Have you heard the story? Once there were two friends – a hare and a tortoise. The hare was known for his swiftness and the tortoise was known for his sluggishness. The tortoise was extremely slow.
One day, as they chatted, the hare began making fun of the tortoise for his slowness.
The tortoise was slightly annoyed but said with a smile, „I may be slow, but I can beat you in a race.“
The hare was astonished to hear this. He thought the tortoise was utterly foolish and totally unaware of what he could not do, even in his wildest dreams.
„Are you kidding?“, said the hare in bewilderment. „I hope you are not serious.“
„I am vey serious. I am sure I can outrun you,“ said the tortoise. Seeing the tortoise so serious, the hare said, „All right, in that case, we shall appoint a referee and fix a venue for the event.“
On that note they parted, to meet again on the appointed date
A rat was appointed as referee. A large field beside the river was selected for the unusual race and a big banyan tree, about a mile away from the rat’s hole, was decided on to be the winning post.
The rat stood ready to blow the whistle and start the race. The tortoise and the hare tensed at the start line.
„On your mark, get set, Go“, called the rat, and the race began.
The hare took off at lightning speed, and soon ran out of sight towards the finish line. Meanwhile the tortoise began the race at a very slow pace. The sight was almost funny if not pitiful.
„Poor tortoise,“ thought the rat, „The hare will win the race hands down, and cover the length of the field ten times before the tortoise can cover it even once. No match at all!“
The hare must have reached about half a mile when he stopped to see where the tortoise was. He looked back. The tortoise was not to be seen. „Oh he is far behind, I can’t even see him yet. I think I will wait here until I can see him and then I’ll run the remaining distance. Hey, why don’t I eat some grass and rest in the meanwhile.“ said the hare to himself.
The hare snacked and drank some water, and lay down in the shade of a tree to wait and watch. Soon the cool air from the riverside lulled him into deep sleep. The tortoise on the other hand, kept moving slowly but steadily
The hare slept for a long time. When he woke up, he looked around and the tortoise was not to be seen any where. He felt rested and so decided to complete the race. As he approached the finish line, he grew more and more astonished. The tortoise had already reached the finish line.
The hare had lost the race. He accepted the defeat graciously. After that he never poked fun at the tortoise or his slowness.
Monat: Februar 2014
Many years ago a wise peasant lived in China. He had a son who was the gleam in his eyes and a white stallion which was his favorite belonging. One day his horse escaped from his grounds and disappeared into the fields outside the village. The villagers came to him one by one and announced their condolences. They said, „You are such an unlucky man. It is so bad.“ The peasant answered, „Who knows. Maybe it’s bad, maybe it’s good.“ The populous left. The next day the stallion returned followed by twelve wild horses. The same people returned and told our wise man about how lucky he was. „It’s so good.“ He replied once more, „Who knows. Maybe it’s good, maybe it’s bad.“ As it happens, the next day his one and only son was attempting to break in one of the wild horses when the horse fell down and broke his leg. Once more everyone came to condole him. They said, „It’s so bad.“ Again he replied, „“Who knows. Maybe it’s bad, maybe it’s good.“ Three days passed and his poor son was limping around the village with his broken leg, when the emperor’s army entered the village announcing that a war was starting and they conscripted all the young men of the village. However, they left the son since he had a broken leg. Once more, everyone was so jealous of our man. They surrounded him talking about his shier luck. „It is so good for you,“ they said. He answered all thus, „“Who knows. Maybe it’s good, maybe it’s bad.“
I work as a therapist, and my experience is that all successful therapy is the resolution or transformation of conflict within the self.
One day I got a call from a man asking me to go to the local hospice and work with his wife. She had cancer, and they said she would be dying any day. He just wanted me to do anything I could for her, so I said of course I would go.
I don’t remember the exact kind of cancer, but when I arrived the nurse told me that it had metastasized to such a degree that the woman had areas in her buttocks where the cancer had eaten away so much that you could put your whole fist in it. That image stuck with me.
This woman was in a fairly delusional state. She didn’t make much eye contact, always looking off in other directions. The cancer had progressed so far and she was so ill, that I just did what I could to be supportive. I was very gentle about it, giving her a lot of choices, such as not needing to talk to me — there was very little that she could say anyway. I just talked to her, doing my best to make good contact and give her the sense that she was cared for, even while she was mostly off in her own world. When I left, I figured it would be the last time I saw the woman.
