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Return to Paradise

Lisa gazed out over the Caribbean Sea, feeling the faint breeze against her face - eyes shut, the white sand warm between her bare toes. The place was beautiful beyond belief, but it was still unable to ease the grief she felt as she remembered the last time she had been here.

She had married James right here on this spot three years ago to the day. Dressed in a simple white shift dress, miniature white roses attempting to tame her long dark curls, Lisa had been happier than she had ever thought possible. James was even less formal but utterly irresistible in creased summer trousers and a loose white cotton shirt. His dark hair slightly ruffled and his eyes full of adoration as his looked at his bride to be. The justice of the peace had read their vows as they held hands and laughed at the sheer joy of being young, in love and staying in a five star resort on the Caribbean island of the Dominican Republic. They had seen the years blissfully stretching ahead of them, together forever. They planned their children, two she said, he said four so they compromised on three (two girls and a boy of course); where they would live, the travelling they would do together - it was all certain, so they had thought then.

But that seemed such a long time ago now. A lot can change in just a few years - a lot of heartache can change a person and drive a wedge through the strongest ties, break even the deepest love. Three years to the day and they had returned, though this time not for the beachside marriages the island was famous for but for one of its equally popular quickie divorces.

Lisa let out a sigh that was filled with pain and regret. What could she do but move on, find a new life and new dreams? - the old one was beyond repair. How could this beautiful place, with its lush green coastline, eternity of azure blue sea and endless sands be a place for the agony she felt now?

The man stood watching from the edge of the palm trees. He couldn't take his eyes of the dark-haired woman he saw standing at the water's edge, gazing out to sea as though she was waiting for something - or someone. She was beautiful, with her slim figure dressed in a loose flowing cotton dress, her crazy hair and bright blue eyes not far off the colour of the sea itself. It wasn't her looks that attracted him though; he came across many beautiful women in his work as a freelance photographer. It was her loneliness and intensity that lured him. Even at some distance he was aware that she was different from any other woman he could meet.

Lisa sensed the man approaching even before she turned around. She had been aware of him standing there staring at her and had felt strangely calm about being observed. She looked at him and felt the instant spark of connection she had only experienced once before. He walked slowly towards her and they held each other's gaze. It felt like meeting a long lost friend - not a stranger on a strange beach.

Later, sitting at one of the many bars on the resort, sipping the local cocktails they began to talk. First pleasantries, their hotels, the quality of the food and friendliness of the locals. Their conversation was strangely hesitant considering the naturalness and confidence of their earlier meeting. Onlookers, however, would have detected the subtle flirtation as they mirrored each other's actions and spoke directly into each other's eyes. Only later, after the alcohol had had its loosening effect, did the conversation deepen. They talked of why they were here and finally, against her judgement, Lisa opened up about her heartache of the past year and how events had led her back to the place where she had married the only man she believed she could ever love. She told him of things that had been locked deep inside her, able to tell no one. She told him how she had felt after she had lost her baby.

She was six months pregnant and the happiest she had ever been when the pains had started. She was staying with her mother as James was working out of town. He hadn't made it back in time. The doctor had said it was just one of those things, that they could try again. But how could she when she couldn't even look James in the eye. She hated him then, for not being there, for not hurting as much as her but most of all for looking so much like the tiny baby boy that she held for just three hours before the took him away. All through the following months she had withdrawn from her husband, family, friends. Not wanting to recover form the pain she felt - that would have been a betrayal of her son. At the funeral she had refused to stand next to her husband and the next day she had left him.

Looking up, Lisa could see her pain reflected in the man's eyes. For the first time in months she didn't feel alone, she felt the unbearable burden begin to lift from her, only a bit but it was a start. She began to believe that maybe she had a future after all and maybe it could be with this man, with his kind hazel eyes, wet with their shared tears.

They had come here to dissolve their marriage but maybe there was hope. Lisa stood up and took James by the hand and led him away from the bar towards the beech where they had made their vows to each other three years ago. Tomorrow she would cancel the divorce; tonight they would work on renewing their promises.

