================================================================================================================
you don't need a lot to be happy and if you're happy you're a king.
German song


================================================================================================================
I lost my wallet Friday night.  My wallet had everything in it.  Credit
Cards, ATM cards, undeposited checks and $121 in cash (yes, I shouldn't
have been carrying that much cash, but I had to pay for a Ski Trip).

Naturally, I was as freaked out as I can get, but since nothing was open
over President's Day weekend, I had to wait to get everything replaced.

This morning at about 11am, a person returned my wallet to Kevin
Wheeler, but my wallet was empty of cash.
At 11:45am, the person came back to our house as Dementhon was leaving
for class.  He said that 'his conscience was bothering him' and gave
Dementhon $121.
The punchline of the story is that the man who returned my wallet is
homeless.  A man with nothing returned everything to me -- me the
obviously spoiled stranger whom he'd never met.

Some may say that this proves there is a god, or shows all people are
good, or it was dumb luck.  Draw your own lessons from this.  This only
reminds me of something my mom told me a long time ago: "that a measure
of a man is by his generosity."  Bill Gates has donated billions, taxi
drivers have returned boxes of diamond rings left by patrons, but I've
never heard of anything like this.

If you see a homeless guy with a PartyPoker hat, please give him $20 and
I will pay you back.  It's the least I can do.

Peace,
Nima Veiseh


================================================================================================================

By Rumi:

Quietness

Inside this new love, die.
Your way begins on the other side.
Become the sky,
Take an axe to the prison wall.
Escape.
Walk out like someone suddenly born into color.
Do it now.
You're covered with thick cloud.
Slide out the side.
Die,
and be quiet.
Quietness is the surest sign that you've died.
Your old life was a frantic running
from silence.

The speechless full moon
comes out now.

============================================================

 

I hold her hands and press her to my breast.

I try to fill my arms with her loveliness,

        to plunder her sweet smile with kisses,

        to drink her dark glances with my eyes.

 

Ah, but where is it?

        Who can strain the blue from the sky?

I try to grasp the beauty;

        it eludes me, leaving only the body in my hands.

Baffled and weary I come back.

How can the body touch the flower which only the spirit may touch?

--Tagore

 

============================================================

This are the vocals of one of the french Bizet-Song from Cecilia Bartolis CD.

 

I'm learning now to sing this wonderfull music

 

The Farewell of the Arab Hostess

 

Since nothing will keep you in this happy land,

neither the shade of the palm tree, nor the yello corn,

neither rest, nor abundance,

nor the sight, at your voice, ofthe young

beating hearts of our sisters who, at night,

in a whirling swarm

crown the hillside with therir dance,

farewell, handsome traveller! Alas, farewell!

Oh!if only you were one of those

whose lazy feet are bounded by

their roof of branches or canvas!

Who, idly dreaming, listen unmoved to tales,

and at eventide, sitting before their door,

wish to be off and away among the stars!

Alas! Farewell! Farewell, handsome traveller!

Had you wished it, one of us perhaps

o young man, would have liked to serve you

on bended knee

in our ever open huts;

while lulling your sleep with her song

she would have made,

to drive the tiresome gnats from your brow,

a fan of green leaves.

If you do not come back, dream a little

from time to time

of the daughters of the desert, sweet-voiced

sisters,

who dance barefoot on the sandhills,

o handsome white man, fine bird

of passage,

remember, remember, for perhaps,

o quickly passing stranger,

your memory remains with more tham one!

Alas! Farewell! Farewell, handsome stranger!

Alas! Farewell! Remember!

 
===================================================


My dear Professor Jim Christian wrote (Dec 2003):

Dear Reza – No, the whole world isn’t crazy, just those who control governments and the media. The sane people are working behind the scenes, mostly in silence, doing their job, creating, doing research in countless fields, making discoveries, writing books, making music, teaching, thinking about things, negotiating, healing wounds, writing poems, recreating the past, painting, dancing, meditating, seeing – you complete the list. What all these wonderful creators have in common is that they rarely make the news. But they are there, behind the scenes, holding on to their humanity, holding on to all the good things that make us sane and healthy and fulfilled. I have to remind myself  daily that I choose to belong to the community of creators; I try to ignore the destroyers. But can’t, of curse.

