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Posts Tagged ‘Life’

Story: The Mayonnaise Jar

Posted by kathavarta on December 25, 2008

Hello Readers,

KathaVarta.org is always love to give and pass the Gem of the words from all the world to you and for your Good life. Today is a Christmas day and KathaVarta.org is pleased to pass below wonderful Varta (Story) to all of you, please enjoy and pass to others.

When things in your life seem Almost too much to handle, When 24 Hours a day is not enough, Remember the mayonnaise jar And 2 cups of coffee.

A professor stood before his philosophy class And had some items in front of him When the class began, wordlessly, He picked up a very large and Empty mayonnaise jar And proceeded to fill it with golf balls.

He then asked the students If the jar was full. They agreed that it was. The professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles rolled into the open areas between the golf balls.

He then asked The students again If the jar was full, They agreed it was. The professor next picked up a box of sand And poured it into the jar. Of course, the sand filled up everything else.

He asked once more if the jar was full. The students responded with a unanimous “yes.”

The professor then produced Two cups of coffee from under the table And poured the entire contents Into the jar, effectively Filling the Empty space between the sand. The students laughed.

“Now,” said the professor, As the laughter subsided, “I want you to recognize that This jar represents your life. The golf balls are the important things- God, family, children, health, friends, and favorite passions- Things that if everything else was lost and only they remained, your life would still be full. The pebbles are the other things that matter Like your job, house, and car. The sand is everything else- The small stuff.”

“If you put the sand into the jar first,” He continued, “there is no room for the pebbles or the golf balls. The same goes for life. If you spend all your time And energy on the small stuff, You will never have room for the things that are Important to you. So- Pay attention to the things That is critical to your happiness. Play with your children. Take time to get medical checkups. Take your partner out to dinner. Play another 18. There will always be time To clean the house And fix the disposal. Take care of the golf balls first- The things that really matter. Set your priorities. The rest is just sand.”

One of the students raised her hand And inquired what the coffee represented. The professor smiled, “I’m glad you asked.”

It just goes to show you that no matter how full your life may seem, There’s always room For a couple of cups of coffee with a friend.”
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The Story of a Wallet

Posted by kathavarta on December 17, 2008

Once an old man was travelling by train on a pilgrimage to Brindavan. At night, whilst he was asleep, his wallet fell from his pocket. A co-passenger found it the next morning and enquired as to whom the wallet belonged. The old man said it was his. A picture of Sri Krishna inside the wallet was proof that the wallet really belonged to him.

The old man then began to relate the story of the wallet. He soon had a group of eager listeners around him. Lifting up the purse for all to see, the old man said: This purse has a long history behind it. My father gave it to me years ago when I was a mere schoolboy. I kept my little pocket money in it and also a photograph of my parents.

Years passed. I grew up and began studying at university. Like every youth, I became conscious of my appearance. I replaced my parents’ photograph with that of my own and I would look at it often. I had become my own admirer.

Then came marriage. Self-admiration gave way to the consciousness of a family. Out went my own picture and I replaced it with that of my wife’s. During the day I would open the wallet many times and gaze at the picture. All tiredness vanished and I would resume my work with enthusiasm.

Then came the birth of my first child. What a joy I experienced when I became a father! I would eagerly rush home after work to play with my little baby. Needless to say, my wife’s picture had already made way for the child’s.

The old man paused. Wiping his tearful eyes, he looked around and said in a sad voice: Friends, my parents passed away long ago. My wife too died five years ago. My son- my only son- is now married. He is too busy with his career and his family. He has no time for me. I now stand on the brink of death. I do not know what awaits me in future. Everything I loved, everything I considered my own, has left me.

A picture of Lord Krishna now occupies the place in my wallet. I know He will never leave me. I wish now that I had kept HIS picture with me right from the beginning! He alone is true; all others are just passing shadows.

Sri Sharada Devi, the holy mother, says: “Don’t be afraid my child, these earthly ties are transitory. Today they seem to be the be-all and end-all of life, and tomorrow they vanish. Your real tie is with God. God is one’s very own. It is the eternal relationship. He is ever looking after you. Call on the Lord who pervades the entire universe. He will shower His blessings upon you.”

From ‘Dipika’ A publication by Sri Ramakrishna Centre of South Africa; on http://hinduism.co.za
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The Letters from the Lord of Death

Posted by kathavarta on December 16, 2008

A man by the name of Amrita, living on earth, thought to himself that the one thing he feared most was death. He hit upon a bright idea that if he befriended the Lord of Death, then may be death can be kept at a distance. Amrita practised austerities and concentrated his mind upon Lord Yama, the Lord of Death. Lord Yama was pleased and granted a vision to Amrita.