Marriage,Love and Freedom

You are asking, "Is it possible to be married and to be free?"

If you take marriage non-seriously, then you can be free. If you take it seriously, then freedom is impossible. Take marriage just as a game -- it is a game. Have a little sense of humor, that it is a role you are playing on the stage of life; but it is not something that belongs to existence or has any reality -- it is a fiction.

But people are so stupid that they even start taking fiction for reality. I have seen people reading fiction with tears in their eyes, because in the fiction things are going so tragically. It is a very good device in the movies that they put the lights off, so everybody can enjoy the movie, laugh, cry, be sad, be happy.

If there was light it would be a little difficult -- what will others think? And they know perfectly well that the screen is empty -- there is nobody; it is just a projected picture. But they forget it completely.

And the same has happened with our lives. Many things which are simply to be taken humorously, we take so seriously -- and from that seriousness begins our problem.

In the first place, why should you get married? You love someone, live with someone -- it is part of your basic rights. You can live with someone, you can love someone.

Marriage is not something that happens in heaven, it happens here, through the crafty priests. But if you want to join the game with society and don't want to stand alone and aloof, you make it clear to your wife or to your husband that this marriage is just a game:

"Never take it seriously. I will remain as independent as I was before marriage, and you will remain as independent as you were before marriage. Neither I am going to interfere in your life, nor are you going to interfere in my life; we will live as two friends together, sharing our joys, sharing our freedom -- but not becoming a burden on each other.

And any moment we feel that the spring has passed, the honeymoon is over, we will be sincere enough not to go on pretending, but to say to each other that we loved much -- and we will remain grateful to each other forever, and the days of love will haunt us in our memories, in our dreams, as golden -- but the spring is over.

Our paths have come to a point, where although it is sad, we have to part, because now, living together is not a sign of love. If I love you, I will leave you the moment I see my love has become a misery to you. If you love me, you will leave me the moment you see that your love is creating an imprisonment for me."

Love is the highest value in life: It should not be reduced to stupid rituals. And love and freedom go together -- you cannot choose one and leave the other. A man who knows freedom is full of love, and a man who knows love is always willing to give freedom.

If you cannot give freedom to the person you love, to whom can you give freedom? Giving freedom is nothing but trusting. Freedom is an expression of love.

So whether you are married or not, remember, all marriages are fake -- just social conveniences. Their purpose is not to imprison you and bind you to each other; their purpose is to help you to grow with each other. But growth needs freedom; and in the past, all the cultures have forgotten that without freedom, love dies.

You see a bird on the wing in the sun, in the sky, and it looks so beautiful. Attracted by its beauty, you can catch the bird and put it in a golden cage.

Do you think it is the same bird? Superficially, yes, it is the same bird who was flying in the sky; but deep down it is not the same bird -- because where is its sky, where is its freedom?

This golden cage may be valuable to you; it is not valuable to the bird. For the bird, to be free in the sky is the only valuable thing in life. And the same is true about human beings.

I like the subtle

I like the subtle fresh green budding from the branches of the tree -- the herald of spring, ushering in the dawn...

I like the subtle flow of cloud that makes the sky seem even more vast, azure and immense...

I like the subtle wind. In spring, it steals a kiss on my cheek; in autumn, it caresses my face; in summer, it brings in cool sweet smell; in winter, it carries a crisp chilliness...

I like the subtle taste of tea that last long after a sip. The subtle bitter is what it is meant to be...

I like the subtle friendship that does not hold people together. In stead, an occasional greeting spreads our longings far beyond...

I like the subtle longing for a friend, when I sink deeply in a couch, mind wandering in memories of the past...

Love should also be subtle, without enslaving the ones fallen into her arms. Not a bit less nor a bit more...

Subtle friendship is true; subtle greetings are enough; subtle love is tender; subtle longing is deep; subtle wishes come from the bottom of your heart...