I appreciate your emails. I have pretty much given up with the internet; I can’t seem to make it work for me. I’m back to DOS and WordPerfect and can write effortlessly; so I’m content.

There are some men too gentle to live among wolves – I’m paraphrasing Kavanaugh. You are one of those gentle men. You seem to be, not merely surviving, but thriving; and you are to be honored for that. I’m always interested in knowing more specifically what you are working on, what your projects are, and where your thoughts are going. Love and best. Jim

----------- that inspired me to look for and come upon these two poems by James Kavanaugh:

There are Men Too Gentle to Live Among Wolves - by James Kavanaugh

There are men too gentle to live among wolves
Who prey upon them with IBM eyes
And sell their hearts and guts for martinis at noon.
There are men to gentle for a savage world
Who dream instead of snow and children and Halloween
And wonder if the leaves will change their color soon.

There are men to gentle to live among wolves
Who anoint them for burial with greedy claws
And murder them for a merchant's profit and gain.
There are men to gentle for a corporate world
Who dream instead of Easter eggs and fragrant grass
And pause to hear the distant whistle of a train.

There are men to gentle too live amount wolves
Who devour them with appetite and search
For other men to prey upon and such their childhood dry.
There are men to gentle for an accountant's world
Who dream instead of Easter eggs and fragrant grass
And search for beauty in the mystery of the sky.

There are men to gentle too live among wolves
Who toss them like a lost and wounded dove
Such gentle men are lonely in a merchant's world
Unless they have a gentle one to love.


UNAFRAID TO BE FREE - by James Kavanaugh

Finally unafraid to be free,
Ready to surrender all the illusions of
recognition and external securities,
Living off the sky and earth like soaring
eagles and braying burros,
Trusting in a Power even beyond Dow Jones
and hoarded retirement.
Finally ready to live like the noble animal that I am-
Without masters or servants, with dignity dependent on no one,
Content to know that I am God's child, and
only good has been prepared for me.
When I am not afraid to release all that my life
and culture taught me to prize.
To abandon fears once and for all, to discard the
anxieties of a lifetime like a suit that no longer fits,
To be afraid of no one, beholden to no one,
dependent on no one
Save the few who know and love me as I am,
and the God Who alone gives meaning and joy
to the madness of my life.



================================================================================================================

To see the world in a grain of sand
And heaven in a wild flower
To hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour

--Blake

================================================================================================================

Even if I die
I will be there for you,
make a table
Out of me.
Perhaps a door
or maybe a bed,
do what you feel
you can even carve a diety.
But, for now___
just listen to me,
I still breathe,
For you.

(by an ex-student of a K school)

================================================================================================================

> this is a paragraph which expresses how i see relationship and friendship,
> thought i will share it with you. I don't know where it's originally from,
> heard it while traveling, this is my own version of it:
>
> the world is full of butterflies, beautiful, colourful butterflies, they
> fly around you and once in a while a really pretty one lands on your arm.
> If you try to touch it, to hold it, to keep it with you, it will soon lose
> it's ability to fly, it will lose it's colour, it's beauty will fade and
> finally it will die.
> But if you hold your arm very quiet(or still?), it might stay for a while,
> and you can take a closer look at it, be happy that it's there, so close
> to you, see it in all it's beauty. And then, one day, when it takes off and
> flies away, you don't have to be sad or unhappy, it's just beautiful to see
> it fly around freely again.
>
> hope i got it right, it's not so easy for me in english.
>
>

================================================================================================================

Love is Dear Only to the Heart of the Lover

Once there was a king who heard about the story of Leili and Majnun and knew that Majnun left his life in the city and strayed in the desert and field. He called his ministers and soldiers to bring Majnun to his palace. Soldiers went to the field and found Majnun and brought him to the palace of the king. The king asked Majnun, "Why did you leave the human society, leave your home and stay in the caves and deserts: Why did you not find social life pleasing?" Majnun replied, "I left my family and my friends because they were blaming me for my love for Laili. Oh, how I wish the day will come when they see that beauty and they will all fall in love with her and regret the blame they put on me." Majnun talked and talked about Leili's beauty so much that the king became eager to see Laili. So he asked his soldiers to bring her to his court.

