3 WISHES

There once was a man who found a magic lantern.

Upon rubbing it, there emerged in a puff of smoke, the Genie of the 3 wishes.

The Genie was a mischievous old chap who enjoyed toying with those who summoned him.

"What have we here? Another lamp rubber!!" he laughed. "My friend, you have three requests - no more. Three petitions, and after I’ve given you that, I’m going to give you nothing else. So make your wishes"

The man was delighted. He said, "You mean you will give me any three things I ask for?"

And the Genie said, "Yes - but nothing more."

So the man said, "You know, I feel a little ashamed to say this, but I’d like to get rid of my wife. She’s a nag and she’s unbearable. I cannot live with her. So if I could get rid of her?"

So the Genie said, "All right, your wish will be granted."

And his wife died.

Well, the man felt guilty about the relief he felt in his heart, but at the same time, thought, "I’ll marry someone else who’s more attractive."

When the relatives and his friends came to the funeral, they began to praise this woman who had died, and the man suddenly came to his senses. He said, "My goodness - here was this lovely woman, and I hadn’t even noticed her. I didn’t appreciate her when she was living."

So he felt awful about that. He went running back to the Genie and he said, "Bring her back to life!!"

The Genie laughed, "All right. Second wish - granted."

Now he had only one wish left. So he thought, "What shall I ask for?"

And he consulted his friends.

Some of them said, "Ask for money. If you have money you can get anything."

And others said, "What’s the use of money if you have no health? Ask for health"

To which others replied, "What’s the use of health if you have to die some day? Ask for immortality."

And others would say, "What’s the use of living forever if you have no one to love you? Ask for love."

So the poor man didn’t know what to ask for.

He thought, and he thought - and one year went by, and five years, and ten years and he hadn’t asked for anything yet.

So one day the Genie appeared to him and said, "When are you going to ask for that third wish of yours?"

And the poor man said, "Oh Genie, I’m all confused. I don’t know what to ask for. Could you tell me what to ask for? Could you advise me?"

And the Genie laughed and laughed when he heard that.

He said, "You fool....you don’t need to ask for anything! What you need to do is choose. And the only choice you need to make is this........choose to be happy no matter what you get. Therein lies the secret."

The man’s mind was instantly transformed when he heard these words...and for the first time in his life he felt truly empowered and happy.

In gratitude, he returned his third wish to the Genie. "Here, take this wish for yourself....I have no need for it"

The Genie laughed loudly..."At last someone gets it!!"


ADAPTED FROM A STORY TOLD BY ANTHONY DE MELLO

We are all conditioned in one way or another.

Generally most of us, consciously or unconsciously, continue to use the concepts of our conditioning as a tinted screen through which we view reality.

For those raised in the Christian tradition, Anthony De Mello breathes new life into old concepts.

Enjoy!




http://www.geocities.com/~spiritwalk/demelloawareness.htm

http://www.geocities.com/~spiritwalk/demello.htm

http://www.geocities.com/~spiritwalk/demello1min.htm

ANONYMOUS CREATIVITY

Have you ever thought about it? We want to be famous as a writer, as a poet, as a painter, as a politician, as a singer, or what you will. Why? Because we really don’t love what we are doing. If you loved to sing, or to paint, or to write poems – if you really loved it – you would not be concerned with whether you are famous or not. To want to be famous is tawdry, trivial, stupid, it has no meaning; but, because we don’t love what we are doing, we want to enrich ourselves with fame. Our present education is rotten because it teaches us to love success and not what we are doing. The result has become more important than the action.

You know, it is good to hide your brilliance under a bushel, to be anonymous, to love what you are doing and not to show off. It is good to be kind without a name. That does not make you famous, it does not cause your photograph to appear in the newspapers. Politicians do not come to your door. You are just a creative human being living anonymously, and in that there is great richness and great beauty.


Here are some more links from this source.

THE HAPPY CAB DRIVER

I call him Lo because he told me the story of Lo, the poor Indian. It was a typically blustery February Boston morning. Traffic was tied up and drivers were glaring at one another. Everyone was unhappy - everyone, that is, except Lo, my cabdriver.

