Stories for Parents, Children and Grandchildren (Paulo Colheo)

(Translated from the Portuguese by Margaret Jull Costa)

Story No. 1:

True skill

The yogi Raman was a true master of the art of archery. One morning, he invited his favourite disciple to watch a display of his skill. The disciple had seen this more than a hundred times before, but he nevertheless obeyed his teacher. They went into the wood beside the monastery and when they reached a magnificent oak tree, Raman took a flower which he had tucked in his collar and placed it on one of the branches. He then opened his bag and took out three objects: his splendid bow made of precious wood, an arrow and a white handkerchief embroidered with lilacs. The yogi positioned himself one hundred paces from the spot where he had placed the flower. Facing his target, he asked his disciple to blindfold him with the embroidered handkerchief. The disciple did as his teacher requested. 'How often have you seen me practise the noble and ancient sport of archery?' Raman asked him. 'Every day,' replied his disciple. 'And you have always managed to hit the rose from three hundred paces away.' With his eyes covered by the handkerchief, the yogi Raman placed his feet firmly on the ground, drew back the bowstring with all his might - aiming at the rose placed on one of the branches of the oak tree - and then released the arrow. The arrow whistled through the air, but it did not even hit the tree, missing the target by an embarrassingly wide margin. 'Did I hit it?' said Raman, removing the handkerchief from his eyes. 'No, you missed completely,' replied the disciple. 'I thought you were going to demonstrate to me the power of thought and your ability to perform magic.' 'I have just taught you the most important lesson about the power of thought,' replied Raman. 'When you want something, concentrate only on that: no one will ever hit a target they cannot see.'

Story No. 2:

How to be remembered

In the monastery of Sceta, Abbot Lucas gathered the brothers together for a sermon. 'May you all be forgotten,' he said. 'But why?' one of the brothers asked. 'Does that mean that our example can never serve to help someone in need?' 'In the days when everyone was just, no one paid any attention to people who behaved in an exemplary manner,' replied the abbot. 'Everyone did their best, never thinking that by behaving thus they were doing their duty by their brother. They loved their neighbour because they understood that this was part of life and they were merely obeying a law of nature. They shared their possessions in order not to accumulate more than they could carry, for journeys lasted a whole lifetime. They lived together in freedom, giving and receiving, making no demands on others and blaming no one. That is why their deeds were never spoken of and that is why they left no stories. If only we could achieve the same thing now: to make goodness such an ordinary thing that there would be no need to praise those who practise it.

Story No. 3:

Rebuilding the world

A father was trying to read the newspaper,but his little son kept pestering him. Finally, the father grew tired of this and, tearing a page from the newspaper - one that bore a map of the world - he cut it into several pieces and handed them to his son. 'Right, now you've got something to do. I've given you a map of the world and I want to see if you can put it back together correctly.' He resumed his reading, knowing that the task would keep the child occupied for the rest of the day. However, a quarter of an hour later, the boy returned with the map. 'Has your mother been teaching you geography?' asked his father in astonishment. 'I don't even know what that is,' replied the boy. 'But there was a photo of a man on the other side of the page, so I put the man back together and found I'd put the world back together too.'

Story No. 4:

Thinking about death

Zilu said to Confucius (a Chinese philosopher, who lived in the sixth century B.C.): 'May I ask what you think about death?' 'You may ask,' replied Confucius, 'but if you still don't understand life, why do you want to know about death. Leave thinking about death for when life is over.'

Story No. 5:

Paying the right price

Nixivan had invited his friends to supper and was cooking a succulent piece of meat for them. Suddenly, he realised that he had run out of salt. So Nixivan called to his son. 'Go to the village and buy some salt, but pay a fair price for it: neither too much nor too little.' His son was surprised. 'I can understand why I shouldn’t pay too much for it, Father, but if I can bargain them down, why not save a bit of money?' 'That would be the sensible thing to do in a big city, but it could destroy a small village like ours.' When Nixivan's guests, who had overheard their conversation, wanted to know why they should not buy salt more cheaply if they could, Nixivan replied: 'The only reason a man would sell salt more cheaply than usual would be because he was desperate for money. And anyone who took advantage of that situation would be showing a lack of respect for the sweat and struggle of the man who laboured to produce it.' 'But such a small thing couldn't possibly destroy a village.' 'In the beginning, there was only a small amount of injustice abroad in the world, but everyone who came afterwards added their portion, always thinking that it was only very small and unimportant, and look where we have ended up today.'

Story No. 6:

The missing brick

Once, when I and my wife were travelling, I received a fax from my secretary. 'There's one glass brick missing for the work on the kitchen renovation,' she said. 'I'm sending you the original plan as well as the plan the builder has come up with to compensate for it.' On the one hand was the design my wife had made: harmonious lines of bricks with an opening for ventilation. On the other hand was the plan drawn up to resolve the problem of the missing brick: a real jigsaw puzzle in which the glass squares were arranged in a higgledy-piggledy fashion that defied aesthetics. 'Just buy another brick,' wrote my wife. And so they did and thus stuck to the original design. That afternoon, I thought for a long time about what had happened; how often, for the lack of one brick, we completely distort the original plan of our lives.

Story No. 7:

Epictetus reflects on meetings

Epictetus (55 A.D.-135 A.D.) was born a slave and became one of the great philosophers of Rome. He was expelled from the city in 94 A.D. and it was while in exile that he came up with a way of teaching his followers. Here is an extract from his Art of Living. 'Two things may happen when we meet someone: either we become friends or we try to convince that person to accept our beliefs. The same thing happens when a hot coal meets another piece of coal: it either shares its fire with it or is overwhelmed by the other's size and is extinguished. But, since, generally speaking, we feel insecure when we first meet someone, we are more likely to affect indifference, arrogance or excessive humility. The result is that we cease being who we are, and matters move into a strange world that does not belong to us. In order to avoid this happening, make your good feelings immediately apparent. Arrogance may only be a banal mask for cowardice, but it prevents important things from flourishing in your life.'