Soldiers went to Laili's tribe and brought her to the presence of the king. To the king's astonishment, Laili was weak, dark skinned, and not pretty. "She is plain, so very plain and common. My servants are prettier than she is. She has no grace, she has no beauty," the king thought. Majnun sensing the king's thought said, "Oh, King, You should see the beauty and the grace of Leaili through my eyes. You have to have Majnun's eye for the mystery of her beuaty to be revealed to you."

Two lovers sailed into the sea
A sudden storm wrecked their ship.
A fisherman came along to save the boy.
"My love is there, save her first,
Save her," he cried.
Before he drowned and died, he whispered:
Love is not what you hear
Love is to forget not the beloved
Even when the storm is to take your soul."



These selections were translated by Seyedeh Nahid Angha, Ph.D.



================================================================================================================

As usual, Sebastian created a remarkable fugue using the King's tune. It starts out as one voice coming in like a little stream. Then another voice joins in making harmony, yet carrying its own story. Then a third voice like a brook enters the sea of notes to carry its message. And miraculously the trinity of tones harmonize, yet each is a melody on its own, united in perfect form, creating poetry in music, to the end that the soul of man may be at peace and experience tranquility. As the notes fade into the air, none disappears, but together they ascend to the very throne of God in Heaven as praises too deep for utterance.
Anna Magdalena Bach
================================================================================================================

Absence doth sharpen love, presence strengthens it;
the one brings fuel, the other blows it till it burns
clear.
William Shakespeare


================================================================================================================
Froh zu sein Bedarfes Wenig
und wer froh ist ein koenig

Happy are a few and s/he who is happy is king


================================================================================================================
Aotearoa - the land of the long white cloud
 
Haere mai ki te whenua o Aotearoa
Haere mai ki te ao Maori

Welcome to the land of Aotearoa
Welcome to the world of the Maori.


================================================================================================================

Guru Nanak's song:

O God beautiful! O God beautiful!

In the forest, Thou art green,

In the mountain, Thou art high,

In the river, Thou art restless,

In the ocean, Thou art grave!

To the serviceful, Thou art service,

To the lover, Thou art love,

To the sorrowful, Thou art sympathy,

To the yogi, Thou art bliss!

O God beautiful! O God beautiful!

At Thy feet, O I do bow!

By Guru Nanak, Translated by Yogananda


================================================================================================================

MONEY
It can buy a house
But not a home
It can buy a bed
But not the sleep
It can buy a clock
But not the time
It can buy a book
But not the knowledge
It can buy a position
But not the respect
It can pay the physician
But not health.
It can buy blood
But not life
It can buy the sex
But not of the love

(A Chinese [not verified] poem about money)

[translated by software from French]
[thanks to Gianna Mestermann]

================================================================================================================

May there always be work for your hands to do.
May your purse always hold a coin or two.
May the sun always shine on your window pane.
May a rainbow be certain to follow each rain.
May the hand of a friend always be near you.
May god fill your heart with glaness to cheer you.

(An Irish Poem)

Keep well - and happy.
Love
Tish (Whitney)


================================================================================================================

As for the poem, this is my award winning number. Though I forewarn: according to me, my
poems are more closely related to rubbish than to contest winners. I am
never happy with anything that I've written for longer than ten minutes.
That said, here it is...

It
(for it has become an
it, you know
an idea taking
life on its own
apart from me
you
or our vocalized chording)
is looking so
opaque
now that there's day
light proof
of its white
face turning blue
and I'm thinking we
should have left
it at flowers.

Randi Caryn Shapiro

------------------------------------------------------

In surrendering oneself

to the impermanence and uncertainty of this life

there will be a stillness where knowing resides

beyond the answers of the mind.

No future, no past.
Just this moment, living what is here now

in total unison with the universe

and its beautifully ordered chaos.

Robin Seagrave

================================================================================================================

Finally, Spring arrived, the beauty of the trees full of flowers seem origin of some
fairyland. The smell of life and growth has returned and chased Winters last
messangers away. I enjoy the eternal circle of life and to be a part of it.
The days are nice, the moonlit nights even more beautyful. In the silence
you understand the whispering of the trees, the silent sound of the wind and
nature sings softly her old, eternal melodies.

