|
Tuesday, 15 January 2008 |
|
a story told by OSHO
 A man was very much interested in self-knowledge, in self-realization. His whole search had been to find a master who could teach him meditation. He went from one master to another, but nothing was happening.
Years went by, he was tired, exhausted. Then someone told him, "If you really want to find a master you will have to go to the Himalayas. He lives in some unknown parts of the Himalayas; you will have to search for him. One thing is certain, he is there. Nobody knows exactly where, because whenever somebody comes to know of him he moves from that place and goes even deeper into the Himalayan ranges."
The man was getting old, but he gathered courage. For two years he had to work to earn money for the journey, then he made the journey. It is an old story. He had to ride on camels and horses and then go on foot, and then he reached the Himalayas. People said, "Yes, we have heard about the old man, very ancient he is, one cannot say how old -- maybe three hundred years old, or even five hundred years old; nobody knows. He lives somewhere, but the location cannot be given to you. Nobody is aware of where exactly you will find him, but he is there. If you search hard you are bound to find him."
The man searched and searched and searched. For two years he was roaming in the Himalayas -- tired, exhausted, dead exhausted, living only on wild fruits, leaves and grass. He had lost much weight. But he was intent that he had to find this man; even if it took his life, it would be worth it.
And can you imagine? One day he saw a small hut, a grass hut. He was so tired that he was not even able to walk, so he crawled. He reached the hut. There was no door; he looked in, there was nobody inside. And not only was there nobody inside, but there was every sign that for years there had been nobody inside.
You can think what would have happened to that man. He fell on the ground. Out of sheer tiredness he said, "I give up." He was lying there under the sun in the cool breeze of the Himalayas, and for the first time he started feeling so blissful, he had never tasted such bliss! Suddenly he started feeling full of light. Suddenly all thoughts disappeared, suddenly he was transported -- and for no reason at all, because he had not done anything.
And then he became aware that somebody was leaning over him. He opened his eyes. A very ancient man was there. And the old man, smiling, said, "So you have come. Have you something to ask me?"
And the man said, "No."
And the old man laughed, a great belly laugh which was echoed by the valleys. And he said, "So now you know what meditation is?"
And the man said, "Yes."
Source:
OSHO - The Book of Wisdom: Discourses on Atisha's Seven Points of Mind Training
Read/Listen Online:
|
|
Tuesday, 27 November 2007 |
|
 This is a story of the lake and the three big fish that were in it, one of them intelligent, another half-intelligent, and the third, stupid.
Some fisherman came to the edge of the lake with their nets. The three fish saw them. The intelligent fish decided at once to leave, to make the long, difficult trip to the ocean.
He thought, "I won't consult with these two on this. They will only weaken my resolve, because they love this place so. They call it home. Their ignorance will keep them here." The wise fish saw the men and their nets and said, "I"m leaving."
The half-intelligent fish thought, "My guide has gone. I ought to have gone with him, but I didn't, and now I've lost my chance to escape. I wish I'd gone with him." He mourns the absence of his guide for a while, and then thinks, "What can I do to save myself from these men and their nets? Perhaps if I pretend to be already dead! I'll belly up on the surface and float like weeds float, just giving myself totally to the water. He bobbed up and down, helpless, within arm's reach of the fishermen.
"Look at this! The best and biggest fish is dead." One of the men lifted him by the tail, spat on him, and threw him up on the ground. He rolled over and over and slid secretly near the water, and then, back in.
Meanwhile, the third fish, the dumb one, was agitatedly jumping about, trying to escape with his agility and cleverness. The net, of course, finally closed around him, and as he lay in the terrible frying-pan bed, he thought, "If I get out of this, I'll never live again in the limits of the lake. Next time, the ocean! I'll make the infinite my home."
