An Indian friend sent me this nice story about the importance of helping others in need:

“A mouse looked through the crack in the wall to see the farmer and his wife open a package. “What food might this contain?” The mouse wondered – he was devastated to discover it was a mousetrap.

Retreating to the farmyard, the mouse proclaimed the warning “There is a mousetrap in the house! There is a mousetrap in the house!”
The chicken clucked and scratched, raised her head and said, “Mr. Mouse, I can tell this is a grave concern to you, but it is of no consequence to me. I cannot be bothered by it.”

The mouse turned to the pig and told him, “There is a mousetrap in the house! There is a mousetrap in the house!”
The pig sympathized, but said, “I am so very sorry, Mr. Mouse, but  there is nothing I can do about it but pray. Be assured you are in my prayers.”

The mouse turned to the cow and said “There is a mousetrap in the house! There is a mousetrap in the house!”
The cow said, “Wow, Mr. Mouse. I’m sorry for you, but it’s no skin off my nose.”

So, the mouse returned to the house, head down and dejected, to face the farmer’s mousetrap alone.

That very night a sound was heard throughout the house — like the  sound of a mousetrap catching its prey.

The farmer’s wife rushed to see what was caught. In the darkness she did not see it was a venomous snake whose tail the trap had caught.
The snake bit the farmer’s wife. The farmer rushed her to the hospital, and she returned home with a fever.

Everyone knows you treat a fever with fresh chicken soup, so the farmer took his hatchet to the farmyard for the soup’s main ingredient.

But his wife’s sickness continued, so friends and neighbors came to sit with her around the clock. To feed them, the farmer butchered the pig.

The farmer’s wife did not get well; she died. So many people came for her funeral, the farmer had the cow slaughtered to provide enough meat for all of them.

The mouse looked upon it all from his crack in the wall with great sadness.

So, the next time you hear someone is facing a problem and think it doesn’t concern you, remember — when one of us is threatened, we are all at risk.

We are all involved in this journey called life. We must keep an eye out for one another and make an extra effort to encourage one  another.

One of the best things to hold onto in this world is a friend.”

Rats at at feet of a Ganesha statue. The Rat, symbol of the clever mind, is the vehicle for Ganesha, symbol of wisdom, using the mind for its expression.

I today received a French powerpoint from a Canadian friend, the story of which impressed me so much that I translated it into English; you can download it here. I looked up the story in Wikipedia, and it seems to be a true one. At some places, however, the truth of the story is doubted, telling he was not doing surgery on humans but agreeing that “Mr Naki assisted with the experimental work that preceded…the historic first heart transplant.” Nevertheless, here it is:

“Hamilton Naki, a black South African of  78 years, died in May 2005. The news did not appear in the newspapers, but his history is one of the most extraordinary ones of the 20th century. Naki was a great surgeon!

It was he who took from the donor’s body the heart which was then transplanted into Louis Washkanky in 1967, at Cape Town, during the first surgery of human cardiac transplantation with positive exit. It was a very delicate  work: the heart had to be removed and had to be kept with the biggest care.

Naki was the second most important man of the team which made the first transplantation of history. But he could not appear in public in the country of apartheid because he was black.

The chief surgeon of the team, the white Christian Barnard, became immediately a celebrity.

But Hamilton Naki could not appear on the team photos. In case he was on one by mistake the hospital said that it was a member of the housekeeping service.

Naki carried the surgeon’s hat and the mask but had never studied neither medicine nor surgery: he had left the school at the age of 14… He was a gardener of the school of Medicine at Cape Town.

He started cleaning the classes. But he was curious and learned quickly. He learned the surgical technique while seeing the white physicians practicing the transplantation techniques on dogs and pigs.

He started cleaning the classes. But he was curious and learned quickly. He learned the surgical technique while seeing the white physicians practicing the transplantation techniques on dogs and pigs.

He became such an exceptional surgeon that Dr Barnard wanted him as a team member.

It was a problem from the viewpoint of the laws of South Africa. Naki, a Negro, was not allowed to operate the patients nor could he touch the blood of the whites.

But the hospital considered him so valid that it made an exception for him. They made him a surgeon… but in secret.

