Spiritual Story by Brenda Barnhart
Jacob was a stoutly boy, with round features through and through, including his eyes which glowed almost neon blue from round granite spheres. He accepted his roundness, for after all, good things come in large packages, or so his mother always told him, with a funny grin on her lips. He never understood the grin, but took it to mean it was their little secret, that the world had yet to learn this, and Jacob was the one to teach them.
On this warm Sunday morning, he sits in the coffee shop awaiting his food. His platter, really, for Jacob was a boy with a ferocious appetite and he fed this appetite lovingly. �SEVEN egg omelet with half a pound of cheese�� said the waitress as she dropped the plate to the table, rolling her eyes in amazement at this boys order. �This poor boy�, she thought to herself, �what have his parents done to cause such low self esteem.� Jacob dug into his food immediately and rather seriously, as if feeding a hunger that never rested.
Jacob watched silently out the window after he finished his feast, lost in thoughts of his future, of becoming something special and showing the world what love really is. He didn�t know how he was going to do this, but he knew, from the depths of his soul, that this was his mission in life, and he looked forward to it with an excitement that made any Christmas morning celebration look like a Sunday at church.
But this morning, however, something was different. Jacob thought about his future with a new sense of melancholy that he could not explain. He felt as if something was going to happen very soon that would catapult him into his purpose, and he wasn�t sure he was ready. He was processing his thoughts, analyzing his feelings when a sudden bang brought him back to his seat at the booth, once again aware of his surroundings.
He looked around for the source of the interruption to his thoughts, and saw people gathered around something on the floor. At closer examination he saw it was a body, very pale and thin and had sores on his face. You could see his skeletal structure he was so thin. People were frantic, but no one wanted to assist the man lying on the floor. �He has AIDS!� someone yelled, �don�t touch him! You�ll surely catch it!�
Jacob got up and walked over to the man, knelt down and felt for a pulse. An older woman tried to stop him but he paid no attention. �He�s got a pulse!� he said, �He�s still alive. Call 9-1-1, NOW! Hurry!� he screamed as he began to perform CPR. People gasped in horror as they watched this large boy press his mouth against this sick man. He continued the CPR until the ambulance arrived, and he kept him alive.
As Jacob started his walk home, he heard whispers fading behind him as folks continued to talk about him with disbelief at what he�d done. �That wasn�t brave!� said one man, �it was purely idiotic!� Jacob just shook his head as he walked away, lost in his own thoughts of what had just occurred. He WAS a hero, regardless of what that man was ill from, but that didn�t matter. Jacob didn�t care about that. His melancholy had grown still without recognition as to its source, and this is what Jacob was deeply contemplating when the truck hit him. He never heard it coming. Total blackness ensued� and very soon after, death.
By this time news had gone around about what Jacob had done at the diner. The news reporters were at the diner the moment Jacob was hit a few miles down the road. The story of the year for this small town. The headlines the next morning read,
�TWISTED FATE: Cancer patient collapses at Mel�s Diner, and a young boy saves his life, only to die moments later�. The story ended noting that the cancer patient was in remission, and collapsed due to food lodged in his throat and no one noticed his struggles for breath. This man was a father of three young babies.
Three young babies, who will grow up with their father; their father, who will live to see his babies grow up. All because of the selfless love of a young boy. A young boy in a large package, with a heart bigger than life could contain.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Overcoming sickness
It is only natural that sometimes we fall sick. But we must see that sickness as a sickness that originally exists in life, based on the principle of the Mystic Law. In other words, there is no reason to allow yourself to be controlled by illness, for it to fill your life with suffering and distress. From the standpoint of eternal life through the three existences, your fundamentally happy self is incontrovertibly established.
For Today and Tomorrow
Daily Encouragement by Daisaku Ikeda 31/10
For Today and Tomorrow
Daily Encouragement by Daisaku Ikeda 31/10
Why must we take actions to achieve kosen-rufu?
The Gohonzon is the concrete manifestation of the very existence of Nichiren Daishonin, who taught kosen-rufu. Because of that, if you only practice gongyo and chant daimoku and don't take any other action for the sake of kosen-rufu or improving your own life, the Gohonzon will not have its true, full effect. If, however, you take actions to achieve kosen-rufu, they will serve as that extra push for your own life and help you leap to higher and higher states of mind in your gongyo and chanting as well.
For Today and Tomorrow
Daily Encouragement by Daisaku Ikeda 30/10
For Today and Tomorrow
Daily Encouragement by Daisaku Ikeda 30/10
The power of doing Gongyo
Gongyo is a practice that calls forth and activates the infinite power that the microcosm inherently possesses. It transforms your fate, breaks through any apparent dead ends and converts sufferings into happiness. It creates a transformation, a revolution of the microcosm. It is a diagram in miniature of kosen-rufu in our lives.
