Wednesday, 8 November 2017

The Dream

He gently opened his eyes and the warm sun beat upon his face. He lay among the soft caress of the grass and a gentle wind embraced him. His father sat underneath a tree a few feet way beside the babbling brook.

        "You are awake," his father smiled.

        "I fell asleep dad."

        "You did my son."

        "I had a dream dad."

        His father rose and sat beside him. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

        "It was so real dad. I dreamt of missiles falling from the sky and little kids, even younger than I getting killed and maimed. The world was in a bad state. Millions were poor dad, not even with enough to eat. There were homeless people and destitute. There were huge storms and hurricanes and all types of disasters happening. People were fighting all of the time – over land, possessions, oil and money. Rainforests were dying dad and animals of all types were in danger and the earth was actually heating up! And I dreamt of growing up in this world and I was having happy times and sad times. And I lived a life dad. I did! I had a wife and kids and it was crazy fast you know. Everything went so quickly. And I felt so much. I was scared, full of joy, there was fear and hope. And so many times I felt helpless. And a lot of the time I felt so lonely. Worst of all dad, I didn't know where you were. I kinda knew you were there somewhere and I kept calling out for you. In fact sometimes I gave up hope and told myself that you didn't exist at all. But deep down I had a feeling you were somewhere. As I grew older I stopped searching for you out there and started looking within. Which was strange really but I kinda felt you were a part of me dad just as I was a part of you. It was full on dad and then I just woke up!"

        His father looked at him with love in his wise eyes. "That’s some dream son!"

        "How long was I asleep dad?"

        "Mmmmmm perhaps 5 minutes... not much more."

        "Wow! All of that in 5 minutes?"

        The son looked knowingly at his dad for awhile.

        "Dad that was my first dream."

        "I know son... and your last... if you so choose."


        "Yes my son?"

        "Did you know I was dreaming?"

        "Why yes, of course."

        The son reflected on this for a moment.

        "So dad, during the bad parts of the dream did you know I was suffering?"

        "My son, you may have appeared to be suffering in the dream but were always perfectly safe with me here."

        "You could have woken me?"

        "I could, but I didn't. You would have woken with a start. It would have been a little frightening for you that way. You gently came out of the dream yourself. You choose to enter the dream state. It is best if you choose to exit."

        The son stretched out on the grass.


        "Yes my son."

        "I love you."

        "I know, my child. We are love."

        - Diarmuid Cronin

Tuesday, 31 October 2017

Thanks for your time

It had been some time since Jack had seen the old man. College, girls, career, and life itself got in the way. In fact, Jack moved clear across the country in pursuit of his dreams. There, in the rush of his busy life, Jack had little time to think about the past and often no time to spend with his wife and son. He was working on his future, and nothing could stop him.
        Over the phone, his mother told him, "Mr. Belser died last night. The funeral is Wednesday."
        Memories flashed through his mind like an old newsreel as he sat quietly remembering his childhood days.
        "Jack, did you hear me?"
        "Oh sorry, Mom. Yes, I heard you. It's been so long since I thought of him. I'm sorry, but I honestly thought he died years ago," Jack said.
        "Well, he didn't forget you. Every time I saw him he'd ask how you were doing. He'd reminisce about the many days you spent over 'his side of the fence' as he put it," Mom told him.
        "I loved that old house he lived in," Jack said.
        "You know, Jack, after your father died, Mr. Belser stepped in to make sure you had a man's influence in your life," she said.
        "He's the one who taught me carpentry," he said. "I wouldn't be in this business if it weren't for him. He spent a lot of time teaching me things he thought were important... Mom, I'll be there for the funeral," Jack said.
        As busy as he was, he kept his word. Jack caught the next flight to his hometown. Mr. Belser's funeral was small and uneventful. He had no children of his own, and most of his relatives had passed away.
        The night before he had to return home, Jack and his Mom stopped by to see the old house next door one more time.
        Standing in the doorway, Jack paused for a moment. It was like crossing over into another dimension, a leap through space and time.
        The house was exactly as he remembered. Every step held memories. Every picture, every piece of furniture... Jack stopped suddenly.
        "What's wrong, Jack?" his Mom asked.
        "The box is gone," he said.
        "What box?" Mom asked.
        "There was a small gold box that he kept locked on top of his desk. I must have asked him a thousand times what was inside. All he'd ever tell me was 'the thing I value most,'" Jack said.
        It was gone. Everything about the house was exactly how Jack remembered it, except for the box. He figured someone from the Belser family had taken it.
        "Now I'll never know what was so valuable to him," Jack said. "I better get some sleep. I have an early flight home, Mom."
        It had been about two weeks since Mr. Belser died. Returning home from work one day Jack discovered a note in his mailbox. "Signature required on a package. No one at home. Please stop by the main post office within the next three days," the note read.
        Early the next day Jack retrieved the package. The small box was old and looked like it had been mailed a hundred years ago. The handwriting was difficult to read, but the return address caught his attention.
        "Mr. Harold Belser" it read.
        Jack took the box out to his car and ripped open the package. There inside was the gold box and an envelope. Jack's hands shook as he read the note inside.
        "Upon my death, please forward this box and its contents to Jack Bennett. It's the thing I valued most in my life." A small key was taped to the letter. His heart racing, as tears filling his eyes, Jack carefully unlocked the box. There inside he found a beautiful gold pocket watch.
        Running his fingers slowly over the finely etched casing, he unlatched the cover. Inside he found these words engraved:
        "Jack, Thanks for your time! -Harold Belser."
        "The thing he valued time."
        Jack held the watch for a few minutes, then called his office and cleared his appointments for the next two days. "Why?" Janet, his assistant asked.
        "I need some time to spend with my son," he said. "Oh, by the way, Janet... thanks for your time!"

