A blackbird sat in a tree singing beautifully. Then a big black crow arrived and sat in that same tree. For a while the crow cawed as loud as it could while the blackbird remained silent and listened. Then the crow flew away, whereupon the blackbird opened its golden beak again and cawed without ceasing.
On a small island in the middle of the wide ocean grew a wonderful golden yellow flower. No- one knew how it got there, because there were no other flowers of this kind on the island. The seagulls came flying in to look in wonder at this miracle. “It is as beautiful as the sun”, they said. The fish came swimming in. They looked out of the water in order to admire it. “It is as beautiful as a piece of coral”, they said. A crab came onto the land in order to observe it. “She is as beautiful as a pearl on the sea bed”, he said. And they came almost every day to admire this flower.
One day, when they came again to look at the flower, they found the golden petals brown and dried-out. “Oh dear”, said the doves, the fish and the crabs. “The sun has destroyed our flower. How can we refresh our hearts now?” And they were all sad. Yet a few days later, in place of the flower, stood a wonderful, delicate white ball. “What is that?”, asked the animals. “It is as soft as a cloud”, said the doves. “It is as light as sea spray”, said the fish. “It is as fine as the shimmer of the sun in the sand”, said the crab. And all the animals rejoiced. A puff of wind blew over the island and carried this white wonder away across the island in thousands of tiny flakes. “Oh dear”, sighed the doves, the fish and the crabs. “The wind has blown our ball away. What can cheer our souls now?” And they were all sad. One morning, as the sun rose above the sea, hundreds and even more hundreds of wonderful golden yellow flowers shone in the golden morning light. The doves danced in the sky and the fish in the water, and the crabs danced a jig with their friends, and everyone was happy.
“What is this huge, disgusting wart on my thumb?” He was three years old when he said this to his mother. For days already he had looked at the round, orange-coloured bulge, and couldn’t stop thinking about it. “That is a blister. It comes from sucking your thumb.” “And if I stop, will it go away again?” “Yes”. On this day he made a holy vow. It was his first adult decision.
So you’re having trouble with the ghosts in your home? They’re in your room, behind the cupboard? And under the cellar stairs, too? Listen! I’ve also met them, and I have some experience with them. Mine were probably not exactly the same ghosts you’ve met, but I bet yours are similar to the mean characters which hung around my house. When I was a child, I often came across them and still do today, now and then. When I was little, I was terribly afraid of them. Then I discovered something about them:
In reality, they can’t do much, they only behave as if they can. Their only aim is to make you afraid. When they manage that, it gives them a kick. When they don’t manage it, they get bored. And when they are bored for too long, they go away. You can annoy the ghosts, too. For example, you say: “Good morning dear ghost! How are you today? Did you sleep well? Do you want to come and have some breakfast?” Then the ghost gets really angry. Perhaps it then tries to make you more scared. But if you continue in this way, it loses interest in you and soon looks for something else.
“The people do not know where they are right now. Yet I know it for them”, the conjuror began to recount. “If I ask them for their names, then they are busy: I can place the coin in the sleeve. If I ask how much money they earn, then they are angry: I can let it slide into the trousers. If I ask them whether I have offended them, then they are thoughtful: I can let it slide through the trousers into the shoes. When I show them my hand and ask where their coin is now, I have them in the palm of my hand: I can let the coin slide to the floor through the hole in the sole of the shoe. When I lift my foot, they are focused on the coin and ask themselves: “How can it be there?”
I watched a rider training a horse. The lady was short and dainty. The gelding she rode was full of energy. He could have thrown her off his back any time, but this was not what it was about. Two souls were wrestling with each other. “Who is in the lead?” This question filled the air. The woman took her time with the horse. She wanted to tame the horse yet not break its spirit. She wanted its respect and trust. In the end she won the wrestling match and I believe they were both happy.
Granny Annie was celebrating her birthday in a large family circle with all her children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren and great-great-grandchildren. “How old are you? 90 years and still healthy?” one of the felicitators asked. “What do you mean by ‘still’?” Granny Annie replied.
The people stood before him. They had come in their hundreds. And he stood before them. What should he say? “The master, whose words you want to hear, is dead”, he announced. “He died last night. But first he bade me to speak to you today.”
“But do you then also know”, asked the people, “what the master wanted to say to us?” “I hear it”, he said.
In a hut by the river in the Rocky Mountains, there once lived a gold prospector. Every morning he got up, washed, ate a slice of bread, put on his working clothes and went to the river with his large sieve.
He had lived here for many years and had sieved several tons of sand. On some days he found a bit of gold, but it was seldom more than he needed in order to buy the most necessary food, clothing and tools for his daily needs. He had long dreamed of stumbling across a large amount of gold. But he realized now that this dream would never come true. Because most of the time, when he looked in his gold pan, he found nothing more than little stones which glittered in the sun.
One day an old school friend came to visit him. He was a jeweller from a large town and had amassed a considerable fortune. He was interested to see how this gold prospector lived. “Please show me, just one time, how you prospect for gold”, he asked his old friend.
Reluctantly he stood up, took his pan from the wall and went to the river with his friend. He dipped the sieve in the river, shook it and let the water run out. “See, again nothing”, he sighed and looked up at his friend. “That is unbelievable”, the latter said, and turned pale. “Full of diamonds!”
A fifty-five year old man glanced out of the window and saw his neighbour, who was the same age as him, going for a walk. “He has it goodis lucky”, he sighed. “He can enjoy his retirement already, and I still have to work.” “Don’t you know that he’s nearly blind?” I informed him. “That’s why he is no longer worksworking.” “I didn’t know that”, said the former, and pondered.
“This reminds me of what my nephew told me. He said: “When’When I park in front of the school with my big car, then many of his fellow pupils say: ‘You have it goodare lucky – with those fancy wheels.’ Sometimes I would like to answer one of them: ‘At least you still have a father.’ But mostly I keep quiet.”.’”
“That reminds me of an old friend”, I replied. “I phoned him recently. ’I’ll be in your area tomorrow. Could we perhaps meet up again?’ We agreed on a time. I looked forward to seeing him again. ’Is your girlfriend coming, too?’ I asked. She is a delightful young woman. The two of them are a wonderful couple altogether. My partnerships were never as balanced and harmonious. To be honest: It hurt me a little to thinkcompare my own situation with theirs; I live alone. ’I’ll ask her if she’ll come along‘, said the friend. – ’This is a singles’ meeting‘, were his first words when we saw each other again. ’My girlfriend and I split up earlier today.’”