For Today and Tomorrow
Daily Encouragement by Daisaku Ikeda 29/10
For Today and Tomorrow
Daily Encouragement by Daisaku Ikeda 29/10
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Godwill
Spiritual Story by Jo Leonard
I've known God's love through its many manifestations: my husband, the myriad of other Souls who came and went in my life, even my cats. But it was never enough. I wanted to know God, up close and personal. Metaphorically-speaking, I'd shake my fists at the sky and cry for God-Realization. After one prolonged period of trying every technique I knew, I was given the following experience as I slept.
I awoke in the dream as Cencea. I was sitting in a tavern of huge proportions, the size being a sure sign that I was no longer in the physical world. Engaged in a lively philosophical debate, I huddled with three friends at the end of a long, roughly-hewn wood table.
The dream had my attention right away. One of my most favorite things to do in the waking world is to sit around with friends and talk the good God stuff while eating things like pasta and bits of bread dipped in seasoned olive oil.
The dream fare was a little different than that. Various bowls and eating utensils were scattered in front of us, the remains of our late evening supper. A creamy-colored ceramic bowl held hardened chunks of stonebread. I knew it to be sweet and soft and sensuous when freshly baked, but stone-like when left beyond the time it takes to consume a meal�hence its name. A slice of green pianti cheese, the edges petrifying with each passing moment, lay abandoned on a clay platter. A purplish fruit had stained, if only slightly, our lips and fingertips.
Once the sights had become familiar, I settled deeper into the dream and tuned into the sound.
Mica, moistening his finger and collecting stray bits of bread off the table with a stabbing motion, spoke in an impassioned whisper. "Finding the way to G-G-God, s-s-seeing the face of God, merging with God....I am being made m-mad with God fever." His pupils were black circles with no visible iris. "Have we t-t-tried every m-m-method? Every practice? W-w-what do we do next my g-good friends?"
In my waking world, I didn't know who these people were, but obviously in the world of dreams, we were tight, as they say, and plotting a means by which to storm the gates of heaven.
"Maybe it's a matter of worthiness," Bretha offered, nervously fingering her short blond hair. "Maybe we're not worthy, yet."
Toma, usually the quiet one, poured everyone tea from an oddly-shaped blue pot. Then he suddenly rose to his feet, took his cup in both hands and held it upward, arms fully outstretched. "Tell us, God, what more do we need to do?" he wailed without restraint. "What more do we need to be?"
I may have been embarrassed by his display in the waking world but in this dream world I didn't care. I wanted to know God as much as the others did. If it required running naked in the streets, I would have done it. As Cencea, I used hand gestures to encourage Toma to wail louder.
"What more, God, what more do you want?" he pleaded. He paid no heed to the still-hot tea that sloshed out of his cup and onto his hands. Droplets landed with an exaggerated plopping sound on the wooden table top.
Historically, God has always responded to madmen. I wondered if Toma was mad or merely mocking it up in hopes of tricking God into answering his call. Distracted from my thoughts, I turned and looked in the direction of a tiny voice belonging to a young woman, perhaps only fifteen years of age, who was now sitting at the far end of our table. Bretha, also noticing the girl, hushed our group and asked in a whisper, "What did she just say?"
The young woman had a perfectly round face, dark hair that fell straight to her shoulders, and the most innocent of light-filled eyes. She repeated her words, a little louder this time, "I have had a God-Realization experience."
I looked at my three fellow seekers whose eyes revealed their thoughts: That is simply not possible in one so young, simply not possible. She must be making it up.
Without further invitation from any of us, the girl spoke again. "Yes, I have had a God-Realization experience," she said, "but I have also learned an important lesson. Meeting God is not nearly so important as being in perfect alignment with the Godwill."
Mica, crumbs forgotten, spoke first. "D-did you hear? She said 'Godwill' as though it were a s-s-single word. Godwill."
The others nodded and took turns muttering the word to themselves. Godwill. Godwill.
"Godwill," I repeated in my turn.
I said the word aloud upon re-entering the waking world. "Godwill."
"What did you say, sweetie?" my semi-conscious husband asked, rolling over on his back. "Did the alarm go off?"
Not an alarm perhaps, but certainly a wake-up call.
I've known God's love through its many manifestations: my husband, the myriad of other Souls who came and went in my life, even my cats. But it was never enough. I wanted to know God, up close and personal. Metaphorically-speaking, I'd shake my fists at the sky and cry for God-Realization. After one prolonged period of trying every technique I knew, I was given the following experience as I slept.
I awoke in the dream as Cencea. I was sitting in a tavern of huge proportions, the size being a sure sign that I was no longer in the physical world. Engaged in a lively philosophical debate, I huddled with three friends at the end of a long, roughly-hewn wood table.