Sunday, 29 October 2017

Tasting Life

Before the young man began his studies, he wanted assurance from the Master.

        "Can you teach me the goal of human life?"

        "I cannot," replied the Master.

        "Or at least its meaning?"

        "I cannot."

        "Can you indicate to me the nature of death and of life beyond the grave?"

        "I cannot."

        The young man walked away in scorn. The disciples were dismayed that their Master had been shown up in a poor light.

        Said the Master soothingly, "Of what is it to comprehend life's nature and life's meaning if you have never tasted it? I'd rather you ate your pudding than speculated on it."

        - Anthony De Mello

        Related Quote:

        "Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves... Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given to you because you will not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer."

Saturday, 28 October 2017

Enjoy the journey called Life

Can u judge who is the better person out of these 3 ?

Mr A - He had friendship with bad politicians, consults astrologers, two wives, chain smoker, drinks eight to 10 times a day.

Mr B - He was kicked out of office twice, sleeps till noon, used opium in college & drinks whiskey every evening.

Mr C - He is a decorated war hero, a vegetarian, doesn't smoke, doesn't drink  and never cheated on his wife and was a painter

You would say Mr.C


Mr. A was Franklin Roosevelt! ( 32nd President of the USA)

Mr. B was Winston Churchill!! (Former British Prime Minister)


Strange but true..
Its risky to judge anyone by his habits !
Character is a complex phenomenon.

So every person in ur life is important, don't judge them, accept them.

..The same Boiling Water that hardens the egg, Will Soften the Potato!
It depends upon Individual's reaction To stressful circumstances!

Enjoy the journey called Life......

Friday, 20 October 2017


Through the cold winter wasteland he trudged, leaning into the harsh wind which spitefully tried to force him back. He was covered from head to toe in layers of thick clothing, layers of protection against the harsh environment. On he fought, searching, searching. He was working so hard. This must be the way.

        In the distance he saw what looked like steam rising out of the ground. It rose a few feet and then was quickly whipped away by the biting wind. He altered his course and turned towards the steam, gaining some blessed relief as he turned his chapped face out of the gale. As he got closer, he thought he could make out voices. Their tone was unfamiliar to him - musical, relaxed and warm - their melody enticed him closer. Finally he got close enough to peer through the mist.

        There before him was a remarkable sight. In the midst of the frozen wasteland, cut into the ground was a large pool. Several people were in the pool, they seemed to be floating easily without any effort. As they saw him approach, a woman called out to him.

        "Come in here. It is lovely and warm. You can just lie back and relax," said the woman.

        "I can't. There are no steps." The man replied.

        "Just jump in. It really is lovely in here. Come on. There's plenty of room for another." Another of the floaters joined in the persuasion.

        "But what if I don't like it, how will I get out? The sides are too high to reach up to."

        "Believe me, you won't want to get out. Come on. It is so good in here."

        He stood for a moment, paralyzed with indecision. It looked so much like the answer, but how could it be this easy? Just jump in? Lie back and relax? It couldn't be that simple. It must be a trick. He could not trust them. There was no way out if he changed his mind. He blocked out their warm invitations and once more filled his mind with grim determination.

