Quote by Vernon Howard....

 "THE SLAVE"

Some students asked their teacher to tell them of an experience of his
with inquirers. The teacher began, 'I once met a slave. Though his
slavery was inward, it was just as binding as if he wore actual chains.
When I casually mentioned his plight he reacted as all slaves react.

His response was a combination of disbelief, scorn, bewilderment and
rejection. Had he been receptive, I could have helped him, for awareness
of slavery must precede freedom.'

The teacher continued, 'What awareness could have helped him? I could
have told him he was the slave of everyone he needed to impress, of
everyone he feared, of those he depended upon for psychological
security. He could have seen his enslavement to shame over past follies,
and could have understood how shame prevents understanding and freedom.'

The test of a man's teachability is to tell him about his chains and
watch how he takes it. —Vernon Howard

Marcus Aurelius

Is it your reputation that’s bothering you? But look at how soon we’re all forgotten. The abyss of endless time that swallows it all. The emptiness of all those applauding hands. —Marcus Aurelius

• • It is relieving, don't you think, to realize that there is nothing we must achieve according to the world's standards? Not reputation, fame, or fortune. Not even beauty or good looks. All of that is as dust in the wind. The only gold that is of lasting and peaceful value is — the shining gold of Truth...not gold which we can hold in our hand...but that which is held in the heart. 

    If we are bothered by our reputation — how other people see us...striving to "be" someone — there will be only pain. Our "reputation" may be so valuable to us — but what is it really? Our thoughts about other people's thoughts.

    Everything is internal. We live in a thought world — a mental world — and call it real. 

    These teachings allows us to see beyond the mental constructs — to what is Real.

    
    

    

    
    

    
    

Mark Twain (1835-1910) American Writer

"Nothing exists. All is a dream.

God—man—the world—the sun, the moon, the wilderness

of stars—a dream, all a dream; they have no existence.

Nothing exists save empty space—And you.… 

And you are not you—you have no body, no blood, no

bones, you are but a thought."

—Mark Twain, 'The Mysterious Stranger'

You can download and read the story that this quote came from here, for free: https://www.gutenberg.org/files/3186/3186-h/3186-h.htm

A Little Story

Here is a story just for you. It happens to be about a little girl. She could have been anyone’s child. She could have been you.

A BOUQUET OF LOVE

One bright sunny day, this little girl was picking wild flowers in a meadow. Feeling like she was the warmth of the sun, she gathered her bouquet of purple and gold brightness and ran to her father, offering him this bundle of spontaneous love. Her father saw only miserable weeds that set off his miserable hay fever. He shouted at her to get them out of the house, asking how could she be such a stupid little girl, and where was her consideration?

The little girl did not know what consideration was, so she had no idea where hers could be, and she was afraid to ask. She was sure that if she had any, she would not be stupid. She ran outside, no longer feeling like she was the warm yellow sun. Her brightness faded, she sat under a tree with her flowers, consoling them, assuring them they were in no way stupid, or else how could they be so beautiful? Then she planted each one in the earth again, telling them she was sorry she had taken them from their homes, and promised never to do so again. 

The little girl pondered this event as the years passed and somewhere in the angels’ singing, since angels are always singing to little girls and big girls and people of all ages, she heard a song of wisdom: You are not the doer. The fruits of your actions belong not to you, but to God. And the little girl, who by now lived in a bigger body, hugged that song to her, and it comforted her way back to the time when her father had shouted at her and into the future when her own and other people's songs would be shouts.

As the years passed, she learned from these shouts. Sometimes people shouted loudly, sometimes silently. Deep within the angels’ whispers, she discovered that all shouts come from fear and ignorance. People were afraid to feel, so they shouted. People were afraid to tell the truth, so they shouted. People were afraid to love and be loved, so they shouted. People were afraid, so they hid behind shouts that were loud and shouts that were silent, wearing the disguises that pass for love and intimacy. 

Time passed, as time has a way of doing, teaching what it teaches to those able to listen with their hearts. Time taught her to sing gentle songs, giving them away like candy. Once they were gone from her, she never looked back, knowing that gifts with strings attached were no gifts at all. 

One day, when the little girl lived in a body with skin that showed the passage of many lessons learned, she found she had become the bouquet of flowers. And people came from everywhere to catch the scent of her love. 

The angels will leave you to gather your own bouquet from this story, the way the little girl did. The joy of stories comes from listening with your heart. In this way, the story awakens the truth that lives inside you and that truth becomes your own. 

Be kind, gentle, and compassionate with yourself. Give to yourself that which you wish others would give to you. Remember that others are only mirrors, reflections of yourself. When you treat yourself with respect, you will see this reflected in beautiful shining mirrors all around you. 

Paul Gauguin

 In case the sun is not shining where you are today, or you can't find it in your heart and soul (even though it is always there)...here is a blast of light and color to remind you...

Paul Gauguin
By the Stream,Autumn, 1885.

Lin Chi, Zen Master Story

One of the greatest of Zen masters, Lin Chi, used to say, ”While I was young I was very fascinated by boating. I had one small boat, and I would go on the lake alone. For hours together I would remain there.

”Once it happened that with closed eyes I was in my boat meditating on the beautiful night. One empty boat came floating downstream and struck my boat. My eyes were closed, so I thought, ‘Someone is here with his boat, and he has struck my boat.’ 

