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Wednesday, December 31, 2008
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Thursday, December 18, 2008
From Paulo Coelho
The music coming from the house
On Christmas Eve, the king invited the prime minister to join him for their usual walk together. He enjoyed seeing the decorations in the streets, but since he didn’t want his subjects to spend too much money on these just to please him, the two men always disguised themselves as traders from some far distant land.
They walked through the centre of the city, admiring the lights, the Christmas trees, the candles burning on the steps of the houses, the stalls selling gifts, and the men, women and children hurrying off to celebrate a family Christmas around a table laden with food.
On the way back, they passed through a poorer area, where the atmosphere was quite different. There were no lights, no candles, no delicious smells of food about to be served. There was hardly a soul in the street, and, as he did every year, the king remarked to the prime minister that he really must pay more attention to the poor in his kingdom. The prime minister nodded, knowing that the matter would soon be forgotten again, buried beneath the day-to-day bureaucracy of budgets to be approved and discussions with foreign dignitaries.
Suddenly, they heard music coming from one of the poorest houses. The hut was so ramshackle and the rotten wooden timbers so full of cracks, that they were able to peer through and see what was happening inside. And what they saw was utterly absurd: an old man in a wheelchair apparently crying, a shaven-headed young woman dancing, and a young man with sad eyes shaking a tambourine and singing a folk song.
‘I’m going to find out what they’re up to,’ said the king.
He knocked. The music stopped, and the young man came to the door.
‘We are merchants in search of a place to sleep. We heard the music, saw that you were still awake, and wondered if we could spend the night here.’
‘You can find shelter in a hotel in the city. We, alas, cannot help you. Despite the music, this house is full of sadness and suffering.’
‘And may we know why?’
‘It’s all because of me.’ It was the old man in the wheelchair who spoke. ‘I’ve spent my life teaching my son calligraphy, so that he could one day get a job as a palace scribe. But the years have passed and no post has ever come up. And then, last night, I had a stupid dream: an angel appeared to me and asked me to buy a silver goblet because, the angel said, the king would be coming to visit me. He would drink from the goblet and give my son a job.
‘The angel was so persuasive that I decided to do as he said. Since we have no money, my daughter-in-law went to the market this morning to sell her hair so that we could buy that goblet over there. The two of them are doing their best to get me in the Christmas spirit by singing and dancing, but it’s no use.’
The king saw the silver goblet, asked to be given a little water to quench his thirst and, before leaving, said to the family:
‘Do you know, we were talking to the prime minister only today, and he told us that an opening for a palace scribe would be announced next week.’
The old man nodded, not really believing what he was hearing, and bade farewell to the strangers. The following morning, however, a royal proclamation was read out in all the city streets; a new scribe was needed at court. On the appointed day, the audience room at the palace was packed with people eager to compete for that much-sought-after post. The prime minister entered and asked everyone there to prepare their paper and pens:
‘Here is the subject of the composition: Why is an old man weeping, a shaven-headed woman dancing, and a sad young man singing?’
A murmur of disbelief went round the room. No one knew how to tell such a story, apart, that is, from the shabbily dressed young man sitting in one corner, who smiled broadly and began to write.
Based on an Indian story.
Translated from the Portuguese by Margaret Jull Costa
PS/ Thanks a lot Sir Paolo...!
On Christmas Eve, the king invited the prime minister to join him for their usual walk together. He enjoyed seeing the decorations in the streets, but since he didn’t want his subjects to spend too much money on these just to please him, the two men always disguised themselves as traders from some far distant land.
They walked through the centre of the city, admiring the lights, the Christmas trees, the candles burning on the steps of the houses, the stalls selling gifts, and the men, women and children hurrying off to celebrate a family Christmas around a table laden with food.
On the way back, they passed through a poorer area, where the atmosphere was quite different. There were no lights, no candles, no delicious smells of food about to be served. There was hardly a soul in the street, and, as he did every year, the king remarked to the prime minister that he really must pay more attention to the poor in his kingdom. The prime minister nodded, knowing that the matter would soon be forgotten again, buried beneath the day-to-day bureaucracy of budgets to be approved and discussions with foreign dignitaries.
Suddenly, they heard music coming from one of the poorest houses. The hut was so ramshackle and the rotten wooden timbers so full of cracks, that they were able to peer through and see what was happening inside. And what they saw was utterly absurd: an old man in a wheelchair apparently crying, a shaven-headed young woman dancing, and a young man with sad eyes shaking a tambourine and singing a folk song.
‘I’m going to find out what they’re up to,’ said the king.
He knocked. The music stopped, and the young man came to the door.
‘We are merchants in search of a place to sleep. We heard the music, saw that you were still awake, and wondered if we could spend the night here.’
‘You can find shelter in a hotel in the city. We, alas, cannot help you. Despite the music, this house is full of sadness and suffering.’
‘And may we know why?’
‘It’s all because of me.’ It was the old man in the wheelchair who spoke. ‘I’ve spent my life teaching my son calligraphy, so that he could one day get a job as a palace scribe. But the years have passed and no post has ever come up. And then, last night, I had a stupid dream: an angel appeared to me and asked me to buy a silver goblet because, the angel said, the king would be coming to visit me. He would drink from the goblet and give my son a job.
‘The angel was so persuasive that I decided to do as he said. Since we have no money, my daughter-in-law went to the market this morning to sell her hair so that we could buy that goblet over there. The two of them are doing their best to get me in the Christmas spirit by singing and dancing, but it’s no use.’