Source:
Fish Painting from ChineseArtsStore.com
|
|
Tuesday, 27 November 2007 |
 It was six men of Indostan
To learning much inclined,
Who went to see the Elephant
(Though all of them were blind),
That each by observation
Might satisfy his mind
The First approached the Elephant,
And happening to fall
Against his broad and sturdy side,
At once began to bawl:
God bless me! but the Elephant
Is very like a wall!
The Second, feeling of the tusk,
Cried, Ho! what have we here
So very round and smooth and sharp?
To me tis mighty clear
This wonder of an Elephant
Is very like a spear!
The Third approached the animal,
And happening to take
The squirming trunk within his hands,
Thus boldly up and spake:
I see, quoth he, the Elephant
Is very like a snake!
The Fourth reached out an eager hand,
And felt about the knee.
What most this wondrous beast is like
Is mighty plain, quoth he;
'Tis clear enough the Elephant
Is very like a tree!
The Fifth, who chanced to touch the ear,
Said: Even the blindest man
Can tell what this resembles most;
Deny the fact who can
This marvel of an Elephant
Is very like a fan!?
The Sixth no sooner had begun
About the beast to grope,
Than, seizing on the swinging tail
That fell within his scope,
I see, quoth he, the Elephant
Is very like a rope!
And so these men of Indostan
Disputed loud and long,
Each in his own opinion
Exceeding stiff and strong,
Though each was partly in the right,
And all were in the wrong!
|
|
Tuesday, 27 November 2007 |
|
A beggar had been sitting by the side of the road for thirty years.
One day a stranger walked by.
"Spare some change?" mumbled the beggar.
"I have nothing to give you," said the stranger. Then he asked: "What's that you're sitting on?"
"Nothing, " replied the beggar. "Just an old box. I've been sitting on it for as long as I can remember.
"Ever look inside?," asked the stranger.
"No," said the beggar. "What's the point, there's nothing in there."
"Have a look inside," insisted the stranger. The beggar, reluctantly, managed to pry open the lid. With astonishment, disbelief, and elation, he saw that the box was filled with gold.
I am that stranger who has nothing to give you and who is telling you to look inside. Not inside any box, as in the parable, but somewhere even closer: inside yourself.
Source:
|
|
Tuesday, 27 November 2007 |
Two Buddhist monks, on their way to the monastery, found an exceedingly beautiful woman at the riverbank. Like them, she wished to cross the river, but the water was too high. So one of the monks lifted her onto his back and carried her across.
His fellow monk was thoroughly scandalized. For two hours he berated him on his negligence in keeping the rule: Had he forgotten he was a monk? How did he dare touch a woman? And worse, carry her across the river? What would people say? Had he not brought their hold religion into disrepute? And so on.
The offending monk patiently listened to the never-ending sermon. Finally he broke in with "Brother, I dropped that woman at the river. Are you still carrying her?"
The Arab mystic Abu Hassan Bushanja says, "The act of sinning is much less harmful than the desire and thought of it. It is one thing for the body to indulge in a pleasurable act for a moment, and an entirely different thing for the mind and heart to chew on it endlessly."
Each time I chew on the sins of others, I suspect the chewing gives me more pleasure than the sinning gives the sinner.
Source:
|
|
Tuesday, 27 November 2007 |
|
In the last century, a tourist from the States visited the famous Polish rabbi Hafez Hayyim.
He was astonished to see that the rabbi's home was only a simple room filled with books. The only furniture was a table and a bench.
"Rabbi, where is your furniture?" asked the tourist.
"Where is yours?" replied Hafez.
"Mine? But I'm only a visitor here."
"So am I," said the rabbi.