A couple weeks later I was surprised to get another call from her husband. He told me that his wife had lingered longer than expected, and so hospice had thought it better to send her home where she could spend her remaining time with her husband. Over the phone her husband asked me, “Could you come in and meet with her again? She appreciated the last time you came.”
So I agreed to come, and figured it would be more of the same.
When I arrived at their house, I went in to where she was in bed in her room. She was much more lucid this time. We began talking, and in our conversation it became very apparent to me that for a long time she had really been holding people away from her. Other people felt like a threat and an imposition to her, and very unsafe. The more she interacted with me, the more clues I got telling me that this issue was very significant for her. I got the sense that there was no place at all where she felt safe to just be herself.
So I suggested that we do a visualization. I asked her to imagine some place that she felt very, very safe, and that felt comforting and inspiring to her.
She said, “A garden.” But it was interesting, because even there she was hesitant.
“What’s the problem?” I asked.
“Well, other things could come into the garden,” she said. “It’s too open.”
“What if we put some kind of force-field around the garden so nothing else can come in?”
At that suggestion, her whole face and body relaxed.
I asked her about the garden, and from what she told me it was pretty bare, pretty sparse. It had some flowers and that was about it. There wasn’t much there.
I said, “OK, you’ve got some flowers with a force-field around it.” We talked about that for a bit, and what that was like for her. Eventually I asked her, “Are there any other plants you’d like to have in the garden?”
“I like roses,” she said.
I told her that it was her garden, and she could plant roses there if she liked. She did.
Then I asked, “What about some fruit trees? They might provide nice shade for some of the flowers that don’t do well in direct sun.” It was a slow process, but gradually, in a way that was safe for her, we built up the sense of a true garden, always keeping that force-field around to protect it. We added nut trees, and some other plants that she liked. Plants seemed to be the one kind of living thing around which she could still feel safe.
Then, being a little bit pushy, I asked her, “Are there any earth worms in there?”
“No!” she said.
“Well do you think it would be a benefit for the plants to have some earth worms to loosen the soil?”
She had a lot of hesitation with the idea that letting in worms might be a good idea. It was a big deal. I took the plant’s point of view — what would be good for the plants. I appealed to her kindness and consideration for the plants. After a bit more discussing it she finally said, “I guess worms might be good for the garden.”
I said, “Now would that be safe for you? Would that be alright for you?”
After more exploring she eventually said, “I guess I can’t imagine that worms would be a problem.”
So I had her design some way that the worms could get into and out of the garden through the force-field, and that seemed pretty good to her.
“What about beetles?” I asked next. “Are there any beetles in there?”
“NO!”
“Well, do you think it might be good for the plants to have some beetles in there to eat the old leaves and help turn them into good compost for the garden?”
Eventually she agreed it would be a beneficial thing for the plants, and that beetles would not really pose a problem for her.
Next I asked, “Well are there any bees? Do you want bees to be able to pollinate the plants?”
She said, “huh?”
I asked, “Do you have any allergies to bees?”
“No, no I like bees,” she said.
So she figured out a way to let bees in and out, and we went through a few more beneficial insects — praying mantises and spiders. Each time we introduced something new we had to really work through, metaphorically, all her issues of engaging with any other kind of life beyond plants, and how she could do that in a way that was safe.
Then I said, “This garden sounds so beautiful with the fruit trees and the flowers and the insects, how about birds? Would birds be nice? To have birdsong — you know, to be able to share such a beautiful place with a bird — that might be nice.”
“Oh yeah,” she said, “I hadn’t thought about that; that does seem nice and I do like birds.”
So she designed a way for birds to come in and out of the force field that worked for her. One by one we went through all these things that can help a garden grow well, becoming a whole, balanced ecosystem. We added squirrels, and even let in a fox or two. The whole time she was safe and in control, and every time she let in another critter, I could see something light up in her a little more.
Finally I thought, I’ll push it even farther.
I said, “You know, this sounds like such a beautiful place. What would you think if we let somebody come in and see what a beautiful thing you’ve created?”
It was very interesting, because I could see on her face that, after having created such a beautiful place, a part of her longed to let somebody else see it.
“But I don’t want them to always be there,” she said. “I want to have the garden to myself.”
“Hey, you’re in charge,” I said. “You could set it up so that nobody comes in, or maybe only one day a week, or maybe for just a little time during each day — however you’d like to do it.”
We talked about it for quite a while, and finally she decided that it sounded like a good idea. To be able to share her garden with other people — something beautiful that she’d created — really appealed to her. As long as she got to choose when, and whether or not she was even there at the same time.
