victoria station in London in 2007, during a tube strike.
Our hero – a transport journalist and self-described "big, stocky bloke
with a shaven head" named Gareth Edwards, who first wrote about this
experience on the community blog metafilter.com – is standing with
other commuters in a long, snaking line for a bus, when a smartly
dressed businessman blatantly cuts in line behind him. (Behind him: this
detail matters.)

The interloper proves immune to polite remonstration, whereupon

Edwards is seized by a magnificent idea. He turns to the elderly woman
standing behind the queue-jumper, and asks her if she'd like to go ahead
of him. She accepts, so he asks the person behind her, and the next
person, and the next – until 60 or 70 people have moved ahead,
Edwards and the seething queue-jumper shuffling further backwards all
the time. The bus finally pulls up, and Edwards hears a shout from the
front of the line. It's the elderly woman, addressing him: "Young man! Do
you want to go in front of me?"

Author: Oliver Burkeman in "The Guardian Weekend", 28 August 2010

Knowledge and wisdom

There is a difference between knowledge and wisdom.

Knowledge is knowing that a tomato is a fruit not a vegetable.

Wisdom is knowing not to include it in a fruit salad.

The starfish

Once a man was walking along a beach. The sun was shining and it was a
beautiful day. Off in the distance he could see a person going back and
forth between the surf's edge and and the beach. Back and forth this
person went. As the man approached, he could see that there were
hundreds of starfish stranded on the sand as the result of the natural
action of the tide.

The man was stuck by the the apparent futility of the task. There were far
too many starfish. Many of them were sure to perish. As he approached,
the person continued the task of picking up starfish one by one and
throwing them into the surf.

As he came up to the person, he said: "You must be crazy. There are

thousands of miles of beach covered with starfish. You can't possibly
make a difference." The person looked at the man. He then stooped down
and pick up one more starfish and threw it back into the ocean. He turned
back to the man and said: "It sure made a difference to that one!"

The American dream

An American businessman was standing at the pier of a small coastal

Mexican village when a small boat with just one fisherman docked. Inside
the small boat were several large yellowfin tuna. The American
complimented the Mexican on the quality of his fish.

"How long did it take you to catch them?" the American asked.

"Only a little while" the Mexican replied.

"Why don't you stay out longer and catch more fish?" the American then
asked.

"I have enough to support my family's immediate needs" the Mexican

said.

"But" the American then asked, "What do you do with the rest of your
time?"

The Mexican fisherman said: "I sleep late, fish a little, play with my
children, take a siesta with my wife, Maria, stroll into the village each
evening where I sip wine and play guitar with my amigos. I have a full
and busy life, senor."
The American scoffed: "I am a Harvard MBA and could help you. You
should spend more time fishing and with the proceeds you could buy a
bigger boat and, with the proceeds from the bigger boat, you could buy
several boats. Eventually you would have a fleet of fishing boats. Instead
of selling your catch to a middleman, you would sell directly to the
consumers, eventually opening your own can factory. You would control
the product, processing and distribution. You would need to leave this
small coastal fishing village and move to Mexico City, then LA and
eventually NYC where you will run your expanding enterprise."

The Mexican fisherman asked: "But senor, how long will this all take?"

To which the American replied: "15-20 years."

"But what then, senor?"

The American laughed and said: "That's the best part. When the time is
right, you would announce an IPO - an Initial Public Offering - and sell
your company stock to the public and become very rich. You would make
millions."

"Millions, senor? Then what?"

The American said slowly: "Then you would retire. Move to a small coastal
fishing village where you would sleep late, fish a little, play with your kids,
take a siesta with your wife, stroll to the village in the evenings where
you could sip wine and play your guitar with your amigos..."

Alexander and Diogenes

Now when Alexander [the Great] appeared before the Greek leaders in
Corinth they greeted him warmly and paid him lavish compliments- all of
them, that is but one. A funny fellow, a philosopher named Diogenes. He
had views not unlike those of the Buddha. According to him, possessions
and all the things we think we need only serve to distract us and get in
the way of our simple enjoyment of life. So he had given away everything
he owned and now sat, almost naked, in a barrel in the market square in
Corinth where he lived, free and independent like a stray dog.

Curious to meet this strange fellow, Alexander went to call on him.

Dressed in shining armour, the plume on his helmet waving in the breeze,
he walked up to the barrel and said to Diogenes: 'I like you. Let me know
your wish and I shall grant it.' Diogenes, who had until then been
comfortably sunning himself, replied: 'Indeed, Sire, I have a wish.' 'Well,
what is it?' 'Your shadow has fallen over me: stand a little less between
me and the sun.' Alexander is said to have been so struck by this that he
said: 'If I weren't Alexander, I should like to be Diogenes.'

Source: "A Little History Of The World" by E.H. Gombrich

Testing for gossip

In ancient Greece, Socrates was reputed to hold knowledge in high

esteem. One day an acquaintance met the great philosopher and said,
"Do you know what I just heard about your friend?"

"Hold on a minute", Socrates replied. "Before telling me anything I'd like

you to pass a little test. It's called the Triple Filter Test."

"Triple filter?"

"That's right", Socrates continued. "Before you talk to me about my

friend, it might be a good idea to take a moment and filter what you're
going to say. That's why I call it the triple filter test. The first filter
is Truth. Have you made absolutely sure that what you are about to tell
me is true?"

"No,",the man said, "Actually I just heard about it and ..."

"All right", said Socrates. "So you don't really know if it's true or not. Now
let's try the second filter, the filter of Goodness. Is what you are about to
tell me about my friend something good?"

"No, on the contrary."

"So", Socrates continued, "you want to tell me something bad about him,
but you're not certain it's true. You may still pass the test though,
because there's one filter left: the filter of Usefulness. Is what you want
to tell me about my friend going to be useful to me?"

"No, not really."

"Well", concluded Socrates, "if what you want to tell me is neither true
nor good nor even useful, why tell it to me at all?"

Rafting

By good fortune, I was able to raft down the Motu River in New Zealand
twice during the last year. The magnificent four-day journey traverses
one of the last wilderness areas in the North Island.

The first expedition was led by "Buzz", an American guide with a great
deal of rafting experience and many stories to tell of mighty rivers such
as the Colorado. With a leader like Buzz, there was no reason to fear any
of the great rapids on the Motu.

The first half day, in the gentle upper reaches, was spent developing
teamwork and co-ordination. Strokes had to be mastered, and the
discipline of following commands without question was essential. In the
boiling fury of a rapid, there would be no room for any mistake. When
Buzz bellowed above the roar of the water, an instant reaction was
essential.

We mastered the Motu. In every rapid we fought against the river and we
overcame it. The screamed commands of Buzz were matched only by the
fury of our paddles, as we took the raft exactly where Buzz wanted it to
go.

At the end of the journey, there was a great feeling of triumph. We had
won. We proved that we were superior. We knew that we could do it. We
felt powerful and good. The mystery and majesty of the Motu had been
overcome.

The second time I went down the Motu. the experience I had gained
should have been invaluable, but the guide on this journey was a very
softly spoken Kiwi. It seemed that it would not even be possible to hear
his voice above the noise of the rapids.

As we approached the first rapid, he never even raised his voice. He did
not attempt to take command of us or the river. Gently and quietly he felt
the mood of the river and watched every little whirlpool. There was no
drama and no shouting. There was no contest to be won. He loved the
river.