Source:
|
|
Tuesday, 27 November 2007 |
Journey To The West - A Buddhist Story from Chinese Literature
The Plot
One of the most popular novels in the history of Buddhism (as well as in Chinese literature) is Journey to the West, also known as The Monkey King, written by Wu Chengen about 500 years ago, during the Ming Dynasty. It is a fiction that is enjoyed by millions of people of different cultures, countries and religions in Asia, from Japan to Korea to China to Singapore and from Buddhists to Muslims to Catholics to Christians. It had been made into various dramas, movies, cartoons, TV series, and operas throughout the last several centuries in Asia. It even appeared on one of the episodes of the American TV program "the Wishbone" a few years ago. Its story is based on a Holy Buddhist Monk, named Tang Xuanzang (literary, an expert in Sutra, Theory and Law of Buddhism), who was dispatched by the Tang Emperor (600 A.D.) to go to India to fetch Buddhist Scriptures.
However, the Journey to India was many thousand miles long, and the route was full of man-eating wild beasts, monsters, devils, demons, and plagued with other difficulties. Therefore, the Buddha assigned four disgraced deities to help him out on the way, to protect him from the devils, and to act as his disciples. The deal was that: all the four deities were sinners originally coming from Heaven, disgraced because they all disobeyed the Heavenly Emperor, and that if the mission were successful, then their sins would be forgiven and they would return to Heaven and be with the Heavenly Emperor forever.
As far as the story goes, only the Chinese Emperor and the Buddhist Monk are real historical figures. Everybody else is fictitious.
|
|
Tuesday, 27 November 2007 |
The temple was built on an island and it held a thousand bells. Big bells, small bells, bells fashioned by the finest craftsmen in the world. When a wind blew or a storm raged, all the bells would be peal out in unison, a symphony that would send the heart of the hearer into raptures.
But over the centuries the island sank into the sea and, with it, the temple bells. An ancient legend said that the bells continued to peal out, ceaselessly, and could be heard by anyone who listened attentively. Inspired by this tradition, a young man traveled thousands of miles, determined to hear those bells. He sat for days on the shore, facing the vanished island, and listened with all his might. But all he could hear was the sound of the sea. He made every effort to push away the sound of the waves so that he could hear the bells. But to no avail; the sound of the sea seemed to flood the world.
He kept at his task for weeks. When he got disheartened he would listen to the words of the village pundits who spoke with unction of the legend of the temple bells and of those who had heard them and proved the legend to be true. Then his heart would be aflame as he heard their words...only to become discouraged again when weeks of further effort yielded no results.
Finally, he decided to give up the attempt. Perhaps he was not destined to hear the bells. Perhaps the legend was not true. It was his final day, and he went to the shore to say goodbye to the sea and the sky and the wind and the coconut trees. He lay on the sands, and for the first time listened to the sound of the sea. He did not resist that sound that day. Soon he was so lost in the sound that he was barely conscious of himself, so deep was the silence that the sound produced.
In the depth of that silence, he heard it! The tinkle of a tiny bell, followed by another, and another and another... and soon every one of the thousand temple bells was pealing out in harmony, and his heart was rapt in joyous ecstasy.
Comments:
Do you wish to hear the temple bells? Listen to the sound of the sea.
Do you wish to catch a glimpse of God? Look intently at creation.
Source:
|
|
Friday, 23 November 2007 |
 There is a Chinese story of a farmer who used an old horse to till his fields. One day, the horse escaped into the hills and when the farmer's neighbors sympathized with the old man over his bad luck, the farmer replied, "Bad luck? Good luck? Who knows?" A week later, the horse returned with a herd of horses from the hills and this time the neighbors congratulated the farmer on his good luck. His reply was, "Good luck? Bad luck? Who knows?"
Then, when the farmer's son was attempting to tame one of the wild horses, he fell off its back and broke his leg. Everyone thought this very bad luck. Not the farmer, whose only reaction was, "Bad luck? Good luck? Who knows?"
Some weeks later, the army marched into the village and conscripted every able-bodied youth they found there. When they saw the farmer's son with his broken leg, they let him off. Now was that good luck or bad luck?
Who knows?
|
|
Wednesday, 21 November 2007 |
|
by Anthony De Mello
When you awaken, when you understand, when you see, the world becomes right. We’re always bothered by the problem of evil.