"Anger arose. I opened my eyes and I was just going to say something to that man in anger, then I realized that the boat was empty. Then there was no way to move. To whom could I express the anger? The boat was empty. It was just floating downstream, and it had come and struck my boat. So there was nothing to do. There was no possibility to project the anger on an empty boat.”

So Lin Chi said, ”I closed my eyes. The anger was there, but finding no way out, I closed my eyes and just floated backward with the anger. And that empty boat became my realization. I came to a point within myself in that silent night. 

"That empty boat was my master. And now if someone comes and insults me, I laugh and I say, ‘This boat is also empty.’ I close my eyes and I go within.”

A Story from Monthly School Lesson "TOGETHER AS ONE"

THE LITTLE BROWN BIRD

Once upon a time there was a tiny brown bird hopping around in Mother Nature, eating little seeds and ruffling its feathers in the wind. And it was happy. 

It watched the grey bunnies, the striped chipmunks, fat earthworms, and bustling black beetles that were part of its world. And it was happy.

It listened to the birds singing, the leaves rustling in the wind, the squirrels chattering. And it was happy. 

One day, it heard a strange new sound and it looked all around with its tiny black eyes. What was that sound? Then the little bird saw it—a huge bird blazing with blue, turquoise, violet, green, and golden feathers with many eyes shining from its long tail. 

"What are you?" asked the little bird from its perch high above. 

"I am a peacock," the colorful bird replied. 

From that moment on, the little bird knew no peace, even though it lived in the center of beautiful Mother Nature, even though it was never hungry, even though the soft wind still blew and ruffled its tiny brown feathers. 

Finally, in despair, it went to Mother Nature and said, "Oh, Mother Nature, why did you make me so brown and small and ugly? Why can I not shine like the blazing peacock? Why do I not have many eyes glowing from a long feathery tail? Why must I be so unhappy?"

"Your unhappiness has nothing to do with the peacock, little brown bird," replied Mother Nature. "Do not act like a silly human being. You are unhappy only because you compare yourself. Stop comparing and your unhappiness will end. Be yourself. Be happy being you."

And the little bird listened very carefully with its little bird ears and opened its heart very wide so it could catch every word deep inside. 

And it went back to eating little seeds and ruffling its feathers in the wind. And it was happy. 

Thank you for being there so that I can be here.

Love now and always,

Indira & the angels

A GUARDIAN ANGEL STORY

THE GUARDIAN ANGEL

The angel had been bound to earth for hundreds of years, yet the angel lived in patience where time did not exist. For eons the angel had been speaking to humans, whispering words of love and encouragement into their ears. Most of the time, no one heard, though now and then, the angel saw in someone's eyes a glimmer of understanding.

    This angel was presently guarding a small child, whose skin was white as snow, though it was no fairy tale, for the child had been sick with some earthly disease for a long time. The child lay in a bed, blending into white sheets, surrounded by family members who were trying not to cry. And the child, who knew what courage was, whispered, “It is okay to cry because I am going away.”

    And the angel smiled and wrapped its love around the boy and touched the hearts of his parents, grandparents, and little brothers. As the angel touched their hearts, it knew the anguish in those hearts. The angel could have moved away, spared itself this pain, but it only moved closer, giving of its strength. The child's father forgot not to cry. Tears fell down his unshaven face. 

    The little boy wanted to reach up and touch that face one last time, but he had no strength. Sensing this, the unseen angel helped the boy raise his arm. As the child touched his father's scratchy wet face one last time, father and son felt a great peace, for the truth of tears is better than the pretense of smiles.

    Then the mother cradled her child in her arms. The grandparents cradled their own children, this mother and father. And the angel of God bound them all together with its love and spoke to the child, saying, “It is time.” The child heard a voice like bells and looked upon the face of the angel for the first time. The family could not see the angel, but they saw the years of pain and fighting the disease fade away as the child's face began to glow.

    “I will show you,” smiled the angel, forgetting everything now except the child. “Look!” The angel pointed to the light. Seeing the Light, the boy breathed a last sigh and closed his eyes in peace. 

    The angel departed with the soul essence of the child, guiding him to the Light. And the family was not alone. The room was alive with angels, embracing the family, whispering words of love, holding the sorrow, taking what pain they could unto themselves.

    As the angel guided the child to the Light, the angel felt the power of the Light, and longed to return to the Light, but its task was upon earth. The angel did not linger in pain or longing. It lovingly watched the boy merge into the Light, then turned and made its way back to earth.

    The angel did not stop to ask why, did not hesitate, did not question the way of the world or of God. It simply went on to its next task. It was just in time to catch a young teenager as she fell from a speeding car whose door had become unlatched.

    The girl would later tell a wondrous story of a being of light that caught her in its arms, saving her from the hard pavement of the road. And the angel was already gone, onto its next task, fully present in the moment.

    This story came to me in its entirety following the death of my young nephew, Sean, from leukemia. I was on tour in Europe at the time. When I received word that he had died, I sat down and wrote this story. It was a gift I received at his passing into another realm. When I returned home, I was told that although his father, my brother, was unable to make it to the hospital before Sean died, the nurses insisted, “But we saw you there, holding your son's hand and talking with him.”