We sped through each rapid with grace and beauty and, after a day, the
river had become our friend, not our enemy. The quiet Kiwi was not our
leader, but only the person whose sensitivity was more developed than
our own. Laughter replaced the tension of achievement.

Soon the quiet Kiwi was able to lean back and let all of us take turns as
leader. A quiet nod was enough to draw attention to the things our lack of
experience prevented us from seeing. If we made a mistake, then we
laughed and it was the next person's turn.

We began to penetrate the mystery of the Motu. Now, like the quiet Kiwi,
we listened to the river and we looked carefully for all those things we
had not even noticed the first time.

At the end of the journey, we had overcome nothing except ourselves. We

did not want to leave behind our friend, the river. There was no contest,
and so nothing had been won. Rather we had become one with the river.

It remains difficult to believe that the external circumstances of the two

journeys were similar. The difference was in an attitude and a frame of
mind. At the end of the journey, it seemed that there could be no other
way. Given the opportunity to choose a leader, everyone would have
chosen someone like Buzz. At the end of the second journey, we had
glimpsed a very different vision and we felt humble - and intensely happy.
The mouse trap

A mouse looked through the crack in the wall to see the farmer and his
wife open a package. "What food might this contain?" the mouse
wondered. He was devastated to discover it was a mousetrap.

Retreating to the farmyard, the mouse proclaimed the warning: "There is

a mousetrap in the house! There is a mousetrap in the house!"

The chicken clucked and scratched, raised her head and said "Mr.Mouse, I
can tell this is a grave concern to you, but it is of no consequence to me. I
cannot be bothered by it."

The mouse turned to the pig and told him "There is a mousetrap in the
house! There is a mousetrap in the house!" The pig sympathized, but said
"I am so very sorry, Mr.Mouse, but there is nothing I can do about it but
pray. Be assured you are in my prayers."

The mouse turned to the cow and said "There is a mousetrap in the
house! There is a mousetrap in the house!" The cow said "Wow, Mr.
Mouse. I'm sorry for you, but it's no skin off my nose."

So, the mouse returned to the house, head down and dejected, to face
the farmer's mousetrap alone.

That very night a sound was heard throughout the house - like the sound
of a mousetrap catching its prey. The farmer's wife rushed to see what
was caught. In the darkness, she did not see it was a venomous snake
whose tail the trap had caught. The snake bit the farmer's wife. The
farmer rushed her to the hospital and she returned home with a fever.

Everyone knows you treat a fever with fresh chicken soup, so the farmer
took his hatchet to the farmyard for the soup's main ingredient. But his
wife's sickness continued, so friends and neighbors came to sit with her
around the clock. To feed them, the farmer butchered the pig. The
farmer's wife did not get well; she died. So many! people came for her
funeral, the farmer had the cow slaughtered to provide enough meat for
all of them.

The mouse looked upon it all from his crack in the wall with great
sadness. So, the next time you hear someone is facing a problem and
think it doesn't concern you, remember: when one of us is threatened, we
are all at risk. We are all involved in this journey called life. We must keep
an eye out for one another and make an extra effort to encourage one
another. Each of us is a vital thread in another person's tapestry.

A foot has no nose

Of the many interactions I had with my mother those many years ago,
one stands out with clarity. I remember the occasion when mother sent
me to the main road, about twenty yards away from the homestead, to
invite a passing group of seasonal work-seekers home for a meal. She
instructed me to take a container along and collect dry cow dung for
making a fire. I was then to prepare the meal for the group of work-
seekers.

The thought of making an open fire outside at midday, cooking in a large

three-legged pot in that intense heat, was sufficient to upset even an
angel. I did not manage to conceal my feelings from my mother and, after
serving the group, she called me to the veranda where she usually sat to
attend to her sewing and knitting.

Looking straight into my eyes, she daid "Tsholofelo, why did you sulk
when I requested you to prepare a meal for those poor destitute people?"
Despite my attempt to deny her allegation, and using the heat of the fire
and the sun as an excuse for my alleged behaviour, mother, giving me a
firm look, said ""Lonao ga lo na nko" - "A foot has no nose". It means:
you cannot detect what trouble may lie ahead of you.

Had I denied this group of people a meal, it may have happened that, in
my travels some time in the future, I found myself at the mercy of those
very individuals. As if that was not enough to shame me, mother
continued: "Motho ke motho ka motho yo mongwe". The literal meaning:
"A person is a person because of another person".

Source: "African Wisdom" by Ellen K. Kuzwayo

From Russia with love

When the Soviet Union collapsed in 1991, the communications trade

union for which I then worked received several delegations from the
emergent nations and we ran courses for them on how market economies
operated and how free collective bargaining was conducted. As is my
practice when lecturing to foreign audiences, I had my visual aids
translated into the vernacular, so I used overhead slides in Russian,
although of course I spoke in English and had an interpreter.

I cannot read the cyrillic alphabet and know very little Russian, so I just
worked through my slides in order. However, there came a point when I
could tell from the statistical data on the latest slide that, for the previous
ten minutes, I had been speaking to the wrong slide. British students
would have pointed this out in seconds, but none of the Russians had said
a word.

I was perplexed and asked why nobody had told me that I had been
speaking to the wrong slide. Eventually one brave soul volunteered an
answer and the interpreter translated: "In our country, no one challenges
the teacher".

Author: Roger Darlington

Virtually no competition

While professional soccer is still struggling to find a firm foothold in the

United States, in the 1970s the North American Soccer League marked
the brave first attempt to introduce the game to American sports fans.
While most teams had only limited success at best, one did manage to
break through to genuine mainstream popularity - the New York Cosmos.

It was the brainchild of Steve Ross, a passionate soccer fan who was also
a major executive at Warner Communications.

Max Ross told his son Steve: "In life there are those who work all day,
those who dream all day, and those who spend an hour dreaming before
setting to work to fulfil those dreams. Go into the third category because
there's virtually no competition".

Source: "Once In A Lifetime - The Extraordinary Story Of The New York

Cosmos" by Gavin Newsham

The little wave

The story is abut a little wave, bobbing along in the ocean, having a grand
old time. He's enjoying the wind and the fresh air - until he notices the
other waves in front of him, crashing against the shore. "My God, this
terrible", the wave says. "Look what's going to happen to me!"

Then along comes another wave. It sees the first wave, looking grim, and
it says to him: "Why do you look so sad?" The first wave says: "You don't
understand! We're all going to crash! All of us waves are going to be
nothing! Isn't it terrible?"

The second wave says: "No, you don't understand. You're not a wave,
you're part of the ocean."

Source: "Tuesdays With Morrie" by Mitch Albom

Believe what you feel

On this day, Morrie says that he has an exercise for us to try. We are to
stand, facing away from our classmates, and fall backward, relying on
another student to catch us. Most of us are uncomfortable with this, and
we cannot let go for more than a few inches before stopping ourselves.
We laugh in embarrassment.

Finally, one student, a thin, quiet, dark-haired girl whom I notice almost
always wears bulky, white fisherman sweaters, crosses her arms over her
chest, closes her eyes, leans back, and does not flinch, like one of those
Lipton tea commercials where the model splashes into the pool..