So she set that up in a way that felt safe for her, which involved building an airlock through the force-field — two pressurized doors so the visitor would have to come through the first one, which would then close behind the visitor and seal before the second door opened. She wanted that level of control. She didn’t want anything else or anyone else getting in by accident.
By this point it had probably been about 2 ½ to 3 hours. It was a long, slow process. So we closed with that. I really thanked her, both for sharing her garden with me, and for being open about it, and for letting me spend this kind of time with her. I left her room and walked down the hall and past the kitchen where her husband was cooking up a bunch of food to have on hand for himself, since his wife was due to die any day. He and I talked for probably fifteen, twenty minutes. Then we heard this pretty big noise come from the back room where his wife was staying.
We both were thinking, “What is that? Did she fall out of her bed? Is she calling out?” We heard another couple bangs, and around the corner the woman appeared, rolling herself in her wheelchair! The banging had been her getting out of bed into her wheelchair, which she hadn’t done in weeks and weeks. She looked at her husband and said, “I’m kind of hungry.” I knew she hadn’t asked for food in a long time. I talked to them a couple minutes more and then I left, because I realized this would be one of their last real moments together.
Three months later I ran into the woman’s husband downtown. I was a little cautious, because I figured his wife had died, and so what do you say? But I went over to him and asked, “How are you doing? How did your wife’s passing go?”
He said, “Well, she didn’t pass.”
I said, “What?”
He pointed down the street, and I saw her sitting there on a bench right next to where a bunch of kids were playing. There were people all around her. She was just sitting there watching everyone with a big smile on her face, clearly delighted at being out in public.
I walked over and talked with her, and she told me that the doctors said the cancer was gone. All these big sores — everything had healed up. It was the last thing I would have expected, but there she was, talking to me.
I had direct follow-up with her six months later, and indirect at least a year later through reports from other people. After a year I know for sure that she was still healthy and cancer free, and that’s a fair amount of time given the nature of the cancer that she had.
Back when I had met with her in her home, it was clear that she had retreated from other people, and that she didn’t think she had anything to offer. Yet at the same time, as I got further along in talking with her, it became obvious that she wanted to have connection with people and she wanted to have something to offer. She had this huge internal conflict of wanting something to offer, yet feeling that she had nothing to offer. The garden was something that she had created that was really beautiful. There was clear value in the garden, enough value that it was worth letting someone else in to see it. The garden was worth sharing with others. Before this, I don’t think she’d ever had a sense that there was something of value in her. The garden also represented something that she had to take care of, and something that was worth taking care of. The framework was, this is your garden, and whatever you decide, that’s what we’ll do. As the caretaker for the garden, what do you want for the garden? She was in charge, and that also allowed her to create and have control over her own safety. That was hugely important. Without that safety, none of it would have been possible.
I think there are so many things that were important for her about the garden, and who knows exactly how that affected her cancer, which is the body’s own cells growing out of balance — the body’s “ecosystem” going out of balance. I wondered about how that related to her experience of creating a garden that was no longer just flowers, as it had started out, but a whole network of plants and bugs and animals all working together. Whatever is the case, I never imagined that creating one story might have such a profound impact. The whole thing was a very powerful experience to be a part of.
Now, a child who’s never been in a swimming pool . . . You know, it’s a very questionable thing to step into a swimming pool … all the way down those steps at the shallow end. Your body FEELS so different. First TIME you go into the water, the water reaches your chest level, you come to discover it’s difficult to breathe. You haven’t got the ordinary body pressures. Got a new set of pressures. And, ducking UNDER the water … oh that’s terrifying. Yet you can get kids to bob for apples in the bathtub. And pretty soon the kids will be so desperate they’ll grab a hold of an apple and force it down to the bottom of the tub and get a good grip on it. And get over their fear of having their head under water. They assume they were only playing a game . . . they were learning.
My all-time favourite film is „Lawrence Of Arabia“ and, if I have a favourite scene from the movie, then I guess it is the one of Lawrence’s triumphal return from the Nefud desert, having gone back to rescue the Arab Gasim. The crossing of the Nefud desert is considered impossible, even by the local Arabs, but Lawrence persuades them that, in this way, they can take the Turkish port at Aqaba from the rear.
Having carried out the superhuman feat of traversing this furnace, it is discovered that one of the Arabs, Gasim, has fallen off his camel and is no doubt dying somewhere back in the desert. Lawrence is told that any idea of rescue is futile and, in any event, Gasim’s death is „written“. When Lawrence achieves the impossible and returns with Gasim still alive, Sherif Ali admits to him: „Truly, for some men nothing is written unless they write it“.