The king saw the silver goblet, asked to be given a little water to quench his thirst and, before leaving, said to the family:
‘Do you know, we were talking to the prime minister only today, and he told us that an opening for a palace scribe would be announced next week.’
The old man nodded, not really believing what he was hearing, and bade farewell to the strangers. The following morning, however, a royal proclamation was read out in all the city streets; a new scribe was needed at court. On the appointed day, the audience room at the palace was packed with people eager to compete for that much-sought-after post. The prime minister entered and asked everyone there to prepare their paper and pens:
‘Here is the subject of the composition: Why is an old man weeping, a shaven-headed woman dancing, and a sad young man singing?’
A murmur of disbelief went round the room. No one knew how to tell such a story, apart, that is, from the shabbily dressed young man sitting in one corner, who smiled broadly and began to write.
Based on an Indian story.
Translated from the Portuguese by Margaret Jull Costa
PS/ Thanks a lot Sir Paolo...!
Friday, November 21, 2008
Another day, another chance to live...
I thank God for giving me another chance to live my life. Good thing, after having episodes of hypertension, like BP shooting up, just like what happened the past few days, wherein my life is always on a thin line. We all know that hypertension is scary...like what had happened to FPJ, Lastimak of Salbakuta among others. I feel so so blest waking up in the morning to be able to greet another day!
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Taking heed...
Whenever I go to church and hear this song being sung by the choir, I would always find myself teary. We all know that as human, we cannot control ourselves sometimes from committing some mistakes. We tend to disobey a lot of times...but in the end we admit to ourselves that somehow we regret doing such slip-ups. We're here to meet a lot of people, some become friends...but what we do not know is...one or two become tools of evil deeds. Or sometimes, situation calls for it. We are forced to become a little harsh when( some) strife or discord lead us to the realm of antagonism. So let's be very watchful and guard ourselves from all danger and possible sliding down a slippery slope.
My prayer...Oh God help me to go straight and know what is right!
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Falling of leaves...in autumn
Photo by: MakkiIt is how you see life...falling of leaves in autumn is just a start of something new...the beginning of spring. Spring is seen as a time of growth, renewal, of new life (both plant and animal) being born.
All about courage...
Courage gives you the strength to all weaknesses
Courage gives you a very positive look out on life
Courage gives you the strength to move on when you don't know how too
Courage is what you have when someone tries to bring you down
Courage is like a big strength you have to have it in order to live life
by: Brandi Reissig
Courage gives you a very positive look out on life
Courage gives you the strength to move on when you don't know how too
Courage is what you have when someone tries to bring you down
Courage is like a big strength you have to have it in order to live life
by: Brandi Reissig
Placing no conditions...
Conditional love is love that is turned off and on....Some parents only show their love after a child has done something that pleases them. "I love you, honey, for cleaning your room!" Children who think they need to earn love become people pleasers, or perfectionists. Those who are raised on conditional love never really feel loved.
by: Louise Hart
by: Louise Hart
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Words to ponder...
Mother Teresa's Anyway Poem
People are often unreasonable, illogical and self-centered;
Forgive them anyway.
If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives;
Be kind anyway.
If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some true enemies;
Succeed anyway.
If you are honest and frank, people may cheat you;
Be honest and frank anyway.
What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight;
Build anyway.
If you find serenity and happiness, they may be jealous;
Be happy anyway.
The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow;
Do good anyway.
Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough;
Give the world the best you've got anyway.
Source: Wikipedia
People are often unreasonable, illogical and self-centered;
Forgive them anyway.
If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives;
Be kind anyway.
If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some true enemies;
Succeed anyway.
If you are honest and frank, people may cheat you;
Be honest and frank anyway.
What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight;
Build anyway.
If you find serenity and happiness, they may be jealous;
Be happy anyway.
The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow;
Do good anyway.
Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough;
Give the world the best you've got anyway.
Source: Wikipedia
Friday, November 7, 2008
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Spreading love and goodwill...
It's just a few weeks until Christmas. For sure everybody is anticipating the season of love and gift-giving. By now they are buying already some gifts for their loved ones, shopping for new clothes, new gadgets and almost everything available that they fancy. But this is all material things. This is less important when compared to giving and sharing love around. There's more to the spirit of Christmas. It's to touch the hearts of the people around us. To share what has to be shared. To forgive with humility and act with compassion. We should always learn how to be a blessing to others. There's this old saying that we reap what we sow. And sowing love is one good example to begin with. If love in your heart always overflow, then your blessings also will follow...filling it to the brim.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Damocles sword...
For every burden we have...remember that God always offer His mighty arms to always lift us up. Like the story of Damocles...who had once wished to live like Dionysius, at first enjoying it immensely... until he noticed a sharp sword hovering over his head, that was suspended from the ceiling by a horse hair. This, was what life as ruler was really like. He then prefered to live the simple way of life like that of the poorer.
Something foolproof...
Suddenly it just came to my mind to create this blog...something unfailing...this song of GV has become an inspiration that pushes me and urges me so much to once more create a blog separately. As human we are liable to slide of course, but I do believe that somewhere in our own hearts...there's a lamp that should be kept incensed...a little lamp from which we draw strength...some rays of hope lies...and sprung goodness, no matter what. I do believe that there's no person too bad...nobody can be just as bad. As a person I've kept my faith privy and I do believe only God knows the colors of our hearts.
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