Story No. 8:

A story by Kahlil Gibran

I was strolling in the gardens of aninsane asylum when I met a young man who was reading a philosophy book. His behaviour and his evident good health made him stand out from the other inmates. I sat down beside him and asked: 'What are you doing here?' He looked at me, surprised. But seeing that I was not one of the doctors, he replied: 'It's very simple. My father, a brilliant lawyer, wanted me to be like him. My uncle, who owns a large emporium, hoped I would follow his example. My mother wanted me to be the image of her beloved father. My sister always set her husband before me as an example of the successful man. My brother tried to train me up to be a fine athlete like himself. And the same thing happened at school, with the piano teacher and the English teacher - they were all convinced and determined that they were the best possible example to follow. None of them looked at me as one should look at a man, but as if they were looking in a mirror. So I decided to enter this asylum. At least here I can be myself.'

Story No. 9:

Meeting the king

A Persian king asked Saadi of Shiraz: On your wanderings through the cities of my kingdom, do you think of me and of my works?' 'Your Majesty, I think of you whenever I forget to think of God,' was the wise man's answer.

Story No. 10:

The one guilty man

Wise King Weng asked to visit the palace prison. And he began listening to the prisoners' complaints. 'I'm innocent,' said a man accused of murder. 'I'm here simply because I wanted to give my wife a fright, but I accidentally killed her.' 'I was accused of taking a bribe,' said another, 'but all I did was accept a gift.' All the prisoners declared their innocence to King Weng, until one of them, a young man of only twenty or so, said: 'I'm guilty. I wounded my brother in a fight and I deserve to be punished. This place has made me reflect on the pain I caused.' 'Remove this criminal from the prison immediately!' cried King Weng. 'He'll end up corrupting all these entirely innocent men.'

Continued...

__________________
The world is changed by your example, not by your opinion !

Story No. 11:

How to help the country

Zizhang searched for Confucius throughout China. The country was going through a time of great social upheaval, and he feared there could be bloodshed. He found the master sitting beneath a fig tree, meditating. 'Master, we urgently need your presence in the government,'said Zizhang. 'We are on the brink of chaos.' Confucius continued to meditate. 'Master, you taught us that we must not stand idly by,' Zizhang went on. 'You said that we were responsible for the world.' 'I am praying for the country,' replied Confucius. 'Later, I will go and help the man who lives round the corner. By doing what is within our reach, we benefit everyone. By merely coming up with ideas about how to save the world, we do not even help ourselves. There are a thousand ways of getting involved in politics; there is no need for me to be part of the government.'

Story No. 12:

Where the monkey puts his hand

I said to a friend: 'It's odd that proverb, "An old monkey never puts his hand in the pot".' 'Yes, but it has its own logic,' he replied. 'In India, hunters make a small hole in a coconut, put a banana inside and bury the whole thing. A monkey finds the coconut, puts his hand in the hole to grab the banana, but then can't get it out because his closed hand is too big for the hole. Instead of letting go of the banana, the monkey stays there wrestling with the impossible and gets caught.' The same thing happens in our own lives. The need to have a particular thing - often something small and useless - ends up making us prisoners of that need.

Story No. 13:

Choosing one's fate

Many years ago, there lived a man who was capable of loving and forgiving everyone he came across. Because of this, God sent an angel to talk to him. 'God asked me to come and visit you and tell you that he wishes to reward you for your goodness,' said the angel. 'You may have any gift you wish for. Would you like the gift of healing?' 'Certainly not,' said the man. 'I would prefer God to choose those who should be healed.' 'And what about leading sinners back to the path of Truth?' 'That's a job for angels like you. I don't want to be venerated by anyone or to serve as a permanent example.' 'Look, I can't go back to Heaven without having given you a miracle. If you don't choose, I'll have to choose one for you.' The man thought for a moment and then said: 'All right, I would like good to be done through me, but without anyone noticing, not even me, in case I should commit the sin of vanity.' So the angel arranged for the man's shadow to have the power of healing, but only when the sun was shining on the man's face. In this way, wherever he went, the sick were healed, the earth grew fertile again, and sad people rediscovered happiness. The man travelled the Earth for many years, oblivious of the miracles he was working because when he was facing the sun, his shadow was always behind him. In this way, he was able to live and die unaware of his own holiness.

Story No. 14:

A search frustrated

The mystic Ramakrishna began his dedication to the spiritual life when he was sixteen. At first, he used to weep bitterly because, despite his devotion to the work at the temple, he seemed to be getting nowhere. Later, when he was famous, a friend asked him about that period of his life. Ramakrishna replied: 'If a thief were to spend the night in a room with only a thin wall separating him from another room full of gold, do you think he would be able to sleep? He would lie awake all night, scheming. When I was young, I desired God as ardently as a thief would desire that gold, and it took me a long time to learn that the greatest virtue in the spiritual search is patience.'

Story No. 15:

The art of listening

The wise man, Saadi of Shiraz, was walking along a road with his disciple when he saw a man trying to get his mule to move. When the animal refused to budge, the man began calling him the worst names he could think of. 'Don't be silly,' said Saadi. 'The mule will never learn your language. You would do better to calm down and learn his language.' And as he walked away, he remarked to his disciple: 'Before you get into an argument with a mule, remember the scene you have just witnessed.'

Continued...