Lord Yama said: I know, by the aid of my divine powers, that you seek to befriend me. Your wish has come true. My presence is only available to those upon whose deaths my messengers or I take their souls to my domain. Those that are born must die and those who die will be born again. This is the eternal law. No one can escape death. Yet I grant you my vision while you are still living.

Amrita said: As a token of our friendship, I ask this favour of you. If death is inevitable, I ask that if I am to die, then at least let me know beforehand of the time when my end is to come so that I can make proper provision for my family before departure.

Lord Yama said: Sure, this is a simple matter. I shall certainly inform you beforehand. But as soon as you get the message, please set about making the preparations.

With these words Lord Yama, the Lord of Death, vanished.

Many years passed. Amrita’s hair began gradually to turn grey, but he was living happily with not a thought about the fear of death. His life was full of sensual pleasures and enjoyments. He did not look forward to receiving any correspondence from his friend, Lord Yama, and he was pleased that so far no letters had arrived from the Lord of Death.

Some more years passed by. By this time Amrita had lost most of his teeth. But he was living without any worries about death or dying. Still no letters had arrived from his friend, the Lord of Death.

As the years rolled by, Amrita’s eyesight became dimmer. Old age is catching up with me, he thought. But I am thankful that my friend has still not sent any letter addressed to me. I know that my friend, Lord Yama, always keeps his promise. He will surely send a message beforehand.

Some more years passed by. Amrita was now an old man who could not stand straight up. With his back bent forward, he could not walk without the support of a walking stick. His skin was all wrinkled. One day he suffered a stroke and became paralysed. People said his condition was very critical. But Amrita was still in a happy frame of mind. As long as his friend Lord Yama had not sent any letter, the thought of death and dying never entered his mind.

Then the inevitable happened. Lord Yama, the god of death, entered the room. Amrita was startled and his mind was seized with fear.

Lord Yama said: My friend, come now, you have suffered greatly. Today I have come to take you with me.

Amrita was trembling with extreme fear. He said: Alas, you have betrayed me. You have not kept your word. You did not send any letter to me. You have now come with your fearful form to take me away. Are you not ashamed to thus deceive a friend?

Lord Yama said: O man! You spent all your life in shameless sense indulgence. Now you cast aspersions on me, the Lord of justice. Pleasures and enjoyments made you blind. How then could you know the letters I sent you? Not one, but four letters did I send to you. But you heeded them not.

Amrita was greatly puzzled: Four letters did you say? But not one reached me. It is just possible that they may have gone astray in the post.

Lord Yama said: With all your cleverness you were fool enough to think that I would take up pen and paper to write letters to you. O deluded mortal! Time is my messenger who brought my messages to you. Now take your mind back in time and recollect, years ago, your hair turned grey. That was my first letter. You did not heed my message but blackened your hair with dye.

My second letter reached you when your teeth began to fall out. Then too, you took no warning, but got yourself a set of false teeth.

My third letter was sent to you when your eyesight failed.

The fourth message was when your body became paralysed.

Amrita said: Oh no! I have grievously erred. Unforgivable is my error. Yet once more I crave your indulgence, Lord Yama.

Lord Yama replied: Indulgence! What more indulgence is there for me to give? What use did you make of the priceless opportunity bestowed on you of the gift of this human birth? Sensual indulgence and drunkenness- with these you wasted your life. Wasting this precious human life, fie on you! Now you shamelessly ask for more time. Time for what?

Amrita said: O friend, remember our past friendship? Please recall those days now and bestow on me one more chance.

Lord Yama said: That friendship was of that time. Now it’s done. I come neither as friend nor as foe. I come as the dispenser of the granite law. This law is above love and above hatred. This law is just, true and impartial. No human servitor am I who for gifts or money would from duty’s path swerve. My course is straight and true to the end. I carry out the stern dictates of destiny. All mortals have to bend to my final mandate. This is the divine law. Now let us go.

Lord Yama, the god of death, puts the noose over the dying man’s neck. The man begins to gasp and then chokes. An agonised expression fills his face.

People said: Amrita is dead.

Paraphrased from the writings of Swami Shivananda, The Divine Life Society, Rishikesh; on http://hinduism.co.za

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If I could do it, you can too!

Posted by kathavarta on December 12, 2008

I began life, literally, with nothing. Given up as an infant by my biological mother, an unmarried young woman from the small town of Moose Jaw in Saskatchewan, Canada, I was adopted by a poor, middle-aged couple, John and Mary Linkletter.

My adoptive father was one of the warmest men I’ve ever known, but he had absolutely no ability as a businessman. A part-time evangelical preacher, he also tried selling insurance, running a small general store and making shoes, all rather unsuccessfully. Eventually we found ourselves living in a charity home run by a local church in San Diego. Then Dad Linkletter felt called by God to become a full-time preacher, and we had even less money. And what we did have was usually shared with whatever neighborhood derelict happened to be looking for a meal.