But this didn’t interest him. He continued to study and to give the best of himself, regardless of the discrimination.

He was the best. He gave lessons to the white students but had the salary of a laboratory technician: the maximum that a hospital could pay to a Negro.

He lived in a shack without light nor flowing water, in a ghetto at the periphery as it suited to a Negro.

Hamilton Naki taught surgery during 40 years and left to retirement as a gardener, with 275 dollars per month.

When the apartheid ended they offered him a decoration and the title of physician honoris causa.
No one had noticed the injustices that he had to endure during all his life.

Dr Naki, thank you for everything that you made for humanity beyond your own interests.

May it become known that Hamilton Naki was a magnificent physician and an exceptional man.”

May this story be a rose in memory of Hamilton Naki

A little anecdote from the seminar with Sri Kumar in Einsiedeln two weeks ago:

The Master had given a talk for over 4 hours the story of Parikshit from the scripture Bhagavatam and the beginning of Kali Yuga, the dark age (on request I can send you my notes). We were all thrilled and totally out of time, the story was so captivating.

Afterwards Ramana, who was doing the video recording and transmission, told me he was astonished that the battery of the audio recorder hold out the whole time, it normally only keeps up for 2.5 hours.

Next day at breakfast Ramana and I were sitting next to the master. Ramana mentioned to him the point with the batteries. Sri Kumar smilingly remarked: “In other spiritual groups they would have made a miracle out of it, like with all the stories in Yogananda’s Autobiography of a Yogi. I could tell 10 times more stories like these.”

In the evening the master proposed to us to see the DVD of the movie Angels and Demons, with Tom Hanks and playing in the Vatican. He said that in the film you find a lot of symbolism which H. P. Blavatsky also speaks about, and you can see parts of the Vatican where normally ordinary people don’t have access.

We sat in a leisurely round and from time to time Sri Kumar stopped the film to give some comments. He knows quite a lot of movies, and also at seminars in India we enjoyed seeing movies with him.

Sri Kumar, cheerful in front of a sweets shot in Brussels, last weekend, photo of a friend

During the journey to the seminar in Germany last week we were hearing the whole time an audio book a friend gave us for the trip: The Kite Runner, by Khaled Hosseini. I hadn’t heard of the book before, but when listening to it we all were thrilled. At first I felt skeptical because the topic promised to be heavy stuff, and thus it was, but very fascinating.

Since we couldn’t finish the last of the 9 CDs during the journey, yesterday afternoon my wife and I went with our car to a beautiful place in a nearby forest. And while the sun was dancing on the foliage and the cobwebs, we dived into the novel. The story is playing in the Afghanistan of the 70 until 2001. It is about causing and bearing one’s guilt.

I don’t want to re-tell here the captivating story, but it stirred a number of situations in my own life related with it: In 1994, while I was teaching German in a refugee integration center I met a young man, an Iraqi  Jew who was “killed” and buried alive in the 80ies by soldiers of Saddam Hussein, who wiped out the whole village. It was just incredibly good luck that he escaped, flew via Iran and Pakistan until he was admitted as refugee to Switzerland. He was eager to learn violin. I organised for him an instrument which years later he brought back, when he had bought a very good one of his own. Then there was the Syrian  collaborator in my team, from the Iraqi border, while I was head of an inter-cultural counseling centre in the 90ies. He was a refugee himself and a great story teller, and together with him I wrote some of his stories in German. And then there was the Iranian colleague in the same team who had been an archaeologist and had done field work in Afghanistan in the 60ies and early 70ies. Together with him I published a series of writings about the cultural backgrounds of Muslim refugees from the Middle East. He also could tell stories of the great past of this part of the world for hours. And there are our neighbours from Afghanistan with whom we have good relations. The husband was a minister in the Afghan government supported by the Russians in the 80ies – and living since many years in Switzerland as a refugee without finding any employment. The past is quite lively with them…

But most of all the story stirred events from my own life, especially the final part of the novel, where Amir, the first person narrator, was struggling hard to re-gain the confidence of the young Sohrab, his seriously traumatized nephew. His struggle seems to be in vain, and even in the end it remains open whether he could build it up again or not. It reminded me of an encounter I had in the last months where I also tried to re-gain the confidence of a person, not successful up to now, and the final outcome remains open. My wife told me that the situation reminds her of The Horse Whisperer and of a frightened horse. So when I’m thinking of the person I’m calling her the timid foal.