For a moment, I am sure she is going to thump on the floor. At the last
instant, her assigned partner grabs her head and shoulders and yanks her
up harshly.

"Whoa!!" several students yell. Some clap. Morrie finally smiles. "You
see", he says to the girl, 'you closed your eyes, That was the difference.
Sometimes you cannot believe what you see, you have to believe what
you feel. And if you are ever going to have other people trust you, you
must feel that you can trust them too - even when you're in the dark.
Even when you're falling".

Source: "Tuesdays With Morrie" by Mitch Albom

Everyone can play

At a fundraising dinner for an American school that serves learning

disabled children,the father of one of the students delivered a speech that
would never be forgotten by all who attended. After extolling the school
and its dedicated staff, he offered a question:

"When not interfered with by outside influences, everything nature does is

done with perfection. Yet my son, Shay, cannot learn things as other
children do. He cannot understand things as other children do. Where is
the natural order of things in my son?" The audience was stilled by the
query.

The father continued. "I believe,that when a child like Shay, physically
and mentally handicapped comes into the world, an opportunity to realize
true human nature presents itself, and it comes, in the way other people
treat that child."Then he told the following story:

Shay and his father had walked past a park where some boys Shay knew
were playing baseball. Shay asked,"Do you think they'll let me play?"
Shay's father knew that most of the boys would not want someone like
Shay on their team, but the father also understood that if his son were
allowed to play, it would give him a much-needed sense of belonging and
some confidence to be accepted by others in spite of his handicaps.

Shay's father approached one of the boys on the field and asked if Shay
could play, not expecting much. The boy looked around for guidance and
said, "We're losing by six runs and the game is in the eighth inning. I
guess he can be on our team and we'll try to put him in to bat in the ninth
inning."

Shay struggled over to the team's bench put on a team shirt with a broad
smile and his Father had a small tear in his eye and warmth in his heart.
The boys saw the father's joy at his son being accepted. In the bottom of
the eighth inning, Shay's team scored a few runs but was still behind by
three. In the top of the ninth inning, Shay put on a glove and played in
the right field.

Even though no hits came his way, he was obviously ecstatic just to be in
the game and on the field, grinning from ear to ear as his father waved to
him from the stands. In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shay's team
scored again. Now, with two outs and the bases loaded, the potential
winning run was on base and Shay was scheduled to be next at bat.

At this juncture, do they let Shay bat and give away their chance to win
the game? Surprisingly, Shay was given the bat. Everyone knew that a hit
was all but impossible because Shay didn't even know how to hold the bat
properly, much less connect with the ball.

However, as Shay stepped up to the plate, the pitcher, recognizing the

other team putting winning aside for this moment in Shay's life, moved in
a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shay could at least be able to make
contact. The first pitch came and Shay swung clumsily and missed. The
pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly towards
Shay. As the pitch came in, Shay swung at the ball and hit a slow ground
ball right back to the pitcher.

The game would now be over, but the pitcher picked up the soft grounder
and could have easily thrown the ball to the first baseman. Shay would
have been out and that would have been the end of the game.

Instead, the pitcher threw the ball right over the head of the first
baseman, out of reach of all team mates. Everyone from the stands and
both teams started yelling, "Shay, run to first! Run to first!" Never in his
life had Shay ever ran that far but made it to first base. He scampered
down the baseline, wide-eyed and startled.

Everyone yelled, "Run to second, run to second!" Catching his breath,

Shay awkwardly ran towards second, gleaming and struggling to make it
to second base. By the time Shay rounded towards second base, the right
fielder had the ball, the smallest guy on their team, who had a chance to
be the hero for his team for the first time. He could have thrown the ball
to the second-baseman for the tag, but he understood the pitcher's
intentions and he too intentionally threw the ball high and far over the
third-baseman's head. Shay ran toward third base deliriously as the
runners ahead of him circled the bases toward home.

All were screaming, "Shay, Shay, Shay, all the Way Shay" Shay reached
third base, the opposing shortstop ran to help him and turned him in the
direction of third base, and shouted, "Run to third! Shay, run to third" As
Shay rounded third, the boys from both teams and those watching were
on their feet were screaming, "Shay, run home! Shay ran to home,
stepped on the plate, and was cheered as the hero who hit the "grand
slam" and won the game for his team.

That day, said the father softly with tears now rolling down his face, the
boys from both teams helped bring a piece of true love and humanity into
this world. Shay didn't make it to another summer and died that winter,
having never forgotten being the hero and making his father so happy
and coming home and seeing his mother tearfully embrace her little hero
of the day!

Source: Rabbi Paysach Krohn, a popular lecturer and best-selling author

of the ArtScroll Maggid series of short stories

I must at least try

In June 1985, two British mountaineers Joe Simpson and Simon Yates
made the first-ever climb of the West Face of the 21,000 foot snow-
covered Siula Grande mountain in Peru. It was an exceptionally tough
assault - but nothing compared to what was to come. Early in the
descent, Simpson fell and smashed his right knee. Yates could have
abandoned him but managed to find a way of lowering him down the
mountain in a series of difficult drops blinded by snow and cold. Then
Simpson fell into a crevasse and Yates eventually had no choice but to cut
the rope, utterly convinced that his friend was now dead.

In his subsequent book on the climb entitled "Touching The Void", Joe
Simpson wrote:

"As I gazed at the distant moraines, I knew that I must at least try. I
would probably die out there amid those boulders. The thought didn't
alarm me. It seemed reasonable, matter-of-fact. That was how it was. I
could aim for something. If I died, well, that wasn't so surprising, but I
wouldn't have just waited for it to happen. The horror of dying no longer
affected me as it had in the crevasse. I now had the chance to confront it
and struggle against it. It wasn't a bleak dark terror any more, just fact,
like my broken leg and frostbitten fingers, and I couldn't be afraid of
things like that. My leg would hurt when I fell and when I couldn't get up I
would die."

The survival of Yates himself was extraordinary. That Simpson somehow

found a way of climbing out of the crevasse after 12 hours and then
literally crawled and dragged himself six miles back to camp, going three
days and nights without food or drink, losing three stone, and contracting
ketoacidosis in the process, would be the stuff of heroic fiction if it was
not so true. Indeed, six operations and two years later, he was even back
climbing. All because, against all the odds, he tried ...
Source: "Touching The Void" by Joe Simpson

King Arthur and the witch

Young King Arthur was ambushed and imprisoned by the monarch of a

neighboring kingdom. The monarch could have killed him but was moved
by Arthur's youth and ideals. So, the monarch offered him his freedom, as
long as he could answer a very difficult question. Arthur would have a
year to figure out the answer and, if after a year, he still had no answer,
he would be put to death.

The question?....What do women really want? Such a question would

perplex even the most knowledgeable man, and to young Arthur, it
seemed an impossible query. But, since it was better than death, he
accepted the monarch's proposition to have an answer by year's end.

He returned to his kingdom and began to poll everyone: the princess, the
priests, the wise men and even the court jester. He spoke with everyone,
but no one could give him a satisfactory answer. Many people advised
him to consult the old witch, for only she would have the answer. But the
price would be high; as the witch was famous throughout the kingdom for
the exorbitant prices she charged.