The dream had my attention right away. One of my most favorite things to do in the waking world is to sit around with friends and talk the good God stuff while eating things like pasta and bits of bread dipped in seasoned olive oil.
The dream fare was a little different than that. Various bowls and eating utensils were scattered in front of us, the remains of our late evening supper. A creamy-colored ceramic bowl held hardened chunks of stonebread. I knew it to be sweet and soft and sensuous when freshly baked, but stone-like when left beyond the time it takes to consume a meal�hence its name. A slice of green pianti cheese, the edges petrifying with each passing moment, lay abandoned on a clay platter. A purplish fruit had stained, if only slightly, our lips and fingertips.
Once the sights had become familiar, I settled deeper into the dream and tuned into the sound.
Mica, moistening his finger and collecting stray bits of bread off the table with a stabbing motion, spoke in an impassioned whisper. "Finding the way to G-G-God, s-s-seeing the face of God, merging with God....I am being made m-mad with God fever." His pupils were black circles with no visible iris. "Have we t-t-tried every m-m-method? Every practice? W-w-what do we do next my g-good friends?"
In my waking world, I didn't know who these people were, but obviously in the world of dreams, we were tight, as they say, and plotting a means by which to storm the gates of heaven.
"Maybe it's a matter of worthiness," Bretha offered, nervously fingering her short blond hair. "Maybe we're not worthy, yet."
Toma, usually the quiet one, poured everyone tea from an oddly-shaped blue pot. Then he suddenly rose to his feet, took his cup in both hands and held it upward, arms fully outstretched. "Tell us, God, what more do we need to do?" he wailed without restraint. "What more do we need to be?"
I may have been embarrassed by his display in the waking world but in this dream world I didn't care. I wanted to know God as much as the others did. If it required running naked in the streets, I would have done it. As Cencea, I used hand gestures to encourage Toma to wail louder.
"What more, God, what more do you want?" he pleaded. He paid no heed to the still-hot tea that sloshed out of his cup and onto his hands. Droplets landed with an exaggerated plopping sound on the wooden table top.
Historically, God has always responded to madmen. I wondered if Toma was mad or merely mocking it up in hopes of tricking God into answering his call. Distracted from my thoughts, I turned and looked in the direction of a tiny voice belonging to a young woman, perhaps only fifteen years of age, who was now sitting at the far end of our table. Bretha, also noticing the girl, hushed our group and asked in a whisper, "What did she just say?"
The young woman had a perfectly round face, dark hair that fell straight to her shoulders, and the most innocent of light-filled eyes. She repeated her words, a little louder this time, "I have had a God-Realization experience."
I looked at my three fellow seekers whose eyes revealed their thoughts: That is simply not possible in one so young, simply not possible. She must be making it up.
Without further invitation from any of us, the girl spoke again. "Yes, I have had a God-Realization experience," she said, "but I have also learned an important lesson. Meeting God is not nearly so important as being in perfect alignment with the Godwill."
Mica, crumbs forgotten, spoke first. "D-did you hear? She said 'Godwill' as though it were a s-s-single word. Godwill."
The others nodded and took turns muttering the word to themselves. Godwill. Godwill.
"Godwill," I repeated in my turn.
I said the word aloud upon re-entering the waking world. "Godwill."
"What did you say, sweetie?" my semi-conscious husband asked, rolling over on his back. "Did the alarm go off?"
Not an alarm perhaps, but certainly a wake-up call.
You should become the master of your mind, not let your mind master you.
It may seem perfectly all right to put ourselves and our own wishes first, to simply follow the dictates of our emotions and cravings, but the truth is that there is nothing more unreliable than our own mind. Life doesn't always go like clockwork and things will not necessarily turn out as we hope or plan. Consequently, Nichiren Daishonin frequently stressed: You should become the master of your mind, not let your mind master you. We mustn't allow ourselves to be ruled by a self-centered mind. Rather, we have to discipline our mind and gain mastery over it. This is the Daishonin's strict admonition.
For Today and Tomorrow
Daily Encouragement by Daisaku Ikeda 28/10
For Today and Tomorrow
Daily Encouragement by Daisaku Ikeda 28/10
How do we regards difficulities and misfortune in life?
Whether we regard difficulties in life as misfortunes or whether we view them as good fortune depends entirely on how much we have forged our inner determination. It all depends on our attitude or inner state of life. With a dauntless spirit, we can lead a cheerful and thoroughly enjoyable life. We can develop a "self" of such fortitude that we can look forward to life's trials and tribulations with a sense of profound elation and joy: "Come on obstacles! I've been expecting you! This is the chance that I've been waiting for!"