__________________
The world is changed by your example, not by your opinion !

Story No. 16:

The bugle that drove away tigers

A man arrived in a village carrying a mysterious bugle decorated with red and yellow rags, glass beads and animal bones. 'This bugle can drive away tigers,' said the man. 'From this day forth, for a modest daily fee, I will play the bugle every morning and you will never be eaten by those terrible animals.' Terrified by the threat of attack by a wild animal, the inhabitants of the village agreed to pay what the newcomer asked. Many years passed, the owner of the bugle grew rich and built himself a magnificent castle. One morning, a boy who was passing through the village, asked who the owner of the castle was. When he heard the story, he decided to go and talk to the man. 'I was told that you have a bugle that can drive away tigers,' said the boy. 'But there are no tigers in this country.' The man immediately called together all the villagers and asked the boy to repeat what he had said. 'Did you hear that?' cried the man as soon as the boy had finished speaking. 'There you have irrefutable proof of the power of my bugle!'

Story No. 17:

The silence of the night

A Sufi master and his disciple were walking across a desert in Africa. When night fell, they pitched their tent and lay down to rest. 'How silent it is!' said the disciple. 'Never say "how silent it is",' replied the teacher. 'Say rather: "I cannot hear nature".

Story No. 18:

Matisse and Renoir meet

As a young man, the painter Henri Matisse used to pay a weekly visit to the great Renoir in his studio. When Renoir was afflicted by arthritis, Matisse began to visit him daily, taking him food, brushes, paints, but always trying to persuade the master that he was working too hard and needed to rest a little. One day, noticing that each brushstroke made Renoir cry out with pain, Matisse could contain himself no longer: 'Master, you have already created a vast and important body of work, why continue torturing yourself in this way?' 'Very simple,' Renoir replied. 'Beauty remains, but pain passes.'

Story No. 19:

The piece of bread that fell wrong side up

We all have a tendency to believe that everything we do will turn out wrong, because we think we do not deserve to be blessed. Here is an interesting story about precisely that feeling. A man was quietly eating his breakfast. Suddenly, the piece of bread which he had just spread with butter fell to the ground. Imagine his surprise when he looked down and saw that it had landed buttered side up! The man thought he had witnessed a miracle. Excited, he went to tell his friends what had happened, and they were all amazed because when a piece of bread falls on the floor, it always lands buttered side down, making a mess of everything. 'Perhaps you're a saint,' one friend said. 'And this is a sign from God.' Soon the whole village knew, and they all started animatedly discussing the incident: how was it that, against all expectations, that man's slice of bread had fallen on the floor buttered side up? Since no one could come up with a credible answer, they went to see a Teacher who lived nearby and told him the story. The Teacher demanded one night to pray, reflect and ask for Divine inspiration. The following day, they all returned, eager for an answer. 'It's quite simple really,' said the Teacher. 'The fact is that the piece of bread fell exactly as it should have fallen, but the butter had been spread on the wrong side.'

Story No. 20:

The slayer of dragons

Zhuangzi, the famous Chinese writer, tells the story of Zhu Pingman, who went in search of a teacher in order to learn the best way to slay dragons. The teacher trained Pingman for ten whole years, until he had honed to perfection the most sophisticated dragon-slaying techniques. Pingman spent the rest of his life looking for dragons in order show off his skills: to his great disappointment, he never found a single dragon. The writer of the story comments: 'We all prepare ourselves to slay dragons, but end up instead being devoured by the ants of the details that we never bothered to look at.'

Continued...

__________________
The world is changed by your example, not by your opinion !

Story No. 21

About masters and teachers

In one of his Family Conversations, Confucius sets down an interesting dialogue on the subject of learning. Confucius sat down to rest, and his students immediately started asking him questions. On that day, he was in a good mood and so decided to answer. Someone asked him: 'You are capable of explaining everything you feel. Why don't you go to the Emperor and talk to him?' 'The Emperor himself makes beautiful speeches,' said Confucius, 'but beautiful speeches are merely a question of technique, they do not of themselves contain Virtue.' 'Well, send him your book of poems, then.' 'Those three hundred poems could be summed up in two words: think correctly. That is the secret.' 'What does thinking correctly involve?' 'It's knowing how to use mind and heart, discipline and emotion. When we want something, life will guide us there, but by unexpected paths. We often feel confused because we are surprised by those paths and think we must be going in the wrong direction. That is why I said, allow yourself to be carried away by emotion, but have enough discipline to follow it through.' 'Is that what you do?' 'When I was fifteen, I began to learn.When I was thirty, I knew what I wanted. When I was forty, my doubts resurfaced. When I was fifty, I discovered that Heaven has a plan for me and for each man on the face of the Earth. When I was sixty, I understood that plan and found the serenity to follow it. Now that I'm seventy, I can listen to my heart, but without letting it distract me from the path.' 'So what makes you different from other men who have also accepted the will of Heaven?' 'I try to share it with you. And anyone wanting to discuss an ancient truth with a new generation has to use his capacity to teach. That is my one quality, being a good teacher.' 'And what is a good teacher?' 'Someone who questions everything he teaches. Old ideas cannot enslave a man, because they change and take on new forms. So let us use the philosophical riches of the past, but without forgetting the challenges that the present world sets before us.' 'And what is a good student?' 'Someone who listens to what I say, but adapts my teachings to his life and never follows them blindly. Someone who looks not just for employment, but for a job that brings him dignity. Someone who does not seek to be noticed, but to do something notable.'