Petra A.

================================================================================================================

twinkle twinkle mr.great smile
tell me now r u fine?
feeling better? do u feel to sit
tell me till now what u did???????
tell me did u take some medicine yet
or r u feeding the tablets to your pet????
tell me all this nd tell me soon
else i'll watch u from the moon !!!!!!!!!!!
Anu

================================================================================================================

BEING HERE

Sometimes when you are here
You want to go there
But when you get there
It becomes your here
When you remain in the -- I don't know state
It feels like you are nowhere
But nowhere is really now-here
And being here in the now is sufficient - Wherever you are!

Gabi Blackburn

================================================================================================================

Give It Up
by Franz Kafka
 

It was very early in the morning, the streets clean and deserted, I was on my way to the railroad station. As I compared the tower clock with my watch I realized it was already much later than I had thought, I had to hurry, the shock of this discovery made me feel uncertain of the way, I was not very well acquainted with the town yet, fortunately there was a policeman nearby, I ran to him and breathlessly asked him the way. He smiled and said: 'from me you want to learn the way?' 'Yes,' I said, 'since I cannot find it myself.' 'Give it up, give it up,' said he, and turned away with a great sweep, like someone who wants to be alone with his laughter.
 

---------------------------------------------------------
Amin Emami
Tehran, Iran
Email: Amin_Emami@SoftHome.net
Web Site: http://i.am/Amin_Emami
---------------------------------------------------------

"Cho fardaah bar aayad boland aaftaab, man'o gorz'o meydaaneh Afraasiaab."

my dad draws the parallel from the "gorz" to the intellect, or the power of
the pen that helps one lay down/share what needs to be communicated.  the
"meydaan" is what ever context you're in and the "afraasiab" -well- that's
anyone who's on the otherside.   it's heavy on war analogy, but from my
dad's mouth, it sure has sounded good to me over the years.


================================================================================================================

Touch and feel, know it's real. wake up to his love, and you will be healed. Earnie Ale.


================================================================================================================

I must confess, I don't have very often a look at my mailbox. Computers may
be very useful, but they don't always do what I want them to do. The
conversation with these machines is full of misunderstandings.

Sun and moon are part of the same universe. From different perspectives they
look at Earth, watching her, perhaps guarding her.
The sun is all burning. The moon has as well a warm and bright side as a
cold and dark one.
There's a bright and a dark side in all of us. As long as we follow the path
of light, we won't freeze.
Heaven begins just above Earth

Petra A.

================================================================================================================


Gayatri :
There are many translations. This is derived from a word by word translation by Reza Ganjavi:
The otherness, the base of the universe, the Earth, and Heaven, That, Sun, Supreme Radiance we contemplate on the deity’s intellects that awaken ours.



================================================================================================================


Victor Hugo (original in French)
(lyrics of one of the french Bizet-Songs from Cecilia Bartoli's
CD. )

The Farewell of the Arab Hostess

Since nothing will keep you in this happy land,
neither the shade of the palm tree, nor the yello corn,
neither rest, nor abundance,
nor the sight, at your voice, ofthe young
beating hearts of our sisters who, at night,
in a whirling swarm
crown the hillside with therir dance,
farewell, handsome traveller! Alas, farewell!
Oh!if only you were one of those
whose lazy feet are bounded by
their roof of branches or canvas!
Who, idly dreaming, listen unmoved to tales,
and at eventide, sitting before their door,
wish to be off and away among the stars!
Alas! Farewell! Farewell, handsome traveller!
Had you wished it, one of us perhaps
o young man, would have liked to serve you
on bended knee
in our ever open huts;
while lulling your sleep with her song
she would have made,
to drive the tiresome gnats from your brow,
a fan of green leaves.
If you do not come back, dream a little
from time to time
of the daughters of the desert, sweet-voiced
sisters,
who dance barefoot on the sandhills,
o handsome white man, fine bird
of passage,
remember, remember, for perhaps,
o quickly passing stranger,
your memory remains with more tham one!

Alas! Farewell! Farewell, handsome stranger!

Alas! Farewell! Remember!