For Today and Tomorrow
Daily Encouragement by Daisaku Ikeda 27/10
For Today and Tomorrow
Daily Encouragement by Daisaku Ikeda 27/10
Friday, November 11, 2011
Giving When It Counts
Spiritual Story by Unknown
Many years ago , when I worked as a volunteer at a hospital, I got to know a little girl named Liz who was suffering from a rare and serious disease. Her only chance of recovery appeared to be a blood transfusion from her 5-year old brother, who had miraculously survived the same disease and had developed the antibodies needed to combat the illness. The doctor explained the situation to her little brother, and asked the little boy if he would be willing to give his blood to his sister.
I saw him hesitate for only a moment before taking a deep breath and saying, 'Yes I'll do it if it will save her.' As the transfusion progressed, he lay in bed next to his sister and smiled, as we all did, seeing the color returning to her cheek. Then his face grew pale and his smile faded.
He looked up at the doctor and asked with a trembling voice, 'Will I start to die right away'.
Being young, the little boy had misunderstood the doctor; he thought he was going to have to give his sister all of his blood in order to save her but he had chosen to save her anyway.
Many years ago , when I worked as a volunteer at a hospital, I got to know a little girl named Liz who was suffering from a rare and serious disease. Her only chance of recovery appeared to be a blood transfusion from her 5-year old brother, who had miraculously survived the same disease and had developed the antibodies needed to combat the illness. The doctor explained the situation to her little brother, and asked the little boy if he would be willing to give his blood to his sister.
I saw him hesitate for only a moment before taking a deep breath and saying, 'Yes I'll do it if it will save her.' As the transfusion progressed, he lay in bed next to his sister and smiled, as we all did, seeing the color returning to her cheek. Then his face grew pale and his smile faded.
He looked up at the doctor and asked with a trembling voice, 'Will I start to die right away'.
Being young, the little boy had misunderstood the doctor; he thought he was going to have to give his sister all of his blood in order to save her but he had chosen to save her anyway.
Worldly success is not equivalent to true happiness
I hope that, basing yourself on faith, you will become wealthy people of virtue and influence who are widely respected. I would like to add, however, that worldly success is not equivalent to true happiness. Achieving this requires that we have a profound understanding of the nature of life. A person of success in the true sense is one who can enjoy a free and unrestrained state of life.
For Today and Tomorrow
Daily Encouragement by Daisaku Ikeda 26/10
For Today and Tomorrow
Daily Encouragement by Daisaku Ikeda 26/10
The sharp sword of the Mystic Law and the great power of faith
It is the sharp sword of the Mystic Law and the great power of faith that enable us to completely sever the chains of suffering. Therefore, I wish to make it clear that to secure eternal freedom and happiness, you must absolutely not be cowardly, especially in faith.
For Today and Tomorrow
Daily Encouragement by Daisaku Ikeda 25/10
For Today and Tomorrow
Daily Encouragement by Daisaku Ikeda 25/10
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Gandhi's Shoes
Spiritual Story by Unknown
As Gandhi stepped aboard a train one day, one of his shoes slipped off and landed on the track. He was unable to retrieve it as the train was moving. To the amazement of his companions, Gandhi calmly took off his other shoe and threw it back along the track to land close to the first.
Asked by a fellow passenger why he did so, Gandhi smiled. "The poor man who finds the shoes lying on the track," he replied, "will now have a pair he can use."
As Gandhi stepped aboard a train one day, one of his shoes slipped off and landed on the track. He was unable to retrieve it as the train was moving. To the amazement of his companions, Gandhi calmly took off his other shoe and threw it back along the track to land close to the first.
Asked by a fellow passenger why he did so, Gandhi smiled. "The poor man who finds the shoes lying on the track," he replied, "will now have a pair he can use."
How to succeed?
The only way to succeed is by first bringing to completion that which is most immediate. This principle applies in all affairs—in our daily lives, our work and our families as well as in the progress of kosen-rufu.
For Today and Tomorrow
Daily Encouragement by Daisaku Ikeda 24/10
For Today and Tomorrow
Daily Encouragement by Daisaku Ikeda 24/10
The absolutely correctness of Gosho
As far as the fundamental teachings of Buddhism and the Gosho are concerned, I hope that, regarding them as absolutely correct, you will first and foremost strive to put them into practice. I urge you to do so because this is the shortest route to understanding the essence of Buddhism in the depths of your life.
For Today and Tomorrow
Daily Encouragement by Daisaku Ikeda 23/10
For Today and Tomorrow
Daily Encouragement by Daisaku Ikeda 23/10
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Forgiveness of the King
Spiritual Story by BK Surat Singh Ayer
Once upon a time there was a King in a country who was on a tour with his Ministers, including his royal security and others. He was taking rest, under the shade of the mongo tree at the mango garden with his team when suddenly a stone hit him directly on the forehead. Immediately he started bleeding.
The king had no idea who threw the stone at him, but he did know that he was experiencing an intolerable pain. The royal securities left right away to find the person who threw the stone at the king. After searching they found only one old lady there, and they asked if she had thrown any stones recently.