The last day of the year arrived and Arthur had no choice but to talk to
the witch She agreed to answer the question, but he would have to agree
to her price first. The old witch wanted to marry Sir Lancelot, the most
noble of the Knights of the Round Table and Arthur's closest friend! Young
Arthur was horrified. She was hunchbacked and hideous, had only one
tooth, smelled like sewage, made obscene noises, etc. He had never
encountered such a repugnant creature in all his life.

He refused to force his friend to marry her and endure such a terrible
burden; but Lancelot, learning of the proposal, spoke with Arthur. He said
nothing was too big of a sacrifice compared to Arthur's life and the
preservation of the Round Table.

Hence, a wedding was proclaimed and the witch answered Arthur's

question thus: What a woman really wants, she answered....is to be in
charge of her own life! Everyone in the kingdom instantly knew that the
witch had uttered a great truth and that Arthur's life would be spared.
And so it was, the neighboring monarch granted Arthur his freedom and
Lancelot and the witch had a wonderful wedding.

The honeymoon hour approached and Lancelot, steeling himself for a

horrific experience, entered the bedroom. But, what a sight awaited him.
The most beautiful woman he had ever seen lay before him on the bed.
The astounded Lancelot asked what had happened
The beauty replied that since he had been so kind to her when she
appeared as a witch, she would henceforth, be her horrible deformed self
only half the time and the beautiful maiden the other half. Which would
he prefer? Beautiful during the day...or night?

Lancelot pondered the predicament. During the day, a beautiful woman to

show off to his friends, but at night, in the privacy of his castle, an old
witch? Or, would he prefer having a hideous witch during the day, but by
night, a beautiful woman for him to enjoy wondrous intimate moments?

Noble Lancelot said that he would allow HER to make the choice herself.
Upon hearing this, she announced that she would be beautiful all the time
because he had respected her enough to let her be in charge of her own
life.

Helping hands

A mother, wishing to encourage her son's progress at the piano, bought

tickets to a performance by the great Polish pianist Ignace Paderewski.
When the evening arrived, they found their seats near the front of the
concert hall and eyed the majestic Steinway waiting on the stage. Soon
the mother found a friend to talk to, and the boy slipped away.

At eight o'clock, the lights in the auditorium began to dim, the spotlights
came on, and only then did they notice the boy - up on the piano bench,
innocently picking out "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star." His mother gasped in
shock and embarassment but, before she could retrieve her son, the
master himself appeared on the stage and quickly moved to the
keyboard.

He whispered gently to the boy, "Don't quit. Keep playing." Leaning over,
Paderewski reached down with his left hand and began filling in the bass
part. Soon his right arm reached around the other side and improvised a
delightful obligato. Together, the old master and the young novice held
the crowd mesmerized with their blended and beautiful music.

In all our lives, we receive helping hands - some we notice, some we

don't. Equally we ourselves have countless opportunites to provide
helping hands - sometimes we would like our assistance to be noticed,
sometimes we don't. Little of what we all achieve is without learning from
others and without support from others and what we receive we should
hand out.

The teacher and the taught

A young teacher from an industrial city in the north of England had

accepted a temporary job teaching a class of four-year-olds out in one of
the most isolated, rural parts of north Wales. One of her first lessons
involved teaching the letter S so she held up a big colour photograph of a
sheep and said: "Now, who can tell me what this is?"

No answer. Twenty blank and wordless faces looked back at her. "Come
on, who can tell me what this is?" she exclaimed, tapping the photograph
determinedly, unable to believe that the children were quite so ignorant.
The 20 faces became apprehensive and even fearful as she continued to
question them with mounting frustration.

Eventually, one brave soul put up a tiny, reluctant hand. "Yes!" she cried,
waving the snap aloft. "Tell me what you think this is!" "Please, Miss,"
said the boy warily. "Is it a three-year-old Border Leicester?"

Source: "Guardian", 2 November 2005

Going the extra mile

I was 20 and had just finished my first degree when I aksed my father's
advice on how to approach the world of work. He had a long and
distinguished career in the Indian Army and rose to become commander-
in-chief of a million men. He was a soldier's soldier and his men adored
him. His manner was strict and firm, but he was very friendly. He
appreciated and trusted people and gave then freedom.

"Come and see me in my office if you want to talk to me about work" he

said. So I made an appointment with his ADC and went to see him. He
had a huge office and I felt very small.

"You are starting out and you will be given a lot of tasks to fulfil" he said.
"The first thing is always to do something to the best of your ability. Then
the second time you do it, give it that little bit extra". What he was saying
was: "Take the initiative; be innovative; be creative. Always go the extra
mile."

Source: Karan Bilimoria, founder and chief executive of Cobra Beer,

speaking to Sheridan Winn for "Business Life".

Who you are speaks louder to me than anything you can say

At the beginning of my 8:00 a.m. class one Monday at University of

Nevada, Las Vegas (UNLV), I cheerfully asked my students how their
weekend had been. One young man said that his weekend had not been
very good. He'd had his wisdom teeth extracted. The young man then
proceeded to ask me why I always seemed to be so cheerful. His question
reminded me of something I'd read somewhere before: "Every morning
when you get up, you have a choice about how you want to approach life
that day", I said to the young man. "I choose to be cheerful". "Let me
give you an example", I continued.

The other 60 students in the class ceased their chatter and began to listen
to our conversation.

As soon as I got there, I called AAA and asked them to send a tow truck. The secretary in the
Provost's office asked me what had happened. "This is my lucky day", I replied, smiling.
"Your car breaks down and today is your lucky day??" She was puzzled. "What do you
mean?"

"I live 17 miles from here", I replied. "My car could have broken down
anywhere along the freeway. It didn't. Instead, it broke down in the
perfect place: off the freeway, within walking distance of here. I'm still
able to teach my class, and I've been able to arrange for the tow truck to
meet me after class. If my car was meant to break down today, it couldn't
have been arranged in a more convenient fashion." The secretary's eyes
opened wide, and then she smiled. I smiled back and headed for class.'
So ended my story to the students in my economics class at UNLV.

I scanned the 60 faces in the lecture hall. Despite the early hour, no one
seemed to be asleep. Somehow, my story had touched them. Or maybe it
wasn't the story at all. In fact, it had all started with a student's
observation that I was cheerful. A wise man once said: "Who you are
speaks louder to me than anything you can say". I suppose it must be so.

Author: Lee Ryan Miller - story from his book "Teaching Amidst the Neon
Palm Trees" - for whose website click here.

Different perspectives

The Minister travelled for days by train and car and boat to one of the
furthest islands in the nation. As he surveyed the bleak but inspiring
landscape, he turned to a local villager and said: "You're very remote
here, aren't you?" She responded: "Remote from what?"

The eagle

Once a farmer found an abandoned eagle's nest and in it was an egg still
warm. He took the egg back to his farm and laid it in the nest of one of
his hens. The egg hatched and the baby eagle grew up along with the
other chickens. It pecked about the farmyard, scrabbling for grain. It
spent its life within the yard and rarely looked up. When it was very old,
one day it lifted up its head and saw above it a wonderful sight - an eagle
soaring high above in the sky. Looking at it, the old creature sighed and
said to itself, "If only I'd been born an eagle".

Source: an adaptation from an Anthony de Mello story

The three races

In old times, fable retells the story of the young athletic boy hungry for
success, for whom winning was everything and success was measured by
such a result.