As an impressionable teenager when this film was first released, I was stunned by Lawrence’s courage and unselfishness in going back into the hell of the Nefud to attempt to find a man he hardly knew among the vast expanse of a fiery terrain and I was so moved by the sense of purpose of a man who is determined to take nothing as „written“ but to shape his own destiny. This sense of anti-determinism and this belief that anything is possible has stayed with me always and continues to inspire me in small ways and large.
Author: Roger Darlington
Mark was walking home from school one day when he noticed the boy ahead of him had tripped and dropped all of the books he was carrying, along with two sweaters, a baseball bat, a glove and a small tape recorder. Mark knelt down and helped the boy pick up the scattered articles. Since they were going the same way, he helped to carry part of the burden. As they walked Mark discovered the boy’s name was Bill, that he loved video games, baseball and history, that he was having a lot of trouble with his other subjects and that he had just broken up with his girlfriend.
They arrived at Bill’s home first and Mark was invited in for a Coke and to watch some television. The afternoon passed pleasantly with a few laughs and some shared small talk, then Mark went home. They continued to see each other around school, had lunch together once or twice, then both graduated from junior high school. They ended up in the same high school where they had brief contacts over the years. Finally the long awaited senior year came, and three weeks before graduation, Bill asked Mark if they could talk.
Bill reminded him of the day years ago when they had first met. „Do
you ever wonder why I was carrying so many things home that day?“
asked Bill. „You see, I cleaned out my locker because I didn’t want to
leave a mess for anyone else. I had stored away some of my mother’s
sleeping pills and I was going home to commit suicide. But after we
spent some time together talking and laughing, I realized that if I had
killed myself, I would have missed that time and so many others that
might follow. So you see, Mark, when you picked up my books that
day, you did a lot more. You saved my life.“
Years ago I tried to write a paragraph of explanation … I have forgotten what it concerned. Some time after I wrote that paragraph I found it unsatisfactory because it didn’t express the meaning I wanted to express. So one day I have two hours free, I said, ‚I think I’ll just lean back and go into a trance.‘ About an hour and forty-five minutes later, here in my lap, was a box of comic books and on my desk were two piles of comic books. And a patient due very soon. I wondered why I had gone into a trance and looked through a box of comic books and why I’d leave two different piles of comic books on my desk. In anticipation of the patient, I put all the comic books back in the box, took them out into the other room. Came back and my patient arrived and I proceeded to interview the patient. And I forgot about that evidence of self-hypnosis and the discovery of a box of comic books in my lap. And one day I had some free time and I thought about writing that explanation and it was a little bit difficult for me. I picked up a pencil and it came into my mind ‚And Huey duck said to Louie duck . . .‘ Then I realized—comic books appeal to all levels of intelligence and they do convey a lot of meaning. And comic books have to be precise and very clear and I wrote that explanation that I wanted to write with the greatest of ease. My unconscious had me examine comic books to get an awareness ,of conciseness and simplicity
His name was Fleming, and he was a poor Scottish farmer.
One day, while trying to make a living for his family, he heard a cry
for help coming from a nearby bog.
He dropped his tools and ran to the bog.There, mired to his waist in
black muck, was a terrified boy, screaming and struggling to free
himself.
Farmer Fleming saved the lad from what could have been a slow and
terrifying death.
The next day, a fancy carriage pulled up to the Scotsman’s sparse
surroundings. An elegantly dressed nobleman stepped out and introduced
himself as the father of the boy Farmer Fleming had saved.
„I want to repay you,“ said the nobleman. „You saved my son’s life.“
“No, I can’t accept payment for what I did,“ the Scottish farmer
replied waving off the offer.
At that moment, the farmer’s own son came to the door of the family hovel.
„Is that your son?'“the nobleman asked.
„Yes,“ the farmer replied proudly.
„I’ll make you a deal. Let me provide him with the level of
education my own son will enjoy. If the lad is anything like his
father, he’ll no doubt grow to be a man we both will be proud of“.
And that he did. Farmer Fleming’s son attended the very best schools
and in time, graduated from St. Mary’s Hospital Medical School in
London , and went on to become known throughout the world as the
noted Sir Alexander Fleming, the discoverer of Penicillin.
Years afterward, the same nobleman’s son who was saved from the bog
was stricken with pneumonia. What saved his life this time?
Penicillin. And the name of the nobleman? Lord Randolph Churchill
… His son’s name? Sir Winston Churchill.