"Yes," she replied. "I threw a stone at the mango tree."
They asked her, "Did you throw any stone at the king?" The woman's face showed how terrified she was, so the guard forcefully told her that she would be punished. The woman was arrested and presented before the King.
She trembled with immense fear and prayed that they would not kill her. After seeing the blood flow down the King’s face, she became more upset and felt hopeless. "What will happen to me?" she thought.
The king, very calmly asked her, "Did you throw the stone at me?"
She replied, "Your majesty, I threw the stone at the mango tree."
"Why?" the king asked.
She replied weeping, "Your majesty, my child has been starving for two days. I was collecting food for him but could not find any. I hoped that when I threw the stone at the mango tree, a mango would fall so that I could feet my son. Your majesty, by mistake the stone hit your forehead and that is my unknowing mistake."
The woman bowed down before the king begging pardon for her mistake. The king was a kind hearted one and understood the situation very clearly. He forgave her mistake and ordered his security personnel not punish her in any way. Instead of punishment he said to give her money, food, and return her safely to her home.
Once upon a time there was a King in a country who was on a tour with his Ministers, including his royal security and others. He was taking rest, under the shade of the mongo tree at the mango garden with his team when suddenly a stone hit him directly on the forehead. Immediately he started bleeding.
The king had no idea who threw the stone at him, but he did know that he was experiencing an intolerable pain. The royal securities left right away to find the person who threw the stone at the king. After searching they found only one old lady there, and they asked if she had thrown any stones recently.
"Yes," she replied. "I threw a stone at the mango tree."
They asked her, "Did you throw any stone at the king?" The woman's face showed how terrified she was, so the guard forcefully told her that she would be punished. The woman was arrested and presented before the King.
She trembled with immense fear and prayed that they would not kill her. After seeing the blood flow down the King’s face, she became more upset and felt hopeless. "What will happen to me?" she thought.
The king, very calmly asked her, "Did you throw the stone at me?"
She replied, "Your majesty, I threw the stone at the mango tree."
"Why?" the king asked.
She replied weeping, "Your majesty, my child has been starving for two days. I was collecting food for him but could not find any. I hoped that when I threw the stone at the mango tree, a mango would fall so that I could feet my son. Your majesty, by mistake the stone hit your forehead and that is my unknowing mistake."
The woman bowed down before the king begging pardon for her mistake. The king was a kind hearted one and understood the situation very clearly. He forgave her mistake and ordered his security personnel not punish her in any way. Instead of punishment he said to give her money, food, and return her safely to her home.
How is the doctrine of a life-moment possesses 3,000 realms applies to our practice?
The main point is to enable one member to stand up by imparting heartfelt assurance and understanding. It is the explosion of faith in the microcosm of an individual that causes the macrocosm of the organization—a gathering of many such individuals—to commence its revolution. This is how the doctrine of a life-moment possesses 3,000 realms applies to our practice.
For Today and Tomorrow
Daily Encouragement by Daisaku Ikeda 22/10
For Today and Tomorrow
Daily Encouragement by Daisaku Ikeda 22/10
What is the spirit of taking on the hard work oneself?
The mentality of getting others to do the hard work while one sits back and takes it easy—that is bureaucratism at its worst; it is not faith. The spirit of taking on the hard work oneself—that is faith, that is humanism.
For Today and Tomorrow
Daily Encouragement by Daisaku Ikeda 21/10
For Today and Tomorrow
Daily Encouragement by Daisaku Ikeda 21/10
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Finals
Spiritual Story by Running Fox
Both teams, lined up and stood facing each other as the greeting yells roared over the field and the over-crowded stands. The fans had gathered, radio and TV stations were present, the business seats were filled. Nobody wanted to miss anything of this annual top meeting between the two biggest rivalling hometown teams with both of them in their own town and each with their own support, their own "tribe" to represent themselves.
The field players were in position; the pitcher and the catcher were sharply focused, the first batter was geared up in his box, the referee yelled: "play ball", and the game was on. The pitcher wound up and threw the first ball over home plate without the batter responding. "Strike One", the referee observed.
~*~*~*~
Three months before Mike had been chosen for the first time to play with the standard team. He was young, seventeen, but because of his exceptional talent, willpower and many hours of training, he had succeeded at this young age to make it to the team. His rather considerable skills at bat, but most of all his fieldwork and his amazing proficiency at the short-stop position, had made all this happen.
Yet, his younger years were not promising at all. Right after birth, the pediatrician found a little "rush" in his heart and further research revealed only one functioning lung. An artery for the right lung was missing. So it seemed that his life ahead would be, physically speaking, not very active. Mike's school career passed on with ups and downs. During many years he had to miss almost one week each month of school and he lost track of the many visits to hospital which often extended to long periods of time. For that reason, he wasn't able to catch up at school and had to repeat classes a few times. Additionally, he was often bullied and beaten by classmates for no apparent reason.