One day, the boy was preparing himself for a running competition in his
small native village, himself and two other young boys to compete. A
large crowd had congregated to witness the sporting spectacle and a wise
old man, upon hearing of the little boy, had travelled far to bear witness
also.

The race commenced, looking like a level heat at the finishing line, but
sure enough the boy dug deep and called on his determination, strength
and power .. he took the winning line and was first. The crowd was
ecstatic and cheered and waved at the boy. The wise man remained still
and calm, expressing no sentiment. The little boy, however. felt proud
and important.

A second race was called, and two new young, fit, challengers came
forward, to run with the little boy. The race was started and sure enough
the little boy came through and finished first once again. The crowd was
ecstatic again and cheered and waved at the boy. The wise man remained
still and calm, again expressing no sentiment. The little boy, however, felt
proud and important.

"Another race, another race!" pleaded the little boy. The wise old man
stepped forward and presented the little boy with two new challengers, an
elderly frail lady and a blind man. "What is this?", quizzed the little boy.
"This is no race" he exclaimed. "Race!", said the wise man. The race was
started and the boy was the only finisher, the other two challengers left
standing at the starting line. The little boy was ecstatic, he raised his
arms in delight. The crowd, however, was silent showing no sentiment
toward the little boy.

"What has happened? Why not do the people join in my success?" he

asked the wise old man. "Race again", replied the wise man, "...this time,
finish together, all three of you, finish together" continued the wise man.
The little boy thought a little, stood in the middle of the blind man and the
frail old lady, and then took the two challengers by the hand. The race
began and the little boy walked slowly, ever so slowly, to the finishing line
and crossed it. The crowd were ecstatic and cheered and waved at the
boy. The wise man smiled, gently nodding his head. The little boy felt
proud and important.

"Old man, I understand not! Who are the crowd cheering for? Which one
of us three?", asked the little boy. The wise old man looked into the little
boy's eyes, placing his hands on the boy's shoulders, and replied softly ..
"Little boy, for this race you have won much more than in any race you
have ever ran before, and for this race the crowd cheer not for any
winner!"

Author: Darren Edwards

The obstacle in our path

In ancient times, a King had a boulder placed on a roadway. Then he hid

himself and watched to see if anyone would remove the huge rock. Some
of the king's wealthiest merchants and courtiers came by and simply
walked around it. Many loudly blamed the King for not keeping the roads
clear, but none did anything about getting the stone out of the way.

Then a peasant came along carrying a load of vegetables. Upon

approaching the boulder, the peasant laid down his burden and tried to
move the stone to the side of the road. After much pushing and straining,
he finally succeeded. After the peasant picked up his load of vegetables,
he noticed a purse lying in the road where the boulder had been. The
purse contained many gold coins and a note from the King indicating that
the gold was for the person who removed the boulder from the roadway.

The peasant learned what many of us never understand! Every obstacle

presents an opportunity to improve our condition.

Bad by name; bad by nature?

During Nelson Mandela's 19 years imprisoned on Robben Island, one

particular commanding officer was the most brutal of them all:

"A few days before Badenhorst's departure, I was called to the main
office. General Steyn was visiting the island and wanted to know if we had
any complaints. Badenhorst was there as I went through a list of
demands. When I had finished, Badenhorst spoke to me directly.

He told me he would be leaving the island and added: 'I just want to wish
you people good luck'. I do not know if I looked dumbfounded, but I was
amazed. He spoke these words like a human being and showed a side of
himself we had never seen before. I thanked him for his good wishes and
wished him luck in his endeavours.

I thought about this moment for a long time afterwards. Badenhorst had
perhaps been the most callous and barbaric commanding officer we had
had on Robben Island. But that day in the office, he had revealed that
that there was another side to his nature, a side that had been obscured
but still existed.
It was a useful reminder that all men, even the most seemingly cold-
blooded, have a core of decency and that, if their hearts are touched,
they are capable of changing. Ultimately, Badenhorst was not evil; his
inhumanity had been foisted upon him by an inhuman system. He
behaved like a brute because he was rewarded for brutish behaviour."

Source: "Long Walk To Fredom" by Nelson Mandela

Everyone is important

During Mark's first month of college, the professor gave his students a
pop quiz. He was a conscientious student and had breezed through the
questions, until he read the last one: "What is the first name of the
woman who cleans the school?" Surely this was some kind of joke. He
had seen the cleaning woman several times. She was tall, dark-haired
and in her 50s, but how would he know her name? He handed in his
paper, leaving the last question blank.

Just before class ended, one student asked if the last question would
count toward the quiz grade. "Absolutely," said the professor. "In your
careers, you will meet many people. All are significant. They each deserve
your attention and care, even if all you do is smile and say 'hello'". Mark
never forgot that lesson. He also learned her name was Dorothy.

The carrot, the egg, and the coffee bean

A young woman went to her mother and told her about her life and how
things were so hard for her. She did not know how she was going to make
it and wanted to give up. She was tired of fighting and struggling.

It seemed that, as one problem was solved, a new one arose. Her mother
took her to the kitchen. She filled three pots with water and placed each
on a high fire. Soon the pots came to a boil. In the first, she placed
carrots, in the second she placed eggs, and in the last she placed ground
coffee beans.

She let them sit and boil, without saying a word. In about twenty
minutes, she turned off the burners. She fished the carrots out and placed
them in a bowl. She pulled the eggs out and placed them in a bowl. Then
she ladled the coffee out and placed it in a bowl. Turning to her daughter,
she asked, "Tell me, what do you see?"

"Carrots, eggs, and coffee," the young woman replied. The mother
brought her closer and asked her to feel the carrots. She did and noted
that they were soft. She then asked her to take an egg and break it. After
pulling off the shell, she observed the hard-boiled egg. Finally, she asked
her to sip the coffee. The daughter smiled as she tasted its rich aroma.
The daughter then asked, "What does it mean, mother?"

Her mother explained that each of these objects had faced the same
adversity - boiling water - but each reacted differently. The carrot went in
strong, hard and unrelenting. However, after being subjected to the
boiling water, it softened and became weak.

The egg had been fragile. Its thin outer shell had protected its liquid
interior. But, after sitting through the boiling water, its inside became
hardened! The ground coffee beans were unique, however. After they
were in the boiling water, they had changed the water.

"Which are you?" the mother asked her daughter. "When adversity
knocks on your door, how do you respond? Are you a carrot, an egg, or a
coffee bean?" Think of this: Which am I? Am I the carrot that seems
strong but, with pain and adversity, do I wilt and become soft and lose
my strength? Am I the egg that starts with a malleable heart, but
changes with the heat? Did I have a fluid spirit but, after a death, a
breakup, or a financial hardship, does my shell look the same, but on the
inside am I bitter and tough with a stiff spirit and a hardened heart? Or
am I like the coffee bean? The bean actually changes the hot water, the
very circumstance that brings the pain. When the water gets hot, it
releases the fragrance and flavour.

If you are like the bean, when things are at their worst, you get better
and change the situation around you. When the hours are the darkest and
trials are their greatest, do you elevate to another level? How do you
handle adversity? Are you a carrot, an egg, or a coffee bean?