Story No. 22

The bridge and the plank

After many years of work and meditation on the best way to cross the river that ran past his house, a man created a kind of footbridge out of planks. The villagers, however, rarely used it because it seemed so precarious. One day, an engineer appeared. With the help of the inhabitants, he built a proper bridge, which infuriated the maker of the footbridge. He would tell anyone who would listen that the engineer had failed to show due respect for his work. 'The footbridge is still there!' replied the other villagers. 'It's a monument to your years of effort and thought.' 'Yes, but no one uses it,' the man would reply tetchily. 'You are a highly respected citizen and we all like you, it's just that we find the new bridge more beautiful and more useful than your plank footbridge.' 'But it's crossing my river.' 'Now, however much we may respect your work, we have to say that the river is not yours. We could wade, swim or row across it, but if people prefer to use the bridge, why not respect their wishes? Besides, how can we trust someone who, instead of trying to improve his own bridge, spends all his time criticising someone else's?'

(Based on a story by Silvio Paulo Albino)

Story No. 23

On my way to a book fair

I was flying from New York to Chicago to attend the book fair held by the American Booksellers Association. Suddenly, a young man stood up in the aisle of the plane and announced: 'I need twelve volunteers each willing to carry a single rose when we get off the plane.' Several people raised their hands. I did too, but I wasn't chosen. Even so, I decided to follow the group. We landed and the young man indicated a young woman in the arrivals hall at O'Hare airport. One by one, the passengers presented their roses to her. Atlast, in front of everyone, the young man asked her to marry him, and she accepted. An air steward said to me: 'I've been working here for years, and that's the most romantic thing that has ever happened in this airport.'

Story No. 24

The essence of forgiveness

One of Napoleon's soldiers committed a crime - the story does not explain what exactly - and he was condemned to death. On the evening before he was due to be shot, the soldier's mother came to plead for her son's life to be spared. 'Madam, your son's action does not deserve clemency.' 'I know,' said the mother. 'If it did, that would not be true forgiveness. To forgive is the ability to go beyond vengeance or justice.' When he heard those words, Napoleon commuted the death sentence to exile.

Story No. 25

The middle path

The monk Lucas, accompanied by a disciple, was walking through a village. An old man asked the monk: 'Holy man, how do I become closer to God?' 'Enjoy yourself more, and praise the Creator with your joy,' came the reply. The two men were about to walk on when a young man approached them. He asked: 'What should I do in order to become closer to God?' 'Spend less time merely enjoying yourself,' said Lucas. When the young man left, the disciple remarked: 'You don't seem very sure whether we should enjoy ourselves or not.' 'The spiritual search is a bridge with no handrail built across an abyss,' replied Lucas. 'If someone is walking very close to the right side, I say: "To the left!" If they go too close to the left side, I say: "To the right!" It is the extremes that divert us from the Path.'

Continued...

__________________
The world is changed by your example, not by your opinion !

Story No. 26

Pleasure and the tongue

A Zen master was resting with one of his disciples. At one point, he took a melon out of his bag and cut it in two so that both could eat it. While they were eating, the disciple said: 'Wise master, since everything you do has a meaning, perhaps your sharing this melon with me is a sign that you have something to teach me.' The master continued eating in silence. 'Your silence obviously conceals a question,'the disciple insisted, 'and it must be this: does the pleasure I am experiencing in eating this delicious fruit reside in the melon or in my tongue?' The master said nothing. The disciple went on excitedly: 'And since everything in life has meaning, I think I am close to finding the answer to that question: the pleasure is an act of love and interdependence between us, because without the melon there would be no object of pleasure and without my tongue…' 'That's enough!' said the master. 'The real fools are those who think themselves terribly intelligent and spend all their time trying to interpret everything. The melon is delicious, and that's enough, now let me eat in peace!'

Story No. 27

El Greco and light

One pleasant spring afternoon, a friend wentto visit the painter El Greco. To his surprise, he found him in his studio with all the curtains closed. El Greco was working on a painting which had as its central theme the Virgin Mary, and he was using only a single candle to light the room. His bemused friend commented: 'I had always been told that painters need sunlight in order to select the right colours. Why don't you draw the curtains?' 'Not now,' said El Greco. 'That would disturb the brilliant fire of inspiration inflaming my soul and filling everything around me with light.'

Story No. 28

How to level out the world

Once when Confucius was travelling with his disciples, he heard tell of a very intelligent boy living in a particular village. Confucius went to see and talk to him and he jokingly asked: 'How would you like to help me do away with all the irregularities and inequalities in the world?' 'But why?' asked the boy. 'If we flattened the mountains, the birds would have no shelter. If we filled up the deep rivers and the sea, the fish would die. If the head of the village had as much authority as the madman, no one would know where they were. The world is vast enough to cope with differences.' The disciples left feeling greatly impressed by the boy's wisdom, and as they journeyed towards the next town, one of them commented that all children should be like that. Confucius said: 'I've known many children who, instead of playing and doing the things appropriate to their age, were busy trying to understand the world. Not one of those precocious children did anything of any great significance later in life because they had never experienced the innocence and healthy irresponsibility of childhood.'

Story No. 29

The importance of knowing names

Zilu asked Confucius: 'If King Wen were to ask you to govern the country, what would your first action be?' 'I would learn the names of my advisers.' 'What nonsense! That is hardly a matter of great concern to a prime minister.' 'A man cannot hope to receive help from what he does not know,' replied Confucius. 'If he does not understand Nature, he will not understand God. In just the same way, if he does not know who is at his side, he will have no friends. Without friends, he will be unable to draw up a plan. Without a plan, he cannot direct anyone's actions. Without direction, the country will plunge into darkness, and even dancers will not know which foot to put down next. So an apparently banal action - learning the name of the person at your side - can make an enormous difference. The besetting sin of our time is that everyone wants to put things right immediately, and they forget that in order to do so you need a lot of people.'