The 4 Wives

There was a rich merchant who had 4 wives. He loved the 4th wife the most and adorned her with rich robes and treated her to delicacies. He took great care of her and gave her nothing but the best.
　　He also loved the 3rd wife very much. He’s very proud of her and always wanted to show off her to his friends. However, the merchant is always in great fear that she might run away with some other men.
　　He too, loved his 2nd wife. She is a very considerate person, always patient and in fact is the merchant’s confidante. Whenever the merchant faced some problems, he always turned to his 2nd wife and she would always help him out and tide him through difficult times.
　　Now, the merchant’s 1st wife is a very loyal partner and has made great contributions in maintaining his wealth and business as well as taking care of the household. However, the merchant did not love the first wife and although she loved him deeply, he hardly took notice of her.
　　One day, the merchant fell ill. Before long, he knew that he was going to die soon. He thought of his luxurious life and told himself, “Now I have 4 wives with me. But when I die, I’ll be alone. How lonely I’ll be!”
　　Thus, he asked the 4th wife, “I loved you most, and owed you with the finest clothing and showered great care over you. Now that I’m dying, will you follow me and keep me company?” “No way!” replied the 4th wife and she walked away without another word.
　　The answer cut like a sharp knife right into the merchant’s heart. The sad merchant then asked the 3rd wife, “I have loved you so much for all my life. Now that I’m dying, will you follow me and keep me company?” “No!” replied the 3rd wife. “Life is so good over here! I’m going to remarry when you die!” The merchant’s heart sank and turned cold.
　　He then asked the 2nd wife, “I always turned to you for help and you’ve always helped me out. Now I need your help again. When I die, will you follow me and keep me company?” “I’m sorry, I can’t help you out this time!” replied the 2nd wife. “At the very most, I can only send you to your grave.” The answer came like a bolt of thunder and the merchant was devastated.
　　Then a voice called out: “I’ll leave with you. I’ll follow you no matter where you go.” The merchant looked up and there was his first wife. She was so skinny, almost like she suffered from malnutrition. Greatly grieved, the merchant said, “I should have taken much better care of you while I could have!”
　　Actually, we all have 4 wives in our lives
　　The 4th wife is our body. No matter how much time and effort we lavish in making it look good, it’ll leave us when we die.
　　Our 3rd wife is our possessions, status and wealth. When we die, they all go to others.
　　The 2nd wife is our family and friends. No matter how close they had been there for us when we’re alive, the furthest they can stay by us is up to the grave.
　　The 1st wife is in fact our soul, often neglected in our pursuit of material, wealth and sensual pleasure.
　　Guess what? It is actually the only thing that follows us wherever we go. Perhaps it’s a good idea to cultivate and strengthen it now rather than to wait until we’re on our deathbed to lament.

An Ingenious Love Letter

There once lived a lad who was deeply in love with a girl, but disliked by the girl’s father, who didn’t want to see any further development of their love. The lad was eager to write to the girl, yet he was quite sure that the father would read it first. So he wrote such a letter to the girl:

My love for you I once expressed
no longer lasts, instead, my distaste for you
is growing with each passing day. Next time I see you,
I even won’t like that look yours.
I’ll do nothing but
look away from you. You can never expect I’ll
marry you. The last chat we had
was so dull and dry that you shouldn’t think it made me eager to see you again.
If we get married, I firmly believe I’ll
live a hard life, I can never
live happily with you, I’ll devote myself
but not
to you. No one else is more
harsh and selfish and least
solicitous and considerate than you.
I sincerely want to let you know
what I said is true. Please do me a favor by
ending our relations and refrain from
writing me a reply. Your letter is always full of
things which displease me. You have no
sincere care for me. So long! Please believe
I don’t love you any longer. Don’t think
I still have a love of you!

Having read the letter, the father felt relieved and gave it to his daughter with a light heart. The girl also felt quite pleased after she read it carefully, her lad still had a deep love for her. Do you know why? In fact, she felt very sad when she read the letter for the first time. But she read it for a few more times and , at last, she found the key – only every other line should be read, that is the first line, the third, the fifth … and so on to the end.