“You don’t seem to be upset that we’re not moving,” I said.
“Nope,” he said, very calmly. He gestured at the lines of traffic in every direction. “We can’t go anyplace. What’s the use of getting excited?” He lit a cigarette, took a deep puff, and turned around to face me. “You play golf?”
I nodded. “When I can, but I’m not very good.”
“Ever get to the tee and find two foursomes along the fairway waiting for a foursome on the green? And another foursome waiting on the next tee?”
“Lots of times,” I said, somewhat mystified as to what he was getting at.
“No place to go,” he said. Then he pointed to the surrounding traffic. “Same thing here.” He took another drag on the cigarette. “What’s the sense of getting excited? Or mad?” He shrugged. “Nothing anyone can do about it. Yet they all get mad and get ulcers.”
“I suppose they all have to get someplace,” I said, looking at my watch to notify him that I, too, was going to be late for an appointment. “Business meetings or planes or something.”
"Oh sure," he agreed. “That’s why they’re in cabs. Everybody’s got to be someplace except the cabdriver - he’s already there. Now look at that guy,” he said, pointing to a well-dressed man who had gotten out of his automobile and was talking to a police officer standing helplessly in the midst of the traffic. “That guy is practically having a stroke.”
“He’s probably late for work.”
“I’m never late for work. I’m on time as soon as I get in my cab.”
We sat watching the traffic cop trying to untangle the vehicles for a while and then we were on our way.
“You seem to like being a cabdriver,” I remarked.
“Wouldn’t be anything else,” he said.
“Have you tried anything else?” I asked.
He nodded. “Lots of things. I was a yeoman in the navy, then I did office work, and for a while I was a runner for a stockbrokerage firm. But no more of that stuff for me.”
“Wouldn’t you make more money doing something else?” I asked.
“Oh sure,” he agreed. “If I stayed with that stockbroker I might have even become a millionaire. Who knows? But I’ve got no ambition.”
“Everyone should have ambition,” I told him.
“Why?” he asked.
No one had ever asked me that before. Everyone seems to accept the need for ambition the way they accept other self-evident truths.
“Why?” I repeated. “Well, everyone should have ambition or they won’t get ahead.”
“So?” he asked.
“So? Well, so they can have a nice home, good clothes, do things for their family. You know, get ahead in life.”
“I’m not married and I don’t have any family,” he told me.
“Even so,” I said, “you should still want to get ahead.”
And then he said it: “It’s just like the Indian,” he remarked.
I was nonplussed. “The Indian? What’s just like the Indian? What Indian?”
“Lo, the poor Indian,” he answered. “I’ll tell you the story.” He settled back behind the wheel and began. “There was this Indian who was sitting by a river fishing. This white guy used to see him there every day, and whoever he was with, he would point over to the Indian and say to his friend, ‘Lo, the poor Indian.’ So one day when he was alone, he went over to the Indian and talked to him. ‘What are you doing?’ he asked. ‘Fishing,’ the Indian grunted. ‘That’s all you ever do,’ the white guy said. And the Indian just grunted. So the white guy said, ‘You ought to get a job and work.’ The Indian asked, ‘Why?’ The white guy said, ‘You’ll make a lot of money.’ The Indian said, ‘So?’ The white guy said, ‘You can invest it and make yourself a lot more money.’ What do you think the Indian said to that? He just said, ‘So?’ Well, the white guy blew his stack. ‘So,’ he told him, ‘if you’re rich you can do anything you want to.’ The Indian looked at the white man, then turned back to his fishing. ‘I’m doing that now,’ he said.
The cabdriver laughed. “Lo, the poor Indian.” He puffed on his cigarette, then threw it out. “That’s me.”
I thought about it for a minute. “You’re doing what you want?” I said.
“Right.”
“And you’re satisfied?”
“Right,” he said. “Take all that traffic back there. Everybody’s unhappy but me. Why? Because they’re not at work; they’re not where they’re going; they’re losing time, or money or something. But not me. I’m not going anyplace; I’m already there. I’m not losing time, or money, or anything. They got to get out in the cold and walk through snow, or slush, or rain, or whatever. Me, I’m in a nice, warm, dry cab. Do you know when I get out of this cab?”
“No. When do you get out?”
“When I feel like it. When I want a coffee or a bite, or I feel like going in someplace and talking to the guys. I get out when I want to, not when I get to someplace where I’ve got to get out because I’ve arrived. That got to stuff’s for the passengers, not for me.”
“You’ve got it made,” I said.
“You said it, brother. Now take the good weather,” he said. “Summer and spring, or even fall, when the leaves are out and turning. What do you hear people say they want to do on a nice Sunday afternoon? They all want to take a ride, right?”
“A ride through the country,” I agreed. “My aunts used to do it every Sunday.”
“See the foliage, go by the water, go through the park, ride around someplace,” he said. “And not just older people. How about the kids? Do you ever watch the teenagers and the kids in their twenties? What do they want to do except ride around and see the sights?” He pointed towards the Charles. “In the summer you’ll see me driving by the river with my windows down. And I’m getting paid for it.”
When I got out at my destination, he spoke again. “I don’t know what you do for a living, Mister, but whatever it is, I hope you like it. If you don’t, I hope you get to be a millionaire so you can do whatever you like. Me, I’m not a millionaire, but I don’t have to be one to do whatever I like. I’m doing it now.”
As he drove off, I looked after him a long time. Here was I, where I didn’t want to be, going into a building to see a man I didn’t want to see, and doing some work I didn’t want to do.
Lo, the poor cabdriver, I said to myself. And I went about my business.