Story No. 30

The city and the army

According to legend, when Joan of Arc was marching towards Poitiers with her army, she came across a boy playing in the middle of the road with some earth and twigs. 'What are you doing?' asked Joan of Arc. 'Can't you see?' replied the boy. 'This is a city.' 'Excellent,' she said, 'now if you will please leave the road, my men and I need to get past.' The boy got angrily to his feet and stood before her. 'A city does not move. An army might destroy it, but the city itself stays where it is.' Smiling at the boy's determination, Joan of Arc ordered her army to leave the road and go around the 'city'.

Continued...

__________________
The world is changed by your example, not by your opinion !

Story No. 31

Not an example

The Rabbi Elimelekh had delivered a wonderful sermon and now he was returning to his native land. To honour him and to show their gratitude, the faithful decided to follow Elimelekh's carriage out of the city. At one point, the Rabbi stopped the carriage and asked the driver to go ahead without him while he joined the people. 'A fine example of humility,' said one of the men beside him. 'Humility has nothing to do withit, just a little intelligence,' replied Elimelekh. 'You're all out here having a walk, singing, drinking wine, chatting with each other, making new friends, and all because of an old Rabbi who came to talk to you about the art of living. So let's leave my theories in the carriage, I want to enjoy the party.'

Story No. 32

Praying for everyone

A farm labourer with a sick wife, asked a Buddhist monk to say a series of prayers. The priest began to pray, asking God to cure all those who were ill. 'Just a moment,' said the farm labourer. 'I asked you to pray for my wife and there you are praying for everyone who's ill.' 'I'm praying for her too.' 'Yes, but you're praying for everyone. You might end up helping my neighbour, who's also ill, and I don't even like him.' 'You understand nothing about healing,'said the monk, moving off. 'By praying for everyone, I am adding my prayers to those of the millions of people who are also praying for their sick. Added together, those voices reach God and benefit everyone. Separately, they lose their strength and go nowhere.'

Story No. 33

Saadi of Shiraz and prayer

Saadi of Shiraz used to tell the following story: 'When I was a child, I used to pray with my father, my uncles and my cousins. Every night we would gather together to listen toa passage from the Koran. On one such night, while my uncle was reading a passage out loud, I noticed that most of the people were asleep. I said to my father: "Not one of these dozy people is listening to the words of the Prophet. They'll never reach God." And my father replied: "My dear son, look for your own path with faith and let others take care of themselves. Who knows, perhaps they are talking to God in their dreams. Believe me, I would much prefer you to be sleeping alongside them than to
hear your harsh words of judgement and condemnation."'

Story No. 34

The sorrowing father

Rabbi Abraham had lived an exemplary life.When he died, he went straight to Paradise, and the angels welcomed him with songs of praise. Yet Abraham sat alone, head in hands, deeply distressed, refusing all consolation. Finally, he was brought before the Almighty and he heard an infinitely tender voice ask him: 'My beloved servant, what sorrow do you bear in your breast?' 'I am unworthy of the honours being heaped upon me,' replied the Rabbi. 'I was considered an example to my people, but I must have done something very wrong. My one son, on whom I lavished my finest teaching, became a Christian!' 'Oh, don't worry about that,' said the voice of the Almighty. 'I had an only son too and he did exactly the same thing!'

Story No. 35

The sorrowing mother

Roberto Shiniashiky tells of a Jewish mother who tried to bring her son up in the most traditional way possible. The boy, however, had a forceful personality and would only do what his heart told him to do. The mother, just like Rabbi Abraham in the preceding story, went straight to Paradise when she died, for she had been a shining example of devotion here on Earth. When she got there, she told the other mothers about the agonies her son had put her through, and she learned that not one ofthem was satisfied with the paths their children had followed. After days of conversation, during which they voiced their regrets that they had not been strong enough to control their children, the group of women saw Our Lady passing by. 'Now she managed to bring her son up properly,' said one of the mothers. And they all crowded round Our Lady, praising her son Jesus's career. 'He was a wise man,' they said. 'He accomplished all that he was destined to accomplish, he walked the path of truth, never deviating for one moment, and he is still a source of pride to his family.' 'Yes, you're quite right,' said Our Lady, 'but to be perfectly honest, I wanted him to be a doctor.'

Continued...

__________________
The world is changed by your example, not by your opinion !

Story No. 36

Where God lives

When the great Rabbi Yitzhak Meir was studying the traditions of his people, one of his friends said to him jokingly: 'I'll give you a florin if you can tell me where God lives.' 'I'll give you two florins if you can tell me where he doesn't live,' replied Meir.

Story No. 37

The moment of dawn

A Rabbi gathered together his students and asked them: 'How do we know the exact moment when night ends and day begins?' 'It's when, standing some way away, you can tell a sheep from a dog,' said one boy. The Rabbi was not content with the answer. Another student said: 'No, it's when, standing some way away, you can tell an olive tree from a fig tree.' 'No, that's not a good definition either.' 'Well, what's the right answer?' asked the boys. And the Rabbi said: 'When a stranger approaches, and we think he is our brother, that is the moment when night ends and day begins.'

Story No. 38

It's raining up ahead

Struggling against certain things which will pass in time anyway is a waste of energy. This very brief Chinese story illustrates this very well. In the middle of the countryside, it began to rain. Everyone scurried off to seek shelter, except for one man, who continued to walk slowly along. 'Why aren't you running for shelter?' someone asked. 'Because it's raining up ahead too,' came the answer.