Euphemistically, one could say he didn't get a very promising start. Yet, Mike always knew there would be a turning point one day. At the age of twelve he watched a baseball game during the Olympics and his heart was captured by it straight away. He had to and should play along with this game. That his physical condition probably interfered with this idea, was no obstacle to him. He signed up at the local baseball team and during his first trainings, two things became clear. In the first place it was obvious that he would be completely exhausted after every training, what up to here he was able to cover up quite well. Secondly, his coach was pleased to observe that Mike could deal with the complexities of the game quite well.
John, the American trainer who didn't know anything about Mike's limitations, soon approached the parents to determine if it was possible to improve his condition in the gym and suggesting to speed up his training to get him ready for the upcoming season.
~*~*~*~
If you really want to accomplish something, one of the criteria is that your family, all around you, stand strongly and unconditionally with you. This certainly was the case with Mike's parents, and more than that. They made it very clear to coach John that the ambitions of their son seemed impossible in the short run, but that they would do everything in their power to help him. That was their goal anyway. They intended to move heaven and earth to prepare their son for an ‘as good as it can get’ future and were very aware that his ambitions would only help in accomplishing that.
The cardiologists and internists at the hospital were not hopeful, though. They pointed out that in theory, a lung transplant and a simultaneous heart operation, would be possible. Yet, much depended on the availability of a donor lung, the commitment of a surgical team, the necessary finances and Mike's condition for surgery which to date wasn't optimal for the known reasons.
Mike's father surfed the internet to investigate all possibilities. He faltered at a vast amount of alternative healers who without exception, didn't see much light at the horizon. None of them considered themselves competent enough to further Mike's oxygen absorption and in that way lift up his constant oxygen debt or even slightly improve it, to brighten Mike's future.
And still, dad Wesley did not give up. Gradually he and his wife came to the conclusion that Mike's determination could be the key to his success. An acupuncture practitioner was brought in who, with his needles, created more breathing space in Mike's chest. Physical therapy enhanced the boy's muscle mass. His common predisposition was boosted by nutritional supplements and homeopathic medicine. Since barely any of the costs were covered by the insurance companies, his mom Melanie accepted a job as a desk receptionist at an insurance company to cover all the expenses.
Yet, all of this didn't seem to be enough. The big reversal came after a dream where Mike -although initially he found this rather weird- seemed to be in direct contact with his grandfather who had passed away two years earlier. During that dream, grandpa assured him that if he really wanted, he would play the great finale in the metropolis in four years time and that he should hang on to this thought.
Afterwards, Mike noticed that his condition kept improving and a massive check-up at the Academic Hospital two years later showed that the so called Ventricle Septum Defect; the hole between both the heart chambers through which oxygen-poor venous blood formerly flowed into the arterial oxygen-rich bloodstream, had closed itself spontaneously. Moreover, the lung tissue of the remaining lung had been significantly improved.
Both these measurable physical values and the incalculable values of the senses, together with baseball team training made sure Mike wasn't sick that often any more. By then he was playing top of the stars at the local team and besides all this, going to school wasn't a threat any more. He became more popular each year, making good grades.
~*~*~*~
Again, two years later, he was ‘scouted’ by the metropolitan baseball team. A nice contract was put before him which he, together with his brightly smiling and proud coach John, scrutinized thoroughly. They agreed that he and dad Wesley would take up negotiations with the ball players organization, so Mike could concentrate on his game. Until the day of the big match, he was lined up - to the great satisfaction of his field coach and other team players - as a short stop against lower opponents. And finally on the day of finale, against the huge competitor from H., he was again in the line up! For this occasion, placed in the outfield, with the possibility to move on to the short-stop position, if the weak arm of that player wouldn't make it to the end. The dream he once had about his grandfather, which Mike had not forgotten but always had taken with a grain of salt, had come true!
And the game itself? That reads itself as a young boy's book, with runs and home-runs for and against. During the first four innings the team from H. is ahead. Then Mike moves to the short stop position, where he throws a few fabulous double-plays whereby each time two opponents are out of the game. Eventually they win the championship. It is a victory for the entire team to which Mike has made a great contribution. On the way to the top, discipline is crucial. Even if this top is just a nice feeling. And you bet that with this championship, this tasted like more in a very extraordinary way.
Both teams, lined up and stood facing each other as the greeting yells roared over the field and the over-crowded stands. The fans had gathered, radio and TV stations were present, the business seats were filled. Nobody wanted to miss anything of this annual top meeting between the two biggest rivalling hometown teams with both of them in their own town and each with their own support, their own "tribe" to represent themselves.
The field players were in position; the pitcher and the catcher were sharply focused, the first batter was geared up in his box, the referee yelled: "play ball", and the game was on. The pitcher wound up and threw the first ball over home plate without the batter responding. "Strike One", the referee observed.