A Letter in the Wallet

It was a freezing day, a few years ago, when I stumbled upon a wallet in the street. There was no identification inside. Just three dollars, and a crumpled letter that looked as if it had been carried around for years.

The only thing legible on the torn envelope was the return address. I opened the letter and saw that it had been written in 1944 — almost 60 years ago. I read it carefully, hoping to find some clue to the identity of the wallet's owner.

It was a "Dear John" letter. The writer, in a delicate script, told the recipient, whose name was Michael, that her mother forbade her to see him again. Nevertheless, she would always love him. It was signed Hannah.

It was a beautiful letter. But there was no way, beyond the name Michael, to identify the owner. Perhaps if I called information the operator could find the phone number for the address shown on the envelope.

"Operator, this is an unusual request. I'm trying to find the owner of a wallet I found. Is there any way you could tell me the phone number for an address that was on a letter in the wallet?"

The operator gave me her supervisor, who said there was a phone listed at the address, but that she could not give me the number. However, she would call and explain the situation. Then, if the party wanted to talk, she would connect me. I waited a minute and she came back on the line. "I have a woman who will speak with you."

I asked the woman if she knew a Hannah.

"Oh, of course! We bought this house from Hannah's family thirty years ago."

"Would you know where they could be located now?" I asked.

"Hannah had to place her mother in a nursing home years ago. Maybe the home could help you track down the daughter."

The woman gave me the name of the nursing home. I called and found out that Hannah's mother had died. The woman I spoke with gave me an address where she thought Hannah could be reached.

I phoned. The woman who answered explained that Hannah herself was now living in a nursing home. She gave me the number. I called and was told, "Yes, Hannah is with us."

I asked if I could stop by to see her. It was almost 10 p.m. The director said Hannah might be asleep. "But if you want to take a chance, maybe she's in the day room watching television."

The director and a guard greeted me at the door of the nursing home. We went up to the third floor and saw the nurse, who told us that Hannah was indeed watching TV. 　

We entered the day room. Hannah was a sweet, silver-haired old-timer with a warm smile and friendly eyes. I told her about finding the wallet and showed her the letter. The second she saw it, she took a deep breath. "Young man," she said, "this letter was the last contact I had with Michael." She looked away for a moment, then said pensively, "I loved him very much. But I was only sixteen and my mother felt I was too young. He was so handsome. You know, like Sean Connery, the actor."

We both laughed. The director then left us alone. "Yes, Michael Goldstein was his name. If you find him, tell him I still think of him often. I never did marry," she said, smiling through tears that welled up in her eyes. "I guess no one ever matched up to Michael..."

I thanked Hannah, said good-bye and took the elevator to the first floor. As I stood at the door, the guard asked, "Was the old lady able to help you?"

I told him she had given me a lead. "At least I have a last name. But I probably won't pursue it further for a while." I explained that I had spent almost the whole day trying to find the wallet's owner.

While we talked, I pulled out the brown-leather case with its red-lanyard lacing and showed it to the guard. He looked at it closely and said, "Hey, I'd know that anywhere. That's Mr. Goldstein's. He's always losing it. I found it in the hall at least three times."

"Who's Mr. Goldstein?" I asked. "He's one of the old-timers on the eighth floor. That's Mike Goldstein's wallet, for sure. He goes out for a walk quite often."

I thanked the guard and ran back to the director's office to tell him what the guard had said. He accompanied me to the eighth floor. I prayed that Mr. Goldstein would be up.

"I think he's still in the day room," the nurse said. "He likes to read at night...a darling old man."
We went to the only room that had lights on, and there was a man reading a book. The director asked him if he had lost his wallet. Michael Goldstein looked up, felt his back pocket and then said, "Goodness, it is missing."

"This kind gentleman found a wallet. Could it be yours?"

The second he saw it, he smiled with relief. "Yes," he said, "that's it. Must have dropped it this afternoon. I want to give you a reward."

"Oh, no thank you," I said. "But I have to tell you something. I read the letter in the hope of finding out who owned the wallet."

The smile on his face disappeared. "You read that letter?"