Story No. 39

Nasrudin always makes the wrong choice

Every day Nasrudin went to beg for alms in the market, and people used to make fun of him by playing the following trick: they would show him two coins, one worth ten times more than the other, and Nasrudin would always choose the smaller coin. The story went round the whole province.Day after day, groups of men and women would show him the two coins, and Nasrudin would always choose the smaller one. Then one day, a generous man, tired of seeing Nasrudin ridiculed in this fashion, beckoned him over to a corner of the square and said: 'When they offer you two coins, you should choose the larger one. That way you would earn more money and people wouldn't consider you an idiot.' 'That sounds like good advice,' replied Nasrudin, 'but if I chose the larger coin, people would stop offering me money, because they like to believe that I am even more stupid than they are. You've no idea how much money I've earned using this trick. There's nothing wrong with looking like a fool if, in fact, you're being really clever.'

Story No. 40

The one who cared most

The writer Leo Buscaglia was once invited to be on the jury of a school competition to find 'the child who cared most for others'. The winner was a boy whose neighbour, a gentleman of over eighty, had just been widowed. When he saw the old man sitting in his garden crying, the boy jumped over the fence, sat on the man's lap and stayed there for a long time. When he went back home, his mother asked him what he had said to the poor man. 'Nothing,' said the boy. 'He's lost his wife and that must have really hurt. I just went over to help him to cry.'


Continued...

__________________
The world is changed by your example, not by your opinion !

Story No. 41

The answer

Once a man asked Rabbi Joshua ben Karechah: 'Why did God choose to speak to Moses out of a thorn bush?' The Rabbi replied: 'If he had chosen an olive tree or a bramble bush, you would have asked the same question. But I cannot leave you without an answer, so I will say that God chose a wretched little thorn bush in order to teach us that there is nowhere on Earth where
He is not present.'

Story No. 42

The window and the mirror

A very rich young man went to see a Rabbi in order to ask his advice about what he should do with his life. The Rabbiled him over to the window and asked him: 'What can you see through the glass?' 'I can see men coming and going and a blind man begging for alms in the street.' Then the Rabbi showed him a large mirror and said to him: 'Look in this mirror and tell me what you see.' 'I can see myself.' 'And you can't see the others. Notice that the window and the mirror are both made of the same basic material, glass; but in the mirror, because the glass is coated with a fine layer of silver, all you can see is yourself. You should compare yourself to these two kinds of glass. Poor, you saw other people and felt compassion for them. Rich - covered in silver - you see yourself. You will only be worth anything when you have the courage to tear away the coating of silver covering your eyes in order to be able to see again and love your fellow man.'

Story No. 43

A man lying on the ground

On 1 July, at five past one in the afternoon, there was a man of about fifty lying on the sea front in Copacabana. I glanced down at him as I walked by, then continued on to the stall where I usually go for a drink of coconut water. As a resident of Rio de Janeiro, I must have passed by such men, women or children hundreds or even thousands of times. As someone who has travelled widely, I have seen the same scene in almost every country I have visited, from wealthy Sweden to impoverished Romania. I have seen people lying on the ground in all weathers: in the icy winters of Madrid or Paris or New York, where they stay close to the hot air vents outside the subway stations; in the scalding Libyan sun, amongst the rubble of buildings destroyed by years of war. People lying on the ground - drunk, homeless, tired - are not a new sight to anyone. I drank my coconut water. I needed to get home quickly because I had an interview with Juan Arias from the Spanish newspaper El País. On the way back, I noticed that the man was still there, lying in the sun, and everyone who passed did exactly the same as I had: glanced at him and then moved on. Although I didn't know it, my soul was weary of seeing the same scene over and over. When I passed the man again, something stronger than myself made me kneel down and try to lift him up. He did not respond. I turned his head and noticed blood on his temple. What now? Was it a bad wound? I dabbed at his skin with my T-shirt; it didn't look like anything serious. At that moment, the man began muttering something about 'make them stop hitting me'. So he was alive; now what I needed to do was to get him out of the sun and to call the police. I stopped the first man who passed and asked him to help me drag the injured man over to the shade between the sea front and the beach. He was wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase and various packages, but he put these down to help me - his soul was weary of seeing that same scene too. Once we had placed the man in the shade, I headed off to my house. I knew there was a Military Police post nearby where I could ask for help. But before I got there, I met two policemen. 'There's a man who's been beaten up opposite number so-and-so,' I said. 'I've laid him down on the sand. It would be a good idea to call an ambulance.' The two policemen said they would take steps. Right, I had done my duty. A boy scout is always prepared. My good deedfor the day. The problem was in other hands now; it was up to them to deal with it. And the Spanish journalist would be arriving at my house at any moment. I had not gone ten steps, when a stranger stopped me. In garbled Portuguese he said: 'I've already told the police about the man. They said that since he's not a thief, he's not their problem.' I did not let the man finish. I walked back to where the policemen were standing, convinced that they would know who I was, that I wrote for the newspapers, that I appeared on television. I did so under the false impression that sometimes success can help to resolve matters. 'Are you some kind of official?' one of them asked when I became more insistent in my request for help. They had no idea who I was. 'No, but we're going to resolve this problem right now.' There I was all sweaty and dressed in a blood-stained T-shirt and a pair of Bermuda shorts made from some old cut-down jeans. I was just an ordinary, anonymous man with no authority apart from my own weariness with all those years of seeing people lying on the ground and never doing anything about it. And that changed everything. There are moments when you are suddenly free from any inhibitions or fears. There are moments when your eyes have a different light and people know that you are absolutely serious. The policemen went with me and called an ambulance. On my way back home, I went over the three lessons I had learned from that walk: (a) Anyone can abandon an action when it's purely at the stage of romanticism. (b) There is always someone to tell you: 'Now that you've started, finish.' And (c) everyone has the authority of an official when he or she is absolutely convinced of what he or she is doing.