The Kite Runner story contains very deep lessons on karma and it reminds me of the story of Angulimala which I told my children with a comic strip when they were small. Many don’t want to face the dark sides of their lives and try to bury them inside, avoiding any contact. It might take a long time before your are ready for entering into it. And the roots might even go back before the limits of the present incarnation. But when you go through the fire of rectification and have learned your lesson, you feel deeply relieved. This I experienced the last weeks, and also Amir felt greatly relieved in the end.

The cornfields are ready for harvest.

An Argentinian friend did a series of comics dedicated to illustrate spiritual principles from the wisdom teachings. The hero of the comics is Swami Urukrama, and his adventures lead him through various strange situations. He is teaching “by way of negative examples”, how it should not be… I had the good luck of proof-reading the adventures of the Swami.  They will be published on the website of WTT-Americana, you find here the first of the series. Or directly to the slideshow.

By the way, they also publish the Lunar Messenger on the website of WTT Americana.

Swami Urukrama

I yesterday got an e-mail with the nice story below about growing old and an old lady full of zest for life. It reminded me of four octogenarians I met in the course of the years and who impressed me a lot. One was a German theosophist from whom I inherited two big boxes of valuable books in the 80ies, shortly before he passed over. Another was an Argentinian marine officer and theosophist who started doing the Spanish translation of the Lunar Messenger, a third one a German lady from the WTT, a deeply spiritual person whom we visited last summer shortly before her passing, and the fourth a Canadian lady with a long spiritual background in the high 80ies with whom I have regular e-mail exchange (she just sent a note…). Here it goes:

“The first day of school our professor introduced himself and challenged us to get to know someone we didn’t already know. I stood up to look around when a gentle hand touched my shoulder. I turned around to find a wrinkled, little old lady beaming up at me with a smile that lit up her entire being.

She said, ‘Hi handsome. My name is Rose.. I’m eighty-seven years old. Can I give you a hug?’

I laughed and enthusiastically responded, ‘Of course you may!’ and she gave me a giant squeeze.

‘Why are you in college at such a young, innocent age?’ I asked.

She jokingly replied, ‘I’m here to meet a rich husband, get married, and have a couple of kids…’

‘No seriously,’ I asked. I was curious what may have motivated her to be taking on this challenge at her age.

‘I always dreamed of having a college education and now I’m getting one!’ she told me.

After class we walked to the student union building and shared a chocolate milkshake.

We became instant friends. Every day for the next three months we would leave class together and talk nonstop. I was always mesmerized listening to this ‘time machine’ as she shared her wisdom and experience with me..

Over the course of the year, Rose became a campus icon and she easily made friends wherever she went. She loved to dress up and she revelled in the attention bestowed upon her from the other students. She was living it up.

At the end of the semester we invited Rose to speak at our football banquet. I’ll never forget what she taught us. She was introduced and stepped up to the podium. As she began to deliver her prepared speech, she dropped her three by five cards on the floor.

Frustrated and a little embarrassed she leaned into the microphone and simply said, ‘I’m sorry I’m so jittery. I gave up beer for Lent and this whiskey is killing me! I’ll never get my speech back in order so let me just tell you what I know.’

As we laughed she cleared her throat and began, ‘ We do not stop playing because we are old; we grow old because we stop playing.

There are only four secrets to staying young, being happy, and achieving success. You have to laugh and find humour every day. You’ve got to have a dream. When you lose your dreams, you die.

We have so many people walking around who are dead and don’t even know it!

There is a huge difference between growing older and growing up.

If you are nineteen years old and lie in bed for one full year and don’t do one productive thing, you will turn twenty years old. If I am eighty-seven years old and stay in bed for a year and never do anything I will turn eighty-eight.

Anybody can grow older. That doesn’t take any talent or ability. The idea is to grow up by always finding opportunity in change. Have no regrets.

The elderly usually don’t have regrets for what we did, but rather for things we did not do. The only people who fear death are those with regrets..’