"Not only did I read it, I think I know where Hannah is."

He grew pale. "Hannah? You know where she is? How is she? Is she still as pretty as she was?"
I hesitated.

"Please tell me!" Michael urged.

"She's fine, and just as pretty as when you knew her."

"Could you tell me where she is? I want to call her tomorrow."

He grabbed my hand and said, "You know something? When that letter came, my life ended. I never married. I guess I've always loved her."

"Michael," I said. "Come with me." The three of us took the elevator to the third floor. We walked toward the day room where Hannah was sitting, still watching TV. The director went over to her.

"Hannah," he said softly. "Do you know this man?" Michael and I stood waiting in the doorway.

She adjusted her glasses, looked for a moment, but didn't say a word.

"Hannah, it's Michael. Michael Goldstein. Do you remember?"

"Michael? Michael? It's you!"

He walked slowly to her side. She stood and they embraced. Then the two of them sat on a couch, held hands and started to talk. The director and I walked out, both of us crying.

"See how the good Lord works," I said philosophically. "If it's meant to be. It will be." Three weeks later, I got a call from the director who asked, "Can you break away on Sunday to attend a wedding?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Yup(=yes), Michael and Hannah are going to tie the knot!"

It was a lovely wedding, with all the people at the nursing home joining in the celebration. Hannah wore a beige dress and looked beautiful. Michael wore a dark blue suit and stood tall. The home gave them their own room, and if you ever wanted to see a 76-year-old bride and a 78-year old groom acting like two teen-agers, you had to see this couple.

A perfect ending for a love affair that had lasted nearly 60 years.

Where Are We Heading

　　The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings, but shorter tempers; wider freeways, but narrower viewpoints; we spend more, but have less; we buy more but enjoy less.

　　We have bigger houses and smaller families; more conveniences, but less time; we have more degrees, but less sense; more knowledge, but less judgment; more experts, but more problems; more medicine, but less wellness.

　　We drink too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get too angry too quickly, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too little, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom.

　　We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often. We’ve learned how to make a living, but not a life; we’ve added years to life, not life to years.

　　We’ve been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet the new neighbor. We’ve conquered outer space, but not inner space; we’ve done larger things, but not better things.

　　We’ve cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul; we’ve split the atom, but not our prejudice. We write more, but learn less; we plan more, but accomplish less.

　　We’ve learned to rush, but not to wait; we have higher incomes, but, lower morals.

　　We build more computers to hold more information to produce more copies than ever, but have less communication; we’ve become long on quantity, but short on quality.

　　These are the days of two incomes, but more divorce; of fancier houses, but more broken homes.

　　These are the days of quick trips, disposable diapers, throw away morality, one night stands, overweight bodies, and pills that do everything from cheer, to quiet, to kill. Where are we heading...?

　　If we die tomorrow, the company that we are working for could easily replace us in a matter of days. But the family we left behind will feel the loss for the rest of their lives.

　　And come to think of it, we pour ourselves more into work than to our family an unwise investment indeed.

　　So what is the morale of the story???

　　Don’t work too hard... and you know what’s the full word of family?

　　FAMILY = (F)ATHER (A)ND (M)OTHER, (I) (L)OVE (Y)OU.

Free to fly with the wind

One windy spring day, I observed young people having fun using the wind to fly their kites. Multicolored creations of varying shapes and sizes filled the skies like beautiful birds darting and dancing. As the strong winds gusted against the kites, a string kept them in check.

Instead of blowing away with the wind, they arose against it to achieve great heights. They shook and pulled, but the restraining string and the cumbersome tail kept them in tow, facing upward and against the wind. As the kites struggled and trembled against the string, they seemed to say, “Let me go! Let me go! I want to be free!” They soared beautifully even as they fought the restriction of the string. Finally, one of the kites succeeded in breaking loose. “Free at last,” it seemed to say. “Free to fly with the wind.”