        On he trudged. Hours passed and his shadow grew long. Then once again in the distance he saw another cloud of rising steam. Entering the mist, a similar sight greeted him once more.

        "Come in here. You don't have to be cold any more," said one of the bathers in a gentle voice. All the faces in the pool turned to look at him. Warm smiles reached out to him but his eyes could not perceive them.

        "How do I get in? I can't see any steps. You are a long way down." He asked once again.

        "Just jump in. It is very deep. You will be quite safe."

        "But what if I want to get out? What if I get tired and cannot stay afloat any longer?"

        "This is not like normal water, we are kept afloat without any effort. I promise you, you really will not want to get out."

        "But my clothes will get wet and their weight will drag me down."

        "You can remove all those layers. You will not need their protection in here. It is always beautifully warm."

        But he could not bring himself to do that. Those layers were his protection, accumulated over the years to keep out the bitter cold. How could he now discard them, just like that? How could he allow himself to be so exposed?

        On he trudged. Darkness came and the temperature dropped still further. Snow began to fall and the wind drove it into his face. Walking blind he carried on.

        Then suddenly he felt some warmth in the air and the ground disappeared beneath him. With a scream he fell and his fall was broken with a splash. Panic overcame him and he thrashed around desperately until his hands touched a wall and he clawed at the smooth surface, loudly cursing the futility of it.

        Then suddenly he heard a soft voice beside him. '"Shhhh. It's OK. It's OK," said the voice in beautiful feminine tones. "Just relax. You will be OK." Then he felt her hands moving over his body, searching then loosening his winter clothing. Layer after layer was gently removed, her voice continuing to sooth his panic until eventually he could feel the wonderful warmth of the water directly against his skin. "It's OK," she said once more as she held him close in the dark. For the first time since he could remember, he fully relaxed and quickly drifted off into a much needed sleep in her arms.

        He awoke to a wonderful new dawn. He gazed into the beautiful eyes of his rescuer and felt the wonderful warmth of the water around him. Then he heard footsteps above. A weary man dressed head to foot in winter furs peered over the edge of the pool.

        "Come in here!" He quickly shouted to the man. "It is so wonderful in here!"

        "But what if I don't like it? How will I get back out?" The man asked.

        "Believe me. You really won't want to get out," he assured the man.

        - Peter Hughes

Sunday, 15 October 2017

Wooden Bowls

A frail old man lived with his son, his daughter-in-law, and his four-year-old grandson. His eyes were blurry, his hands trembled, and his step faltered.

        The family would eat together nightly at the dinner table. But the elderly grandfather's shaky hands and failing sight made eating rather difficult. Peas rolled off his spoon, drooping to the floor. When he grasped his glass of milk, it often spilled clumsily at the tablecloth.

        With this happening almost every night, the son and daughter-in-law became irritated with the mess.

        "We must do something about grandfather," said the son.

        "I've had enough of his milk spilling, noisy eating and food on the floor," the daughter-in-law agreed.

        So the couple set a small table at the corner.

        There, grandfather ate alone while the rest of the family enjoyed their dinner at the dinner table. Since grandfather had broken a dish or two, his food was served in wooden bowls. Sometimes when the family glanced in grandfather's direction, he had a tear in his eye as he ate alone. Still, the only words the couple had for him were sharp admonitions when he dropped a fork or spilled food. The four-year-old watched it all in silence.

        One evening, before supper, the father noticed his son playing with wood scraps on the floor. He asked the child sweetly: "What are you making?" Just as sweetly, the boy replied, "Oh, I'm making a little bowl for you and mama to eat your food from when I grow up." The four-year-old smiled and went back to work.

        These words so struck the parents that they were speechless. Then tears streamed down their cheeks. Though no words were spoken, both knew what must be done. That evening, the husband took grandfather's hand and gently led him back to the family table.

        For the remainder of his days, grandfather ate every meal with the family. And for some reason, neither husband nor wife seemed to care any longer when a fork was dropped, milk was spilled or the table cloth was soiled.

Friday, 13 October 2017

Two Horses

Just up the road from my home is a field, with two horses in it. From a distance, each horse looks like any other horse.

        But if you get a closer look you will notice something quite interesting...

        One of the horses is blind.

        His owner has chosen not to have him put down, but has made him a safe and comfortable barn to live in.

        This alone is pretty amazing.

        But if you stand nearby and listen, you will hear the sound of a bell. It is coming from a smaller horse in the field.

        Attached to the horse's halter is a small, copper-colored bell. It lets the blind friend know where the other horse is, so he can follow.