There’s a powerful story about a little boy walking along the bank of a river. He sees a crocodile who is trapped in a net.
The crocodile says, “Would you have pity on me and release me? I may look ugly, but it isn’t my fault, you know. I was made this way. But whatever my external appearance, I have a mother’s heart. I came this morning in search of food for my young ones and got caught in this trap!”
So the boy says, “Ah, if I were to help you out of that trap, you’d grab me and kill me.”
The crocodile asks, “Do you think I would do that to my benefactor and liberator?”
So the boy is persuaded to take the net off and the crocodile grabs him. As he is being forced between the jaws of the crocodile, he says, “So this is what I get for my good actions.”
And the crocodile says, “Well, don’t take it personally, son, this is the way the world is, this is the law of life.”
The boy disputes this, so the crocodile says, “Do you want to ask someone if it isn’t so?” The boys sees a bird sitting on a branch and says, “Bird, is what the crocodile says right?”
The bird says, “The crocodile is right. Look at me. I was coming home one day with food for my fledglings. Imagine my horror to see a snake crawling up the tree, making straight for my nest. I was totally helpless. It kept devouring my young ones, one after the other. I kept screaming and shouting, but it was useless. The crocodile is right, this is the law of life, this is the way the world is.”
“See,” says the crocodile. But the boy says, “Let me ask someone else.” So the crocodile says, “Well, all right, go ahead.”
There was an old donkey passing by on the bank of the river. “Donkey,” says the boy, “this is what the crocodile says. Is the crocodile right?”
The donkey says, “The crocodile is quite right. Look at me. I’ve worked and slaved for my master all my life and he barely gave me enough to eat. Now that I’m old and useless, he has turned me loose, and here I am wandering in the jungle, waiting for some wild beast to pounce on me and put an end to my life. The crocodile is right, this is the law of life, this is the way the world is.”
“See,” says the crocodile. “Let’s go!” The boy says, “Give me one more chance, one last chance. Let me ask one other being. Remember how good I was to you?” So the crocodile says, “All right, your last chance.”
The boy sees a rabbit passing by, and he says, “Rabbit, is the crocodile right?”
The rabbit sits on his haunches and says to the crocodile, “Did you say that to that boy?" The crocodile says, "Yes, I did.”
“Wait a minute,” says the rabbit. “We’ve got to discuss this.” “Yes,” says the crocodile. But the rabbit says, “How can we discuss it when you’ve got that boy in your mouth? Release him; he’s got to take part in the discussion, too.”
The crocodile says, “You’re a clever one, you are. The moment I release him, he’ll run away.”
The rabbit says, “I thought you had more sense than that. If he attempted to run away, one slash of your tail would kill him.”
“Fair enough,” says the crocodile, and he released the boy.
The moment the boy is released, the rabbit says, “Run!” And the boy runs and escapes.
Then the rabbit says to the boy, “Don’t you enjoy crocodile flesh? Wouldn’t the people in your village like a good meal? You didn’t really release that crocodile; most of his body is still caught in that net. Why don’t you go to the village and bring everybody and have a banquet.”
That’s exactly what the boy does. He goes to the village and calls all the menfolk. They come with their axes and staves and spears and kill the crocodile. The boy’s dog comes, too, and when the dog sees the rabbit, he gives chase, catches hold of the rabbit, and throttles him.
The boy comes on the scene too late, and as he watches the rabbit die, he says, “The crocodile was right, this is the way the world is, this is the law of life.”
There is no explanation you can give that would explain away all the sufferings and evil and torture and destruction and hunger in the world! You’ll never explain it. You can try gamely with your formulas, religious and otherwise, but you’ll never explain it. Because life is a mystery, which means your thinking mind cannot make sense out of it. For that you’ve got to wake up and then you’ll suddenly realize that reality is not problematic, you are the problem.
Excerpted from:
|
|
Stories & Music 