Governor Foster Furcolo


This story comes from the book "Soul Food." For more information, please click here: http://www.amazon.com/gp/reader/0062514423/ref=sib_dp_pt/002-2682294-8360832#reader-link

THE CLEANING WOMAN

Being there is everything in love, in life and in dying. Many years ago, I noticed an interesting phenomenon in a hospital. Many of the dying patients began to feel wonderful; not so much physically, but mentally. This wasn’t because of me, but because of the cleaning woman. Every time she walked into the room of one of my dying patients, something would happen. I would have given a million dollars to learn that woman’s secret.

One day I saw her in the hallway and said to her rather curtly, “What are you doing with my dying patients?”

“I’m only cleaning the rooms,” she replied defensively.

Determined to know how she was making people feel good, I followed her around. But I couldn’t figure out what special thing she was doing. After a few weeks of snooping around like this, she grabbed me and dragged me into a room behind the nurses’ station. She told me how, some time ago, one of her six children had become very ill one winter. In the middle of the night she took her three-year-old to the emergency room, where she sat with him on her lap, desperately waiting hours for the physician to come. But no one came, and she watched her little boy die of pneumonia, in her arms. She shared all this pain and agony without hate, without resentment, without anger, without negativity.

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked. “What has this to do with my dying patients?”

“Death is not a stranger to me anymore,” she replied. He is like an old acquaintance. Sometimes when I walk into the rooms of your dying patients, they look so scared. I can’t help but walk over to them and touch them. I tell them I’ve seen death, and when it happens, they will be okay. And I just stay there with them. I may want to run, but I don’t. I try to be there for the other person. That is love.”

Unschooled in the ways of psychology and medicine, this woman knew one of the greatest secrets in life: love is being there, and caring.

Sometimes, due to circumstances beyond our control, we can’t be there physically. But that doesn’t mean we’re not connected in love.


Taken from the book “Life Lessons - How our mortality can teach us about life and living” - by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross and David Kessler.

Please click here for more information: http://www.davidkessler.org/html/lifelessons.html

STANDING IN THE CENTRE

When I replaced the wood-burning stove in my house, I had to replace the chimney, too.

The new chimney was a stainless steel tube that fit inside the old, brick chimney.

I hired a workman to do the job, and I agreed to help.

Every fall is a lesson

"Throw me the pliers,' he shouted down.

"Let me bring them up," I suggested. He was standing on the narrow top of the old brick chimney, almost thirty feet above the ground. If he tried to reach too far and lost his balance, he would fall. Below him was a rocky path.

"Throw them up," he shouted again, as though reading my mind. "I'm an Iroquois indian. We build skyscrapers. I'm not going to reach too far."

I held my breath and tossed. The pliers sailed upward in a graceful arc toward him. His legs didn't move. His waist didn't move. His chest, shoulders, and head didn't move, either. Only his left arm moved. My throw was good, and his hand closed around the pliers.

"Nice toss!" he grinned.

If the pliers had been farther than he could have reached, I knew that he would have let them fall. Even if they had brushed the tips of his fingers, I knew that he would have let them fall.

Tool after tool sailed up—screwdrivers, a drill bit, and another pair of pliers.

Some of them fell. Others didn't. It depended upon how well I could throw, not on how far he could reach. He reached as far as he could, but no further. My job was to get the tool within his range. When I did, he caught it. When I didn't, it fell.

How far do you reach for security and appreciation? How often do you experience the pain of disappointment, the agony of not getting what you very much want, or of getting what you very much do not want?

Every expectation is a reach too far. Every fall is a lesson. Eventually, you will learn the art of letting whatever is beyond your reach remain there, no matter how appealing or important it appears. Even if it is something you desperately need.

Even if it is something you long for. Even if it is something you think you cannot live without.

When that happens, you will stand in your center, no matter what comes sailing toward you, or how close or how far away it is.