She concluded her speech by courageously singing ‘The Rose.’

She challenged each of us to study the lyrics and live them out in our daily lives. At the year’s end Rose finished the college degree she had begun all those months ago.

One week after graduation Rose died peacefully in her sleep. Over two thousand college students attended her funeral in tribute to the wonderful woman who taught by example that it’s never too late to be all you can possibly be.

REMEMBER, GROWING OLDER IS MANDATORY. GROWING UP IS OPTIONAL. We make a Living by what we get. We make a Life by what we give.

God promises a safe landing, not a calm passage. If God brings you to it, He will bring you through it.

An old lady in a doll-house

A friend sent me a powerpoint with the following story I extracted from it:

Charles Plumb was a US Navy jet pilot in Vietnam. After 75 combat missions, his plane was destroyed by a surface-to-air missile. Plumb ejected and parachuted into enemy hands. He was captured and spent 6 years in a communist Vietnamese prison.

He survived the ordeal and now lectures on lessons learned from that experience. One day, when Plumb and his wife were sitting in a restaurant, a man at another table came up and said, “You’re Plumb! You flew jet fighters in Vietnam from the aircraft carrier Kitty Hawk. You were shot down!” “How in the world did you know that?” asked Plumb. “I packed your parachute,” the man replied. Plumb gasped in surprise and gratitude.

The man pumped his hand and said, “I guess it worked!” Plumb assured him, “It surely did. If your chute hadn’t worked, I wouldn’t be here today.”

Plumb couldn’t sleep that night, thinking about that man. Plumb says, “I kept wondering what he had looked like in a Navy uniform: a white hat; a bib in the back; and bell-bottom trousers. I wonder how many times I might have seen him and not even said ‘Good morning, how are you?’ or anything because, you see, I was a fighter pilot and he was just a sailor.”

Plumb thought of the many hours the sailor had spent at a long wooden table in the bowels of the ship, carefully weaving the shrouds and folding the silks of each chute, holding in his hands each time the fate of someone he didn’t know.

Now, Plumb asks his audience, “Who’s packing your parachute?” Everyone has someone who provides what they need to make it through the day. He also points out that he needed many kinds of parachutes when his plane was shot down over enemy territory-he needed his physical parachute, his mental parachute, his emotional parachute, and his spiritual parachute. He called on all these supports before reaching safety.

Sometimes in the daily challenges that life gives us, we miss what is really important. We may fail to say hello, please, or thank you, congratulate someone on something wonderful that has happened to them, give a compliment, or just do something nice for no reason. As you go through this week, this month, this year, recognize people who pack your parachutes.

Flying over the Alps

I today got the following story in Spanish, which I translated with the help automatic translation and “polishing”:

There was once in ancient China an extraordinary painter whose fame crossed all borders. On the eve of the Year of the Rooster, a rich merchant thought that he would like to have in his rooms a painting that represents a rooster, painted by this famous artist.

So he moved to the village where the painter lived and offered him a very generous sum for the task. The old painter consented immediately, but put as the only condition that the man should return one year later to look for his painting. The merchant became a little disappointed. He had dreamt to have the picture as soon as possible and to enjoy it during the year governed by this animal. But as the painter’s fame was so big, he decided to accept and he returned to his house without complaining.

The months passed by slowly and the merchant awaited the coming of the desired moment to look for his painting. When finally the day arrived, he got up early in the morning and immediately went to the painter’s village. He knocked at the door and the artist received him. At first he didn’t remember who the visitor was.

“I came to look for the painting of the rooster” the merchant told him.

“Ah, of course!” the old painter answered.

And then he spread a canvas on the table, and before the merchant’s eyes with a fine paintbrush he drew a rooster with a single line. It was the simple image of a rooster and, somehow magic, it also contained the essence of all the roosters that exist or that ever existed. The merchant was open-mouthed about the result, but he could not avoid to ask him:

“Master, please, answer me a single question. Your talent is unquestionable, but was it necessary to make me wait for a whole year?”

Then the artist invited him to come to the back-room, where there was his shop. And there the anxious merchant could see the walls and the floor covered, there were enormous piles up to the roof with hundreds and hundreds of sketches, drawings and paintings of roosters – the intense work of an entire year of search.