The two wolves

A Native American grandfather was talking to his grandson about how he

felt. He said, "I feel as if I have two wolves fighting in my heart. One wolf
is the vengeful, angry, violent one. The other wolf is the loving,
compassionate one." The grandson asked him, "Which wolf will win the
fight in your heart?" The grandfather answered: "The one I feed."

The great fire and the little water

Among the Aztec people of Mexico, it is said that a long time ago there
was a great fire in the forests that covered our Earth. People and animals
started to run, trying to escape from the fire. Our brother owl, Tecolotl,
was running away also when he noticed a small bird hurrying back and
forth between the nearest river and the fire. He headed towards this small
bird.
He noticed that it was our brother the Quetzal bird, Quetzaltototl, running
to the river, picking up small drops of water in his beak, then returning to
the fire to throw that tiny bit of water on the flame. Owl approached
Quetsal bird and yelled at him: "What are you doing brother? Are you
stupid? You are not going to achieve anything by doing this. What are you
trying to do? You must run for your life!"

Quetzal bird stopped for a moment and looked at owl, and then
answered: "I am doing the best I can with what I have."

It is remembered by our Grandparents that a long time ago the forests

that covered our Earth were saved from a great fire by a small Quetzal
bird, an owl, and many other animals and people who got together to put
out the fire.

Source: "Turning To One Another" by Margaret Wheatley

A sense of a goose

Next Autumn, when you see geese heading south for the winter, flying in
a "V" formation, you might consider what science has discovered as to
why they fly that way. As each bird flaps its wings, it creates an uplift for
the bird immediately following. By flying in a "V" formation, the whole
flock adds at least 71 percent greater flying range than if each bird flew
on its own.
People who share a common direction and sense of community can get
where they are going more quickly and easily, because they are travelling
on the thrust of one another.

When a goose falls out of formation, it suddenly feels the drag and
resistance of trying to go it alone and quickly gets back into formation to
take advantage of the lifting power of the bird in front.
If we have the sense of a goose, we will stay in formation with those
people who are heading the same way we are.

When the head goose gets tired, it rotates back in the wing and another
goose flies point.
It is sensible to take turns doing demanding jobs, whether with people or
with geese flying south.

Geese honk from behind to encourage those up front to keep up their

speed.
What message do we give when we honk from behind?

Finally - and this is important - when a goose gets sick or is wounded by

gunshot, and falls out of the formation, two other geese fall out with that
goose and follow it down to lend help and protection. They stay with the
fallen goose until it is able to fly or until it dies; and only then do they
launch out on their own, or with another formation to catch up with their
own group.
If we have the sense of a goose, we will stand by each other like that.

The seeker of truth

After years of searching, the seeker was told to go to a cave, in which he

would find a well. 'Ask the well what is truth', he was advised, 'and the
well will reveal it to you'. Having found the well, the seeker asked that
most fundamental question. And from the depths came the answer, 'Go to
the village crossroad: there you shall find what you are seeking'.

Full of hope and anticipation the man ran to the crossroad to find only
three rather uninteresting shops. One shop was selling pieces of metal,
another sold wood, and thin wires were for sale in the third. Nothing and
no one there seemed to have much to do with the revelation of truth.

Disappointed, the seeker returned to the well to demand an explanation,

but he was told only, 'You will understand in the future.' When the man
protested, all he got in return were the echoes of his own shouts.
Indignant for having been made a fool of - or so he thought at the time -
the seeker continued his wanderings in search of truth. As years went by,
the memory of his experience at the well gradually faded until one night,
while he was walking in the moonlight, the sound of sitar music caught
his attention. It was wonderful music and it was played with great
mastery and inspiration.

Profoundly moved, the truth seeker felt drawn towards the player. He
looked at the fingers dancing over the strings. He became aware of the
sitar itself. And then suddenly he exploded in a cry of joyous recognition:
the sitar was made out of wires and pieces of metal and wood just like
those he had once seen in the three stores and had thought it to be
without any particular significance.

At last he understood the message of the well: we have already been

given everything we need: our task is to assemble and use it in the
appropriate way. Nothing is meaningful so long as we perceive only
separate fragments. But as soon as the fragments come together into a
synthesis, a new entity emerges, whose nature we could not have
foreseen by considering the fragments alone.

A meeting of minds

Martin was returning to work in his London office after spending two
weeks with his brother over in New York. He was coming back with a
heavy heart. It was not just that it was the end of a wonderful holiday; it
was not just that he invariably suffered badly from jet lag; it was that
Monday mornings always began with a team meeting and, over the
months, he had grown to hate them.

Martin was aware that colleagues approached these meetings with hidden
agendas; they indulged in game-playing; and he knew that people were
not being honest and open. The meetings themselves were bad enough -
but then there was all the moaning afterwards. "The usual people saying
the usual things". "I could have improved on that idea, but I wasn't going
to say". "I was thinking of making a suggestion - but I couldn't be
bothered".

As this morning's meeting began, Martin braced himself for the usual
moroseness and monotony. But, as the meeting progressed, he became
aware of a strange background noise. At first, he thought that he was still
hearing the engine noise from the aircraft that had brought him back to
London - he had had to sit over the wing and the droning was terrible.
But, as he concentrated on the noise, it became a little clearer.

He realised - to his amazement - that he could hear what his colleagues

were thinking as well as what they were saying. As he concentrated still
harder, he found that he could actually hear what they were thinking at
the same time as they were speaking. What surprised him, even more
than the acquisition of this strange power, was that he discovered that
what people were saying was not really what they were thinking. They
were not making clear their reservations. They were not supporting views
which they thought might be unpopular. They were not contributing their
new insights. They were not volunteering their new ideas.

Martin found it impossible not to respond to his new knowledge. So he

started to make gentle interventions, based more on what he could hear
his colleagues thinking than on what he could hear them saying. "So,
John are you really saying .." "Susan, Do you really think that … " "Tom,
Have you got an idea on how we could take this forward?" He was aware
that his colleagues were unsettled by how insightful were these
interventions. They looked at him mystified. In truth, he felt rather proud
of his newly-acquired talent.

Emboldened now, Martin forgot his usual misery at participating in such

meetings and began making comments of his own. However, he became
aware that some of his colleagues were looking at him quizzically. One or
two even had a gentle smile playing on their lips. Only gradually did it
dawn on him - they could hear his thoughts and he was not really saying
what he was thinking.

As the meeting progressed, Martin became aware of changes to the tone

and style of the event. It was clear to him now that, one by one, each
member of the meeting was learning how to hear the thoughts of all the
others and this was subtly changing how they inter-acted with one
another. The game-playing started to fall away; people started to speak
more directly; views became better understood; the atmosphere became
more open and trusting.
The meeting ended. As people left the room, Martin found that he could
still hear what they were thinking. "That was the best meeting we've ever
had." "All meetings should be like that." "In future, I'm going to say what
I think".

Author: Roger Darlington

Chopsticks

A woman who had worked all her life to bring about good was granted
one wish: "Before I die let me visit both hell and heaven." Her wish was
granted.

She was whisked off to a great banqueting hall. The tables were piled
high with delicious food and drink. Around the tables sat miserable,
starving people as wretched as could be. "Why are they like this?" she
asked the angel who accompanied her. "Look at their arms," the angel
replied. She looked and saw that attached to the people's arms were long
chopsticks secured above the elbow. Unable to bend their elbows, the
people aimed the chopsticks at the food, missed every time and sat
hungry, frustrated and miserable. "Indeed this is hell! Take me away from
here!"