Story No. 44

Nhá Chica of Baependi

What is a miracle? There is a definition for every kind of miracle: it may be something that goes against the laws of nature, an act of divine intervention at a moment of great crisis, something which is considered scientifically impossible, etc. I have my own definition: a miracle is something that fills the soul with peace. Sometimes it manifests itself in the form of a cure or a wish granted, it doesn't matter - the end result is that, when the miracle occurs, we feel a profound reverence for the grace God has granted us. Twenty or more years ago, when I was going through my hippie phase, my sister asked me to be godfather to her first daughter. I was thrilled and I was especially pleased that she did not ask me to cut my hair (at the time, it was down to my waist), nor demand an expensive christening present (I didn't have any money to buy one). The baby was born, a year went by and no christening. I thought perhaps my sister had changed her mind and so I went to ask her what had happened. She replied: 'You're still the godfather, it's just that I made a promise to Nhá Chica and I want to have her christened in Baependi because she granted my wish.' I didn't know where Baependi was and I had never even heard of Nhá Chica. My hippie phase passed, and I became anexecutive working for a record company, my sister had another child and still no christening. Finally, in 1978, a decision was taken, and the two families, hers and that of her ex-husband, went to Baependi. There I learned that Nhá Chica, who did not haveenough money to keep herself, had spent the last thirty years building a church and helping the poor. I was going through a very turbulent period in my life and I no longer believed in God, or, rather, I no longer believed that the spiritual world was very important. What mattered were the things of this world and what you could achieve here. I had abandoned the mad dreams of my youth - amongst them was that of becoming a writer - and I had no intention of going back to that dream-world. I was in that church merely to fulfil a social duty. While I was waiting for the christening to begin, I started wandering around outside and I ended up going intoNhá Chica's humble little house next to the church. Two rooms, a small altar with a few images of saints, and a vase containing two red roses and one white rose. On an impulse, quite out of keeping with my thinking at the time, I made a promise: If, one day, I manage to become the writer I would like tobe, I will come back here when I'm fifty years old and I will bring two red roses and one white rose. I bought a picture of Nhá Chica, purely asa souvenir of the christening. On the way back to Rio, there was an accident: the bus in front of me suddenly braked and, with split-second timing, I somehow managed to swerve out of the way, as did my brother-in-law, but the carbehind us ran straight into the bus, there was an explosion and several people were killed. We parked at the roadside, not knowing what to do. I reached into my pocket for a cigarette and there was the picture of Nhá Chica with her silent message of protection. My journey back to dreams, to the spiritual search and to literature began right
there, and one day, I found myself backfighting the Good Fight, the fight you undertake with your heart full of peace, becauseit is the result ofa miracle. I never forgot the three roses. Finally, my fiftieth birthday - which had seemed so far off at the time - arrived. And it almost passed by. During the World Cup, though, I went to Baependi to fulfil my promise. Someone saw me arriving in Caxambú (where I spent the night), and a journalist came to interview me. WhenI told him what I was doing, he said: 'Would you like to talk about Nhá Chica. Her body was exhumed this week and the beatification process is with the Vatican now. People should be giving their accounts of their experiences with her.' 'No,' I said. 'It's too personal. I'll only talk about it if I receive a sign.' And I thought to myself: 'What sign would that be? The only possible sign would be someone speaking on her behalf!' The next day, I bought the flowers, got into my car and went to Baependi. I stopped some way from the church, remembering the record company executive who had gone there all those years before and the many things that had brought me back again. As I was going into the house, a young woman came out of a dress shop and said: 'I noticed that your book Maktubis dedicated to Nhá Chica. I bet she was really pleased.' And she said nothing else. But that was the sign I was waiting for. And this is the public statement I needed to make.

Story No. 45

Reading the signs

An acquaintance of mine ended up in serious financial difficulties because he could never manage to bring together dreamand reality. Worse, he dragged others down with him, harming people he had no wish to hurt. Unable to repay the debts he had accumulated, he even considered suicide. Then one afternoon, as he was walking down a street, he saw a house in ruins. 'That building is me,' he thought, and at that precise moment, he felt an immense desire to rebuild the house. He found out who the owner was and offered to carry out the necessary work; the owner agreed, although he could not understand what my friend stood to gain. Together they managed to get hold of roof tiles, wood, sand and cement. My friend put his whole heart into the work, though without knowing why or for whom. But as the renovation work progressed, he felt his personal life improving. By the end of the year, the house was ready. And all his personal problems had been solved.


Continued...

__________________
The world is changed by your example, not by your opinion !

Story No. 46

Teaching the horse to fly

Let us divide the word 'preoccupation' into two parts - pre-occupation, that is, occupying your mind with something before it actually happens. This is what worrying is: trying to resolve problems that have not even had time to appear; imagining that things, when they do happen, will always turn out for the worst. Naturally there are exceptions. One of them is the hero of this little story. An old king of India condemned a man to the gallows. When the king had finished reading the sentence, the condemned man said: 'You are a wise man, Your Majesty, and curious about everything that your subjects do. You respect gurus, sages, snake-charmers and fakirs. Well, when I was a child, my grandfather taught me how to make a white horse fly. Since there is no one else in the whole kingdom who knows how to do this, my life should be spared.' The king immediately ordered a white horse to be brought. 'I need to spend two years with this animal,' said the condemned man. 'All right, you will have two years,' replied the king, already somewhat suspicious. 'But if this horse does not learn to fly, you will be hanged.' Overjoyed, the man left with the horse. When he reached his house, he found his whole family in tears. 'Are you mad?' they all cried. 'Since when has anyone in this house known how to make a horse fly?' 'Don't worry,' he said. 'First of all, no one has ever tried to teach a horse to fly, and the horse might well learn. Secondly, the king is already very old and he might die in the next two years. Thirdly, the horse might die and then I'll be given another two years to teach the new horse - not to mention the possibility of revolutions, coups d'état and general amnesties. And even if everything remains exactly as it is, I will still have gained two years of life with which I can do anything I like. Does that seem little to you?'