_________________________________________

 

zendegi aatashgahi dirine-pa barjaast

gar biafroozish raghse sholehayash az har karan peidast

var na khamooshast va khamooshi gonahe mast.

_________________________________________

taa-at aan nist ke bar khaat nahi pishani
sedgh pish aar ke ekhlaas be pishani nist
_________________________________________
eshgh aamadani bood na aamookhtani

==================================================================
William Blake - Auguries of Innocence

To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.

A robin redbreast in a cage
Puts all heaven in a rage.

A dove-house fill'd with doves and pigeons
Shudders hell thro' all its regions.
A dog starv'd at his master's gate
Predicts the ruin of the state.

A horse misused upon the road
Calls to heaven for human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted hare
A fibre from the brain does tear.

A skylark wounded in the wing,
A cherubim does cease to sing.
The game-cock clipt and arm'd for fight
Does the rising sun affright.

Every wolf's and lion's howl
Raises from hell a human soul.

The wild deer, wand'ring here and there,
Keeps the human soul from care.
The lamb misus'd breeds public strife,
And yet forgives the butcher's knife.

The bat that flits at close of eve
Has left the brain that won't believe.
The owl that calls upon the night
Speaks the unbeliever's fright.

He who shall hurt the little wren
Shall never be belov'd by men.
He who the ox to wrath has mov'd
Shall never be by woman lov'd.

The wanton boy that kills the fly
Shall feel the spider's enmity.
He who torments the chafer's sprite
Weaves a bower in endless night.

The caterpillar on the leaf
Repeats to thee thy mother's grief.
Kill not the moth nor butterfly,
For the last judgement draweth nigh.

He who shall train the horse to war
Shall never pass the polar bar.
The beggar's dog and widow's cat,
Feed them and thou wilt grow fat.

The gnat that sings his summer's song
Poison gets from slander's tongue.
The poison of the snake and newt
Is the sweat of envy's foot.

The poison of the honey bee
Is the artist's jealousy.

The prince's robes and beggar's rags
Are toadstools on the miser's bags.
A truth that's told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent.

It is right it should be so;
Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know,
Thro' the world we safely go.

Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine.
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.

The babe is more than swaddling bands;
Every farmer understands.
Every tear from every eye
Becomes a babe in eternity;

This is caught by females bright,
And return'd to its own delight.
The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar,
Are waves that beat on heaven's shore.

The babe that weeps the rod beneath
Writes revenge in realms of death.
The beggar's rags, fluttering in air,
Does to rags the heavens tear.

The soldier, arm'd with sword and gun,
Palsied strikes the summer's sun.
The poor man's farthing is worth more
Than all the gold on Afric's shore.

One mite wrung from the lab'rer's hands
Shall buy and sell the miser's lands;
Or, if protected from on high,
Does that whole nation sell and buy.

He who mocks the infant's faith
Shall be mock'd in age and death.
He who shall teach the child to doubt
The rotting grave shall ne'er get out.

He who respects the infant's faith
Triumphs over hell and death.
The child's toys and the old man's reasons
Are the fruits of the two seasons.

The questioner, who sits so sly,
Shall never know how to reply.
He who replies to words of doubt
Doth put the light of knowledge out.

The strongest poison ever known
Came from Caesar's laurel crown.
Nought can deform the human race
Like to the armour's iron brace.

When gold and gems adorn the plow,
To peaceful arts shall envy bow.
A riddle, or the cricket's cry,
Is to doubt a fit reply.

The emmet's inch and eagle's mile
Make lame philosophy to smile.
He who doubts from what he sees
Will ne'er believe, do what you please.

If the sun and moon should doubt,
They'd immediately go out.
To be in a passion you good may do,
But no good if a passion is in you.

The whore and gambler, by the state
Licensed, build that nation's fate.
The harlot's cry from street to street
Shall weave old England's winding-sheet.

The winner's shout, the loser's curse,
Dance before dead England's hearse.

Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born,
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.

Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.

We are led to believe a lie
When we see not thro' the eye,
Which was born in a night to perish in a night,
When the soul slept in beams of light.

God appears, and God is light,
To those poor souls who dwell in night;
But does a human form display
To those who dwell in realms of day.