Perfection is only seemingly light like a feather.

A touching video-story of a deaf and mute girl who learns to play the violin against all difficulties. Though it is an advertisement film, it is subtle and inspiring.

Yesterday I got an e-mail from a Canadian friend with the following stories on the healing influence of onions. I don’t know the truth of it, but it’s worthwhile giving a try in case. I added some thoughts from the wisdom teachings saying that onions are absorbing consciousness, and in Spiritual Astrology it says, that they are therefore related to the month of Scorpio, in which we are now…

“This is pretty interesting, I’m going to have to give it a whirl. I know friends who used to wrap an onion in a hankie and pack in their pocket:

A friend of mine told me a story about how when he was a kid he was in the hospital and near dying. His Italian grandmother came to the hospital and told a family member to go buy her a large onion & a new pair of white cotton socks. She sliced the onion open then put a slice on the bottom of each of his feet and put the white cotton socks on him. In the morning when he awoke they removed the socks. The slices of onion were black and his fever was gone. The following story that someone sent to me might have some truth in it and we are going to try this winter.

In 1919 when the flu killed 40 million people, there was this Doctor that visited the many farmers to see if he could help them combat the flu. Many of the farmers and their family had contracted it and many died.

The doctor came upon this one farmer and to his surprise, everyone was very healthy. When the doctor asked what the farmer was doing that was different the wife replied that she had placed an unpeeled onion in a dish in the rooms of the home, (probably only two rooms back then).

The doctor couldn’t believe it and asked if he could have one of the onions and place it under the microscope. She gave him one and when he did this, he did find the flu virus in the onion. It obviously absorbed the bacteria, therefore, keeping the family healthy.

Now, I heard this story from my hairdresser in AZ. She said that several years ago many of her employees were coming down with the flu and so were many of her customers. The next year she placed several bowls with onions around in her shop. To her surprise, none other staff got sick. It must work. (And no, she is not in the onion business.)

The moral of the story is, buy some onions and place them in bowls around your home. If you work at a desk, place one or two in your office or under your desk or even on top somewhere. Try it and see what happens. We did it last year and we never got the flu.

If this helps you and your loved ones from getting sick, all the better. If you do get the flu, it just might be a mild case.

Whatever, what have you to lose? Just a few bucks on onions!!!!!!

Now there is a P. S. to this for I sent it to a friend in Oregon who regularly contributes material to me on health issues. She replied with this most interesting experience about onions:

“Weldon, thanks for the reminder. I don’t know about the farmer’s story… but, I do know that I contacted pneumonia and needless to say I was very ill… I came across an article that said to cut both ends off an onion put one end on a fork and then place the forked end into an empty jar… placing the jar next to the sick patient at night. It said the onion would be black in the morning from the germs… sure enough it happened just like that… the onion was a mess and I began to feel better.”

Another thing I read in the article was that onions and garlic placed around the room saved many from the black plague years ago. They have powerful antibacterial, antiseptic properties.”

Some remarks about onions and spirituality:

In the classical yoga onions are seen as impediment. In a lecture, Sri Kumar, our spiritual teacher,  explained: “If we are given anaesthesia, the spirit recedes into its centre; that is how onions also cause the arresting of permeation of Consciousness, like tobacco, and poison.” But he explained that Master CVV didn’t mind people eating onions, but to focus on the master consciousness: “The Master said: be with the master, don’t be with the onion. You can have food as you like, but be moderate. Do not be excessive with anything.”

In another occasion he explained that the onion gives the message: “I exist on different planes, not only in the gross physical, but even beyond.” The last envelope of the onion is what we call the soul, because the soul is also an envelope for the spirit. The final envelope exists throughout creation; it takes to gross manifestation and withdraws again from this gross manifestation. From spirit to gross matter there are degrees of matter. When the outer layer of the onion is removed, the onion still exists. The same is true with every living being, not only with the students of wisdom. He exists even after having shed his gross physical envelope.

P.S.: Nov. 17th, 09: Update: I saw in “Snopes” about web rumors that the onion story is wrong. I nevertheless leave it here.

Onion – photo from Wikipedia