Story No. 47

How to keep Hell full

According to a traditional story, at the moment when the Son of God expired on the cross, He went straight to Hell in order to save sinners. The Devil was most put out. 'I have no other function in the universe,' he said. 'From now on, all the delinquents who broke the rules, committed adultery and infringed the religious laws will be sent straight to Heaven!' Jesus looked at him and smiled: 'Don't worry,' he said to the poor Devil. 'All those who judge themselves to be full of virtue and therefore spend their lives condemning those who follow my word, they will come here. Just wait a few hundred years and you'll find that Hell is fuller than ever!'

Story No. 48

The monastery might close

The monastery was having a difficult time.According to the latest fashionable idea, God was just a superstition, and young men no longer wanted to become novices. Some went to study sociology, others read treatises on historical materialism, and gradually the small community that remained realised that they would have to close the monastery. The old monks were dying. When one of them was about to deliver up his soul to God, he summoned to his death bed the few novices who were left. 'I have received a revelation,' he said. 'This monastery was chosen for something very important.' 'What a shame,' said one novice. 'There are only five of us left and we can barely cope with the ordinary tasks, let alone something important.' 'It is indeed a great shame. Because an angel appeared to me here on my death bed and told me that one of you five young men was destined to become a saint.' And with that, he died. During the funeral, the young men kept looking at each other in some alarm. Who would be the chosen one? The one who had given most help to the villagers? The one who always prayed with particular devotion? The one who preached with such fervour that he reduced the others to tears? Moved by the thought that there was a saint amongst them, the novices resolved to postpone the closure of the monastery for a while and they began working hard, preaching enthusiastically, repairing the crumbling walls and practising charity and love. One day, a young man came to the monastery door. He was impressed by the work of the five novices and wanted to help them. Only a week later, another young man did the same. Little by little, the novices' reputation spread throughout the region. 'Their eyes shine,' said a son to his father, when asking to be given permission to enter the monastery. 'They do things with such love,' remarked one father to his son. 'Look, the monastery is more beautiful than ever.' Ten years later, there were more than eighty novices. No one ever found out if the old monk's prediction was true, or if he had merely found a way of using enthusiasm to restore to the monastery its lost dignity.

Story No. 49

The importance of prayer

One day, a man received a visit from some friends. 'We would very much like it if you could teach us what you have learned over the years,' said one of them. 'I'm old,' said the man. 'Old and wise,' said another of his friends. 'All these years, we have watched you praying. What do you talk to God about? What are the important things we should be praying for?' The man smiled. 'In the beginning, I had the fervour of youth, which believes in the impossible. In those days, I used to kneel before God and ask him to give me the strength to change humankind. Gradually, I came to see that the task was beyond me. Then I started praying to God to help me change the world around me.' 'Well, we can certainly vouch for the fact that part of your wish was granted,' said one of his friends. 'For you have helped many people by your example.' 'Yes, I have helped many people by my example, and yet I knew that I had not yet found the perfect prayer. Only now, at the end of my life, have I come to understand what I should have been praying for from the start.' 'And what is that?' 'To be given the ability to change myself.'

Story No. 50

The prayer that I forgot

I was out walking one day in São Paulo, when a friend - Edinho - handed me a pamphlet entitled Sacred Moment. Printed in four colours, on excellent paper, with no mention of any particular church or religion, this pamphlet bore only a prayer on its reverse side. Imagine my surprise when I saw the name of the author of this prayer - ME! It had been published in the early eighties on the inside cover of a book of poetry. I did not think it would stand the test of time, nor that it would return to my hands in such a mysterious way; but when I re-read it, I did not feel ashamed of what I had written. Because it appeared in that pamphlet and because I believe in signs, I felt it only right to reproduce it here. I hope it encourages every reader to write a prayer of their own, asking for themselves and for others the things that they judge to be most important. That way we place a positive vibration in our heart which touches everything around us. Here is the prayer: Lord, protect our doubts, because Doubt is a way of praying. It is Doubt that makes us grow because it forces us to look fearlessly at the many answers that exist to one question. And in order for this to be possible… Lord, protect our decisions, because making Decisions is a way of praying. Give us the courage, after our doubts, to be able to choose between one road and another. May our YES always be a YES and our NO always be a NO. Once we have chosen our road, may we never look back nor allow our soul to be eaten away by remorse. And in order for this to be possible… Lord, protect our actions, because Action is a way of praying. May our daily bread be the result of the very best that we carry within us. May we, through work and Action, share a little of the love we receive. And in order for this to be possible… Lord, protect our dreams, because to Dream is a way of praying. Make sure that, regardless of our age or our circumstances, we are capable of keeping alight in our heart the sacred flame of hope and perseverance. And in order for this to be possible… Lord, give us enthusiasm, because Enthusiasm is a way of praying. It is what binds us to the Heavens and to Earth, to grown-ups and to children, it is what tells us that our desires are important and deserve our best efforts. It is Enthusiasm that reaffirms to us that everything is possible, as long as we are totally committed to what we are doing. And in order for this to be possible… Lord, protect us, because Life is the only way we have of making manifest Your miracle. May the earth continue to transform seeds into wheat, may we continue to transmute wheat into bread. And this is only possible if we have Love; therefore, do not leave us in solitude. Always give us Your company, and the company of men and women who have doubts, who act and dream and feel enthusiasm, and who live each day as if it were totally dedicated to Your glory. Amen


Continued...

__________________
The world is changed by your example, not by your opinion !