        As you stand and watch these two friends you'll see that the horse with the bell is always checking on the blind horse, and that the blind horse will listen for the bell and then slowly walk to where the other horse is, trusting he will not be led astray.

        When the horse with the bell returns to the shelter of the barn each evening, he will stop occasionally to look back, making sure that the blind friend isn't too far behind to hear the bell.

        Like the owners of these two horses, God does not throw us away just because we are not perfect. Or because we have problems or challenges.

        He watches over us and even brings others into our lives to help us when we are in need.

        Sometimes we are the blind horse, being guided by the little ringing bell of those who God places in our lives.

        And at other times we are the guide horse, helping others to find their way.

Thursday, 12 October 2017

The Dew Drop

As the sun rose, a dew drop became aware of its surroundings. There it sat on a leaf, catching the sunlight and throwing it back out. Proud of its simple beauty, it was very content. Around it were other dew drops, some on the same leaf and some on other leaves round about. The dew drop was sure that it was the best, the most special dew drop of them all.

        Ah, it was good to be a dew drop.

        The wind rose and the plant began to shake, tipping the leaf. Terror gripped the dew drop as gravity pulled it towards the edge of the leaf, towards the unknown. Why? Why was this happening? Things were comfortable. Things were safe. Why did they have to change? Why? Why?

        The dew drop reached the edge of the leaf. It was terrified, certain that it would be smashed into a thousand pieces below, sure that this was the end. The day had only just begun and the end had come so quickly. It seemed so unfair. It seemed so meaningless. It tried desperately to do whatever it could to cling to the leaf, but it was no use.

        Finally, it let go, surrendering to the pull of gravity. Down, down it fell. Below there seemed to be a mirror. A reflection of itself seemed to be coming up to meet the dew drop. Closer and closer they came together until finally...

        And then the fear transformed into deep joy as the tiny dew drop merged with the vastness that was the pond. Now the dew drop was no more, but it was not destroyed.

        It had become one with the whole.

        - Peter Hughes

Tuesday, 10 October 2017

The Triple-Filter Test

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 you talk to me about my friend, it might be 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?"

        "Well, 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?"

        "Umm, no, on the contrary…"

        "So," Socrates continued, "you want to tell me something bad about my friend, 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?"

Monday, 4 September 2017

Things Change

For most people, graduation is an exciting day - the culmination of years of hard work. My graduation day... was not.

        I remember that weekend two years ago. Family and friends had flown in from across the country to watch our class walk across that stage. But like everyone else in my graduating class, I had watched the economy turn from bad to worse my senior year. We graduates had degrees, but very limited prospects. Numerous applications had not panned out and I knew that the next day, when my lease ended, I would no longer have a place to call home.

        The weeks ahead weren't easy. I gathered up everything I couldn't carry and put it into storage. Then, because I knew my small university town couldn't offer me any opportunities, I packed up my car and drove to Southern California to find work. But what I thought would take a week dragged into two, and then four, and 100 job applications later, I found myself in the exact same spot as I was before. And the due date to begin paying back my student loans was creeping ever closer.

        You know that feeling when you wake up and you are just consumed with dread? Dread about something you can't control - that sense of impending failure that lingers over you as you hope that everything that happened to you thus far was just a bad dream? That feeling became a constant in my life.

        Days felt like weeks, weeks like months, and those many months felt like an unending eternity of destitution. And the most frustrating part was no matter how much I tried, I just couldn't seem to make any progress.

        So what did I do to maintain my sanity? I wrote. Something about putting words on a page made everything seem a little clearer - a little brighter. Something about writing gave me hope. And if you want something badly enough... sometimes a little hope is all you need!

        I channeled my frustration into a children's book. Beyond the River was the story of an unlikely hero featuring a little fish who simply refused to give up on his dream.

        And then one day, without any sort of writing degree or contacts in the writing world - just a lot of hard work and perseverance - I was offered a publishing contract for my first book! After that, things slowly began to fall into place. I was offered a second book deal. Then, a few months later, I got an interview with The Walt Disney Company and was hired shortly after.

        The moral of this story is... don't give up. Even if things look bleak now, don't give up. Two years ago I was huddled in my car drinking cold soup right out of the can. Things change.

        If you work hard, give it time, and don't give up, things will always get better. Oftentimes our dreams lie in wait just a little further upstream... all we need is the courage to push beyond the river.

        - Alex W. Miller

 - Sent from Inspirational Short Stories (android app),