She was then whisked off to heaven. Again she found herself in a great
banqueting hall with tables piled high. Around the tables sat people
laughing, contented, joyful. "No chopsticks I suppose," she said. "Oh yes
there are. Look - just as in hell they are long and attached above the
elbow but look... here people have learnt to feed one another".

The problem with dandelions

A man who took great pride in his lawn found himself with a large crop of
dandelions. He tried every method he knew to get rid of them. Still they
plagued him.

Finally he wrote to the Department of Agriculture. He enumerated all the

things he had tried and closed his letter with the question: "What shall I
do now?"

In due course, the reply came: "We suggest you learn to love them."

In the same boat

Two men were out on the ocean in a boat.

One of them began drilling in the bottom of the boat, and the other,
aghast said "What are you doing? Stop drilling!".

And the first man replied: "It's all right. I'm only drilling on my side."

The frogs and the tower

There once was a bunch of tiny frogs...

... who arranged a running competition. The goal was to reach the top of
a very high tower. A big crowd had gathered around the tower to see the
race and cheer on the contestants...

The race began...

Honestly, no-one in crowd really believed that the tiny frogs would reach
the top of the tower. You heard statements such as:

"Oh, WAY too difficult!!"

"They will NEVER make it to the top".

"Not a chance that they will succeed. The tower is too high!"

The tiny frogs began collapsing. One by one...

... Except for those who in a fresh tempo were climbing higher and
higher...

The crowd continued to yell

"It is too difficult!!! No one will make it!"

More tiny frogs got tired and gave up...

...But ONE continued higher and higher and higher...

This one wouldn't give up!

At the end, everyone else had given up climbing the tower. Except for the
one tiny frog who, after a big effort, was the only one who reached the
top!

THEN all of the other tiny frogs naturally wanted to know how this one
frog managed to do it?

A contestant asked the tiny frog how the one who succeeded had found
the strength to reach the goal?

It turned out...
That the winner was deaf.

The international food shortage

Recently, a worldwide survey was conducted and the only question asked
was: "Would you please give your honest opinion about the solution to
the food shortage in the rest of the world?"

The survey was, not surprisingly, a huge failure. Because:

In Africa they didn't know what "food" meant.

In Eastern Europe they didn't know what "honest" meant.

In Western Europe they didn't know what "shortage" meant.

In China they didn't know what "opinion" meant.

In the Middle East they didn't know what "solution" meant.

In South America they didn't know what "please" meant.

And, in the USA they didn't know what "the rest of the world" meant.

The Japanese master

A great Japanese master received a university professor who came to

enquire about wisdom. The master served tea. He poured his visitor's cup
full, and then kept on pouring. The professor watched the overflow until
he could no longer restrain himself. 'It is overfull. No more will go in!'
'Like this cup,' the master said, 'you are full of your own opinions and
speculations. How can I show you wisdom unless you first empty your
cup?'

The secret of happiness

A certain shopkeeper sent his son to learn about the secret of happiness
from the wisest man in the world. The lad wandered through the desert
for 40 days, and finally came upon a beautiful castle, high atop a
mountain. It was there that the wise man lived.

Rather than finding a saintly man, though, our hero, on entering the main
room of the castle, saw a hive of activity: tradesmen came and went,
people were conversing in the corners, a small orchestra was playing soft
music, and there was a table covered with platters of the most delicious
food in that part of the world. The wise man conversed with everyone,
and the boy had to wait for two hours before it was his turn to be given
the man's attention.

The wise man listened attentively to the boy's explanation of why he had
come, but told him that he didn't have time just then to explain the secret
of happiness. He suggested that the boy look around the palace and
return in two hours.

"Meanwhile, I want to ask you to do something", said the wise man,

handing the boy a teaspoon that held two drops of oil. "As you wander
around, carry this spoon with you without allowing the oil to spill".

The boy began climbing and descending the many stairways of the
palace, keeping his eyes fixed on the spoon. After two hours, he returned
to the room where the wise man was.

"Well", asked the wise man, "Did you see the Persian tapestries that are
hanging in my dining hall? Did you see the garden that it took the master
gardener ten years to create? Did you notice the beautiful parchments in
my library?"

The boy was embarrassed, and confessed that he had observed nothing.
His only concern had been not to spill the oil that the wise man had
entrusted to him.

"Then go back and observe the marvels of my world", said the wise man.
"You cannot trust a man if you don't know his house".

Relieved, the boy picked up the spoon and returned to his exploration of
the palace, this time observing all of the works of art on the ceilings and
the walls. He saw the gardens, the mountains all around him, the beauty
of the flowers, and the taste with which everything had been selected.
Upon returning to the wise man, he related in detail everything he had
seen.

"But where are the drops of oil I entrusted to you?" asked the wise man.
Looking down at the spoon he held, the boy saw that the oil was gone.

"Well, there is only one piece of advice I can give you", said the wisest of
wise men. "The secret of happiness is to see all the marvels of the world
and never to forget the drops of oil on the spoon".

Author: Paul Coelho in "The Alchemist"

The house with the golden windows

The little girl lived in a small, very simple, poor house on a hill and as she
grew she would play in the small garden and as she grew she was able to
see over the garden fence and across the valley to a wonderful house
high on the hill - and this house had golden windows, so golden and
shining that the little girl would dream of how magic it would be to grow
up and live in a house with golden windows instead of an ordinary house
like hers.

And although she loved her parents and her family, she yearned to live in
such a golden house and dreamed all day about how wonderful and
exciting it must feel to live there.

When she got to an age where she gained enough skill and sensibility to
go outside her garden fence, she asked her mother is she could go for a
bike ride outside the gate and down the lane. After pleading with her, her
mother finally allowed her to go, insisting that she kept close to the house
and didn't wander too far. The day was beautiful and the little girl knew
exactly where she was heading! Down the lane and across the valley, she
rode her bike until she got to the gate of the golden house across on the
other hill.

As she dismounted her bike and lent it against the gate post, she focused
on the path that lead to the house and then on the house itself...and was
so disappointed as she realised all the windows were plain and rather
dirty, reflecting nothing other than the sad neglect of the house that
stood derelict.

So sad she didn't go any further and turned, heart broken as she
remounted her bike ... As she glanced up she saw a sight to amaze
her...there across the way on her side of the valley was a little house and
its windows glistened golden ...as the sun shone on her little home.

She realised that she had been living in her golden house and all the love
and care she found there was what made her home the 'golden house'.
Everything she dreamed was right there in front of her nose!

Nothing is written

My all-time favourite film is "Lawrence Of Arabia" and, if I have a

favourite scene from the movie, then I guess it is the one of Lawrence's
triumphal return from the Nefud desert, having gone back to rescue the
Arab Gasim. The crossing of the Nefud desert is considered impossible,
even by the local Arabs, but Lawrence persuades them that, in this way,
they can take the Turkish port at Aqaba from the rear.