~*~*~*~
Three months before Mike had been chosen for the first time to play with the standard team. He was young, seventeen, but because of his exceptional talent, willpower and many hours of training, he had succeeded at this young age to make it to the team. His rather considerable skills at bat, but most of all his fieldwork and his amazing proficiency at the short-stop position, had made all this happen.
Yet, his younger years were not promising at all. Right after birth, the pediatrician found a little "rush" in his heart and further research revealed only one functioning lung. An artery for the right lung was missing. So it seemed that his life ahead would be, physically speaking, not very active. Mike's school career passed on with ups and downs. During many years he had to miss almost one week each month of school and he lost track of the many visits to hospital which often extended to long periods of time. For that reason, he wasn't able to catch up at school and had to repeat classes a few times. Additionally, he was often bullied and beaten by classmates for no apparent reason.
Euphemistically, one could say he didn't get a very promising start. Yet, Mike always knew there would be a turning point one day. At the age of twelve he watched a baseball game during the Olympics and his heart was captured by it straight away. He had to and should play along with this game. That his physical condition probably interfered with this idea, was no obstacle to him. He signed up at the local baseball team and during his first trainings, two things became clear. In the first place it was obvious that he would be completely exhausted after every training, what up to here he was able to cover up quite well. Secondly, his coach was pleased to observe that Mike could deal with the complexities of the game quite well.
John, the American trainer who didn't know anything about Mike's limitations, soon approached the parents to determine if it was possible to improve his condition in the gym and suggesting to speed up his training to get him ready for the upcoming season.
~*~*~*~
If you really want to accomplish something, one of the criteria is that your family, all around you, stand strongly and unconditionally with you. This certainly was the case with Mike's parents, and more than that. They made it very clear to coach John that the ambitions of their son seemed impossible in the short run, but that they would do everything in their power to help him. That was their goal anyway. They intended to move heaven and earth to prepare their son for an ‘as good as it can get’ future and were very aware that his ambitions would only help in accomplishing that.
The cardiologists and internists at the hospital were not hopeful, though. They pointed out that in theory, a lung transplant and a simultaneous heart operation, would be possible. Yet, much depended on the availability of a donor lung, the commitment of a surgical team, the necessary finances and Mike's condition for surgery which to date wasn't optimal for the known reasons.
Mike's father surfed the internet to investigate all possibilities. He faltered at a vast amount of alternative healers who without exception, didn't see much light at the horizon. None of them considered themselves competent enough to further Mike's oxygen absorption and in that way lift up his constant oxygen debt or even slightly improve it, to brighten Mike's future.
And still, dad Wesley did not give up. Gradually he and his wife came to the conclusion that Mike's determination could be the key to his success. An acupuncture practitioner was brought in who, with his needles, created more breathing space in Mike's chest. Physical therapy enhanced the boy's muscle mass. His common predisposition was boosted by nutritional supplements and homeopathic medicine. Since barely any of the costs were covered by the insurance companies, his mom Melanie accepted a job as a desk receptionist at an insurance company to cover all the expenses.
Yet, all of this didn't seem to be enough. The big reversal came after a dream where Mike -although initially he found this rather weird- seemed to be in direct contact with his grandfather who had passed away two years earlier. During that dream, grandpa assured him that if he really wanted, he would play the great finale in the metropolis in four years time and that he should hang on to this thought.
Afterwards, Mike noticed that his condition kept improving and a massive check-up at the Academic Hospital two years later showed that the so called Ventricle Septum Defect; the hole between both the heart chambers through which oxygen-poor venous blood formerly flowed into the arterial oxygen-rich bloodstream, had closed itself spontaneously. Moreover, the lung tissue of the remaining lung had been significantly improved.
Both these measurable physical values and the incalculable values of the senses, together with baseball team training made sure Mike wasn't sick that often any more. By then he was playing top of the stars at the local team and besides all this, going to school wasn't a threat any more. He became more popular each year, making good grades.
~*~*~*~
Again, two years later, he was ‘scouted’ by the metropolitan baseball team. A nice contract was put before him which he, together with his brightly smiling and proud coach John, scrutinized thoroughly. They agreed that he and dad Wesley would take up negotiations with the ball players organization, so Mike could concentrate on his game. Until the day of the big match, he was lined up - to the great satisfaction of his field coach and other team players - as a short stop against lower opponents. And finally on the day of finale, against the huge competitor from H., he was again in the line up! For this occasion, placed in the outfield, with the possibility to move on to the short-stop position, if the weak arm of that player wouldn't make it to the end. The dream he once had about his grandfather, which Mike had not forgotten but always had taken with a grain of salt, had come true!