I graduated from high school early and hit the road as a hobo at the tender age of 16 with the idea of finding my fortune. One of the first things I found, however, was the wrong end of a pistol: my traveling companion and I were held up by a couple of toughs who found us sleeping in a boxcar.

Put your hands straight out and lie flat! one of the men ordered. If this match goes out and I hear anything more I’ll shoot. As they searched our pockets and felt around our middles, I wondered if money was all they wanted. I was frightened because I had heard stories of older hobos sexually attacking young boys.

Just then, the match went out … and was hastily relit. We did not move! The thieves found $1.20 on me but missed $10.00 I had sewn into my coat lining. They also took two dollars from my friend, Denver Fox.

The match went out again and I could tell by their hesitation that they were undecided about something. As Denver and I lay there, inches apart in the darkness, I heard the hammer of the pistol click back and a cold chill ran down my back. I knew they were considering killing us. There was little risk for them. The rain hammering down on the outside of the boxcar would drown out any noise. Frozen with terror, I thought of my father and how he would have prayed for me had he known.
Suddenly fear left me and peace and calm returned. As if in response to my own restored self-assurance, they moved back toward us. Then I could feel one of the men push something against my arm.

Here’s your thirty cents, he said. Breakfast money.

Today I can look back on 45 yeas as a star of two of the longest-running shows in broadcasting history; I can reflect on the success I’ve had as a businessman, author, and lecturer; and I can be proud of my wonderful family life – 58 years with the same wife, five children, seven grandchildren, and eight great- grandchildren. I mention this not to be boastful but to encourage others who are at the lower rung of the economic ladder.

Keep in mind where I started and remember, if I could do it, you can, too! Yes – you can!

By Art Linkletter, posted on http://topmoralstories.blogspot.com, by Vikas Goyal.
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The 200th Hug

Posted by kathavarta on December 11, 2008

My father’s skin was jaundiced as he lay hooked up to monitors and intravenous tubes in the intensive care unit of the hospital. Normally a well-built man, he had lost more than 30 pounds.

My father’s illness had been diagnosed as cancer of the pancreas, one of the most malignant forms of the disease. The doctors were doing what they could but told us that he had only three to six months to live. Cancer of the pancreas does not lend itself to radiation therapy or chemotherapy, so they could offer little hope.

A few days later, when my father was sitting up in bed, I approached him and said, Dad, I feel deeply for what’s happened to you. It’s helped me to look at the ways I’ve kept my distance and to feel how much I really love you. I leaned over to give him a hug, but his shoulders and arms became tense. Come on, Dad, I really want to give you a hug.

For a moment he looked shocked. Showing affection was not our usual way of relating. I asked him to sit up some more so I could get my arms around him. Then I tried again. This time, however, he was even more tense. I could feel the old resentment starting to build up, and I began to think I don’t need this. If you want to die and leave me with the same coldness as always, go right ahead.

For years I had used every instance of my father’s resistance and rigidness to blame him, to resent him and to say to myself, See, he doesn’t care. This time, however, I thought again and realized the hug was for my benefit as well as my father’s. I wanted to express how much I cared for him no matter how hard it was for him to let me in. My father had always been very Germanic and duty-oriented; in his childhood, his parents must have taught him how to shut off his feelings in order to be a man. Letting go of my long-held desire to blame him for our distance, I was actually looking forward to the challenge of giving him more love. I said, C’mon, Dad, put your arms around me. I leaned up close to him at the edge of the bed with his arms around me. Now squeeze. That’s it. Now again, squeeze. Very good! In a sense I was showing my father how to hug, and as he squeezed, something happened. For an instant, a feeling of I love you bubbled through. For years our greeting had been a cold and formal handshake that said, Hello, how are you? Now, both he and I waited for that momentary closeness to happen again.

Yet, just at the moment when he would begin to enjoy the feelings of love, something would tighten in his upper torso and our hug would become awkward and strange. It took months before his rigidness gave way and he was able to let the emotions inside him pass through his arms to encircle me.

It was up to me to be the source of many hugs before my father initiated a hug on his own. I was not blaming him, but supporting him; after all, he was changing the habits of an entire lifetime – and that takes time. I knew we were succeeding because more and more we were relating out of care and affection.

Around the two-hundredth hug, he spontaneously said out loud, for the first time I could ever recall, I love you.

-By Harold H. Bloomfield; posted on http://topmoralstories.blogspot.com, by Vikas Goyal.
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The worst hostage drama in the world

Posted by kathavarta on December 8, 2008

Terrorists hijack a plane full of lawyers.

They ask for a ransom 20 million dollars, and threaten to release one lawyer at a time if not given what they ask for…

By: Spyderman, for http://www.19.5degs.com
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