Having carried out the superhuman feat of traversing this furnace, it is

discovered that one of the Arabs, Gasim, has fallen off his camel and is no
doubt dying somewhere back in the desert. Lawrence is told that any idea
of rescue is futile and, in any event, Gasim's death is "written". When
Lawrence achieves the impossible and returns with Gasim still alive,
Sherif Ali admits to him: "Truly, for some men nothing is written unless
they write it".
As an impressionable teenager when this film was first released, I was
stunned by Lawrence's courage and unselfishness in going back into the
hell of the Nefud to attempt to find a man he hardly knew among the vast
expanse of a fiery terrain and I was so moved by the sense of purpose of
a man who is determined to take nothing as "written" but to shape his
own destiny. This sense of anti-determinism and this belief that anything
is possible has stayed with me always and continues to inspire me in
small ways and large.

Author: Roger Darlington

The Chinese farmer

There is a Chinese story of an old farmer who had an old horse for tilling
his fields. One day the horse escaped into the hills and, when all the
farmer's neighbours sympathised with the old man over his bad luck, the
farmer replied, 'Bad luck? Good luck? Who knows?'

A week later the horse returned with a herd of wild horses from the hills
and this time the neighbours congratulated the farmer on his good luck.
His reply was, 'Good luck? Bad luck? Who knows?'

Then, when the farmer's son was attempted to tame one of the wild
horses, he fell off its back and broke his leg. Everyone thought this very
bad luck. Not the farmer, whose only reaction was, 'Bad luck? Good luck?
Who knows?'

Some weeks later the army marched into the village and conscripted
every able-bodied youth they found there. When they saw the farmer's
son with his broken leg they let him off. Now was that good luck? Bad
luck? Who knows?

King Solomon and the baby

One day, the wise King Solomon was approached by two women arguing
over a baby. Each claimed the child was hers. Unable to judge, King
Solomon thought up a plan - he offered to cut the baby in half, giving half
to the one and half to the other.

The first women agreed with the King: "Let the baby be neither mine nor
hers, but divide it. If I can't have the child", she cried, "she can't have it
either". The second women pleaded with Solomon not to hurt the child.
"Give her the baby. I'd rather lose the child that see it slain".

Solomon knew immediately that this was the rightful mother. He returned
the baby to her.
The wise teacher and the jar

There was once a very wise teacher, whose words of wisdom students
would come from far and wide to hear. One day as usual, many students
began to gather in the teaching room. They came in and sat down very
quietly, looking to the front with keen anticipation, ready to hear what the
teacher had to say.

Eventually the teacher came in and sat down in front of the students. The
room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. On one side of the teacher
was a large glass jar. On the other side was a pile of dark grey rocks.
Without saying a word, the teacher began to pick up the rocks one by one
and place them very carefully in the glass jar (Plonk. Plonk.) When all the
rocks were in the jar, the teacher turned to the students and asked, 'Is
the jar full?' 'Yes,' said the students. 'Yes, teacher, the jar is full'.

Without saying a word, the teacher began to drop small round pink
pebbles carefully into the large glass jar so that they fell down between
the rocks. (Clickety click. Clickety click.) When all the pebbles were in the
jar, the teacher turned to the students and asked, 'Is the jar now full?'
The students looked at one another and then some of them started
nodding and saying, 'Yes. Yes, teacher, the jar is now full. Yes'.

Without saying a word, the teacher took some fine silver sand and let it
trickle with a gentle sighing sound into the large glass jar (whoosh) where
it settled around the pink pebbles and the dark grey rocks. When all the
sand was in the jar, the teacher turned to the students and asked, 'Is the
jar now full?'

The students were not so confident this time, but the sand had clearly
filled all the space in the jar so a few still nodded and said, 'Yes, teacher,
the jar is now full. Now it's full'.

Without saving a word, the teacher took a jug of water and poured it
carefully, without splashing a drop, into the large glass jar. (Gloog.
Gloog.)

When the water reached the brim, the teacher turned to the students and
asked, 'Is the jar now full?' Most of the students were silent, but two or
three ventured to answer, 'Yes, teacher, the jar is now full. Now it is'.

Without saying a word, the teacher took a handful of salt and sprinkled it
slowly over the top of the water with a very quiet whishing sound.
(Whish.) When all the salt had dissolved into the water, the teacher
turned to the students and asked once more, 'Is the jar now full?' The
students were totally silent. Eventually one brave student said, 'Yes,
teacher. The jar is now full'. 'Yes,' said the teacher 'The jar is now full'.

The teacher then said: 'A story always has many meanings and you will
each have understood many things from this demonstration. Discuss
quietly amongst yourselves what meanings the story has for you. How
many different messages can you find in it and take from it?'

The students looked at the wise teacher and at the beautiful glass jar
filled with grey rocks, pink pebbles, silver sand, water and salt. Then they
quietly discussed with one another the meanings the story had for them.
After a few minutes, the wise teacher raised one hand and the room fell
silent. The teacher said: 'Remember that there is never just one
interpretation of anything. You have all taken away many meanings and
messages from the story, and each meaning is as important and as valid
as any other'.

And without saying another word, the teacher got up and left the room.

And another version of the same story ...

A professor stood before his philosophy class and had some items in front
of him. When the class began, wordlessly, he picked up a very large and
empty jar and proceeded to fill it with golf balls. He then asked the
students if the jar was full. They agreed that it was. So the professor then
picked up a box of small pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook
the jar lightly. The pebbles rolled into the open areas between the golf
balls. He then asked the students again if the jar was full. They agreed it
was.

The professor next picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. Of
course, the sand filled up everything else. He asked once more if the jar
was full. The students responded with a unanimous "Yes." The professor
then produced two cans of beer from under the table and poured the
entire contents into the jar, effectively filling the empty space between
the sand. The students laughed.

"Now", said the professor, as the laughter subsided, "I want you to
recognize that this jar represents your life. The golf balls are the
important things - your family, your children, your health, your friends,
your favorite passions - things that, if everything else was lost and only
they remained, your life would still be full. The pebbles are the other
things that matter like your job, your house, your car.

The sand is everything else - the small stuff. If you put the sand into the
jar first" he continued, "there is no room for the pebbles or the golf balls.
The same goes for life. If you spend all your time and energy on the small
stuff, you will never have room for the things that are important to you.
Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness. Play with
your children. Take time to get medical checkups. Take your partner out
to dinner. There will always be time to clean the house, and fix the
rubbish. Take care of the golf balls first, the things that really matter. Set
your priorities. The rest is just sand".

One of the students raised her hand and inquired what the beer
represented. The professor smiled. "I'm glad you asked. It just goes to
show you that, no matter how full your life may seem, there's always
room for a couple of beers".

Listening - at Christmas and always

A few years after I left my secondary school in Manchester, I was invited

to help out with the school's Christmas Fair and I decided to have a go at
being Father Christmas. I had recently grown my first full beard and
thought that I would enter into the role by rubbing flour into my growth.
Though I say it myself, I looked rather splendid and certainly I attracted
lots of custom.

I was enjoying myself enormously, bringing a sense of magic to so many

young children, but I was mystified by one young boy who paid for a
second visit and then astonishingly for a third. The presents on offer were
really pretty pitiful, so I asked him why he was coming to see me so
often. He answered simply: "I just love talking to you".

It was then that I realised that, in many households, parents do not

encourage their children to talk and really listen to them. This was a
lesson that I have taken with me throughout my life. So, at home, at
work, socially, always encourage family, friends, colleagues to talk about
themselves and their feelings - and really listen.

Author: Roger Darlington

Last modified on 30 October 2018