Yet freedom from restraint simply put it at the mercy of an unsympathetic breeze. It fluttered ungracefully to the ground and landed in a tangled mass of weeds and string against a dead bush. “Free at last” free to lie powerless in the dirt, to be blown helplessly along the ground, and to lodge lifeless against the first obstruction.

How much like kites we sometimes are. The Heaven gives us adversity and restrictions, rules to follow from which we can grow and gain strength. Restraint is a necessary counterpart to the winds of opposition. Some of us tug at the rules so hard that we never soar to reach the heights we might have obtained. We keep part of the commandment and never rise high enough to get our tails off the ground.

Let us each rise to the great heights, recognizing that some of the restraints that we may chafe under are actually the steadying force that helps us ascend and achieve.

Relationship that Lasts

If somebody tells you, “ I’ll love you for ever,” will you believe it? 　　

I don’t think there’s any reason not to. we are ready to believe such commitment at the moment, whatever change may happen afterwards. as for the belief in an everlasting love, that’s another thing. 　　

Then you may be asked whether there is such a thing as an everlasting love. I’d answer i believe in it. but an everlasting love is not immutable. 　　

You may unswervingly love or be loved by a person. but love will change its composition with the passage of time. it will not remain the same. in the course of your growth and as a result of your increased experience, love will become something different to you. 　　

In the beginning you believed a fervent love for a person could last indefinitely. By and by, however,“ fervent” gave way to “ prosaic” . Precisely because of this change it became possible for love to last. then what was meant by an everlasting love would eventually end up in a sort of interdependence. 　　

We used to insist on the difference between love and liking. the former seemed much more beautiful than the latter. one day, however, it turns out there’s really no need to make such difference. liking is actually a sort of love. by the same token, the everlasting interdependence is actually an everlasting love. 　　

I wish i could believe there was somebody who would love me for ever. That’s, as we all know, too romantic to be true. Instead, it will more often than not be a case of lasting relationship.  

If I Were a Boy Again

　　If I were a boy again, I would practice perseverance more often, and never give up a thing because it was or inconvenient. If we want light, we must conquer darkness. Perseverance can sometimes equal genius in its results. “There are only two creatures,” says a proverb, “Who can surmount the pyramids — the eagle and the snail.”

　　If I were a boy again, I would school myself into a habit of attention; I would let nothing come between me and the subject in hand. I would remember that a good skater never tries to skate in two directions at once.

　　The habit of attention becomes part of our life, if we begin early enough. I often hear grown up people say, “I could not fix my attention on the sermon or book, although I wished to do so”, and the reason is, the habit was not formed in youth.

　　If I were to live my life over again, I would pay more attention to the cultivation of the memory. I would strengthen that faculty by every possible means, and on every possible occasion. It takes a little hard work at first to remember things accurately; but memory soon helps itself, and gives very little trouble. It only needs early cultivation to become a power.

　　If I were a boy again, I would cultivate courage. “Nothing is so mild and gentle as courage, nothing so cruel and pitiless as cowardice,” says a wise author.

　　We too often borrow trouble, and anticipate that may never appear.” The fear of ill exceeds the ill we fear.” Dangers will arise in any career, but presence of mind will often conquer the worst of them. Be prepared for any fate, and there is no harm to be feared.

　　If I were a boy again, I would look on the cheerful side. Life is very much like a mirror: if you smile upon it, I smiles back upon you; but if you frown and look doubtful on it, you will get a similar look in return.

　　Inner sunshine warms not only the heart of the owner, but of all that come in contact with it. “Who shuts love out, in turn shall be shut out from love.”

　　Importance of learning very early in life to gain that point where a young boy can stand erect, and decline.

　　If I were a boy again, I would school myself to say no more often. I might write pages on the doing an unworthy act because it is unworthy.

　　If I were a boy again, I would demand of myself more courtesy towards my companions and friends, and indeed towards strangers as well. The smallest courtesies along the rough roads of life are like the little birds that sing to us all winter long, and make that season of ice and snow more endurable.

　　Finally, instead of trying hard to be happy, as if that were the sole purpose of life, I would, if I were a boy again, I would still try harder to make others happy.