And the game itself? That reads itself as a young boy's book, with runs and home-runs for and against. During the first four innings the team from H. is ahead. Then Mike moves to the short stop position, where he throws a few fabulous double-plays whereby each time two opponents are out of the game. Eventually they win the championship. It is a victory for the entire team to which Mike has made a great contribution. On the way to the top, discipline is crucial. Even if this top is just a nice feeling. And you bet that with this championship, this tasted like more in a very extraordinary way.
What is the difference between formalities and substance?
President Toda detested formality. And for this reason, as his disciple, I have tried to place foremost emphasis on substance. Formalities are important in certain cases, but mere formality without substance is evil. Formalities in and of themselves have no life; whereas substance is alive. Formality is provisional and substance essential. Formality is conventional and therefore conservative, but substance provides the impetus for progress and development.
For Today and Tomorrow
Daily Encouragement by Daisaku Ikeda 20/10
For Today and Tomorrow
Daily Encouragement by Daisaku Ikeda 20/10
How to seize victory in your daily life and in society?
No matter what happens, please continue to chant daimoku—in both good times and bad, irrespective of joys or sorrows, happiness or suffering. Then you will be able to seize victory in your daily life and in society.
For Today and Tomorrow
Daily Encouragement by Daisaku Ikeda 19/10
For Today and Tomorrow
Daily Encouragement by Daisaku Ikeda 19/10
Monday, November 7, 2011
Final Set: Wimbledon 2012
Spiritual Story by Keith Beasley
“Nine games all, final set”.
As Rodderer and Feddic made their way to their respective chairs their paths crossed at the net. As they got closer to each other their pace slowed and they looked at each other keenly. They stopped. The packed Centre Court crowd went quiet, suspecting a subtle psyching out of the combatants, not wanting to miss a thing. They were not disappointed. Surprised yes, shocked even, but not disappointed by the drama of what happened next . . .
The final two contenders for the greatest tennis prize of them all seemed to be grinning slightly . . . at each other. They then nodded wisely and offered a hand to the other, shaking it warmly. Before the stunned crowd could utter even a gasp of astonishment the two men, racquets dropped to the ground, were in a firm hug of such mutual respect and admiration that the audience were still too moved to react. Even John McEnroe in the BBC commentators box was at a loss for words.
It was, or at least seemed like, some minutes before any sound could be heard from the hushed grounds of London, SW19. Then, slowly at first, a warm, appreciative, applause began from one corner of the stands. The sound expanded in depth and breadth until the whole arena was resonating in a thunder of thanks. The players responded by holding each others hands aloft in a shared victory salute.
The next to move was the umpire. Quickly descending from his chair he rushed to meet the match referee who was dashing purposefully around the baseline. They gesticulated to each other then nodded, careful not to let slip any words the net mics might pick up. Ascended back into his position the umpire cleared his throat into his microphone:
“Ladies and gentlemen. Please.”
Reluctantly the noise of the throng died down and they waited with baited breath for the official verdict.
“Set, match and championship tied. The 2012 Wimbledon Mens Champions are Rodderer and Feddic”
The two players once again held each others arms aloft and smiled, as much with relief. At last the world of sport had been able to admit: there CAN be more than one winner.
“Nine games all, final set”.
As Rodderer and Feddic made their way to their respective chairs their paths crossed at the net. As they got closer to each other their pace slowed and they looked at each other keenly. They stopped. The packed Centre Court crowd went quiet, suspecting a subtle psyching out of the combatants, not wanting to miss a thing. They were not disappointed. Surprised yes, shocked even, but not disappointed by the drama of what happened next . . .
The final two contenders for the greatest tennis prize of them all seemed to be grinning slightly . . . at each other. They then nodded wisely and offered a hand to the other, shaking it warmly. Before the stunned crowd could utter even a gasp of astonishment the two men, racquets dropped to the ground, were in a firm hug of such mutual respect and admiration that the audience were still too moved to react. Even John McEnroe in the BBC commentators box was at a loss for words.
It was, or at least seemed like, some minutes before any sound could be heard from the hushed grounds of London, SW19. Then, slowly at first, a warm, appreciative, applause began from one corner of the stands. The sound expanded in depth and breadth until the whole arena was resonating in a thunder of thanks. The players responded by holding each others hands aloft in a shared victory salute.
The next to move was the umpire. Quickly descending from his chair he rushed to meet the match referee who was dashing purposefully around the baseline. They gesticulated to each other then nodded, careful not to let slip any words the net mics might pick up. Ascended back into his position the umpire cleared his throat into his microphone:
“Ladies and gentlemen. Please.”
Reluctantly the noise of the throng died down and they waited with baited breath for the official verdict.
“Set, match and championship tied. The 2012 Wimbledon Mens Champions are Rodderer and Feddic”
The two players once again held each others arms aloft and smiled, as much with relief. At last the world of sport had been able to admit: there CAN be more than one winner.
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