From: http://www.zukav.com

LEAVES

My first visit to a Zen monastery still inspires me. I went to have a Sanskrit reference translated for "The Dancing Wu Li Masters: An Overview of the New Physics", which I was writing at the time. A monk informed me I would be received by the Abbot himself. He led me to a long path that led from a building that was falling into disrepair. Its once gracious gardens and paths were covered with years of fallen leaves.

"While you are waiting," said the monk, handing me a broom, "please sweep the leaves from the path." I had nothing else to do, so I looked at the long path, the broom in my hand, and began to sweep. By the time he returned, I had swept fifty feet of walk. The order I had imposed on the otherwise unkempt path pleased me. To my surprise, I regretted handing him back the broom and going to see the Abbot.

It seemed to me that I had just begun and I did not want to lose the contentment I felt while I was sweeping the path. I looked back one last time, and as I did a soft breeze blew a leaf onto it, and then two more. My work was being undone before my eyes, but the satisfaction it gave me was mine to keep. I still have it and I remember it when I feel that I have too many important things to do.

Have you spent quality time sweeping lately?


Adapted from a story by Gary Zukav.

Here is the link to Gary's site.

CREATION

creation

is not over

it is not a past event

every moment is a new creation
every breath
every heartbeat
is new

existing for a moment
and then dying
to be reborn
in the next moment

everything that can be experienced
is like this

EMPTY HANDED, FULL HEARTED

It happened in the days of knights and castles. A young Englishman was searching for his fortune, wandering all over the land. Tired, he paused under a tree near a castle to rest. The duke of the castle was passing by. He stopped and inquired why the young man was waiting there, for what he was looking. The young man said, "I am an architect and I am in search of employment."

The duke was very pleased because he needed an architect. He said, "You come with me. You be my architect, and whatsoever your needs are, they will be fulfilled from my castle and the land. You can live like a really rich man. But be faithful, and remember one thing: if you leave, you will have to leave as empty-handed as you are coming in."The young man agreed. Weeks passed and then months and he worked faithfully, and the duke was very pleased with him. All his needs were fulfilled, he was looked after -- he really lived like a rich man in the castle.

But by and by he started feeling uneasy. In the beginning it was not clear what the cause of it was because, in fact, there was no cause to be uneasy. Every need was taken care of. It was like a cloud surrounding him, a heaviness, the feeling of something being missed. But not knowing exactly what it was, he was confused.

Then one day it flashed like lightning before him -- he understood the cause. He went to the duke and said that he was leaving.The duke could not believe it. He said, "Why are you leaving? If there is any difficulty you simply tell me and it will be done. I have been very much pleased with your work. and I would like you to be here for your whole life."The young man said, "No, I am leaving. Please allow me to leave."The duke asked, "But why?"The young man said, "Because nothing belongs to me here. Empty-handed I have come; empty-handed I will have to leave. This is a dream: nothing belongs to me here."

This is the point where a person starts becoming religious. If something belongs to you in this world, you are not yet ready to be religious. Empty-handed you come; empty-handed you go. Once you realize this, like a flash of lightning everything becomes clear. This world cannot be your home -- at the most an overnight stay. 'In the morning we go.'

Taken from the following source: http://www.deeshan.com/wisdom.htm

THE USEFULNESS OF USELESSNESS!

There is an ancient Taoist story about a tree. The tree was old and crooked; every branch twisted and gnarled. Somebody walking by that old and crooked tree commented to Chuang Tzu what a useless tree it was; because the trunk and branches were so crooked the tree served no purpose at all.

Chuang Tzu replied:

"The tree on the mountain height is its own enemy....The cinnamon tree is edible: so it is cut down! The lacquer tree is profitable: they maim it. Every man knows how useful it is to be useful. No one seems to know how useful it is to be useless."

The uselessness of the tree is what protected it. Nobody wanted it for anything, so they didn't cut it down, and it lived to be very old, fulfilling its own nature


Taken from "The Experience of Insight" by Joseph Goldstein. For more information on this book please click here: http://www.amazon.com/gp/reader/0877732264/ref=sib_dp_pt/002-2834233-6426429#reader-link

GOSSIP

"Whoever gossips to you will gossip about you."

More quotations from this source can be found here:
http://www.quotationspage.com/subjects/

A PARABLE ON MODERN LIFE

The animals met in assembly and began to complain that humans were always taking things away from them.

“They take my milk,” said the cow. “They take my eggs,” said the hen. “They take my flesh for bacon,” said the hog. “They hunt me for my oil,” said the whale.

The snail was the last to speak. “I have something they would certainly take away from me if they could. Something they want more than anything else. I have time.”

You have all the time in the world if you would give it to yourself. What’s stopping you?