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Posts Tagged ‘Inspiration’

Some times things are not the way they seem

and yet we are sure they are.

 

As a young man, or not yet a man but a boy,

I sat on the railing of a very high bridge.

my feet dangling

my eyes looking down the gorge.

 

The place I lived in seemed to be the entire world

and at the moment it was not a happy one.

 

The war hadn’t even begun for years to come

yet  inside me it was already there.

 

I thought about leaning forward and letting go.

Letting go of the thoughts that haunted me.

Letting go of my reality painfully pounding me.

And also,

letting go of life.

 

Looking back,

I don’t see why

I just did not take one step.

One step

out of my reality

to see that there is more to things than they seem.

 

Or that even though they are

the way they seem,

one step away,

one small step away,

another reality,

another adventure

is waiting.

 

 

 

I did not let go,

I just sat there

for hours

staring at the black river

making its way forward.

 

 

 

I left

with no money in my pocket

and a broken heart in my chest

to find goodness

in places and strangers I did not know.

 

I also found,

war

pain

hunger

sorrow

and things

I wish I did not see,

but

never

will I stop

flowing forward

from reality to reality

 

For what would life have been worth

had I let go of the railing

not having felt

pure

unselfish kindness

love

friendship

and

tiny moments of inner peace.

 

 

 

 

“If you are not living good,

I beg you, travel wide.

Said I am a living man

I’ve got work to do…”

Bob Marley – Soul Rebel

Mentally or physically, please step out of your reality and into another.

When you feel you can do nothing for yourself, do something for others.

Please do good.

You might find things weren’t the way they seemed.

 

 

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Imagine if every person on Earth did at least one act of kindness today.

Imagine the kindness explosion and the positive ripple effect it would give!

Perfect love!

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Why do you seem so content when you have constant pain?

my friend asked.

 

I think I have no goal in life but to notice the small pieces of happiness and try to do good.

Maybe happiness is not to be reached.

Maybe it is just there for all to see who are not in a hurry to reach there.

Small pieces of positivity

in the midst of pain or daily life,

small moments of joy

if noticed,

will make me think before I die

I lived a happy life

 

For me happiness is:

 

Knowing that a special person knows she has inspired me to do better

Giving a homeless friend a place to sleep, an occasional visit to the cinema or sharing a meal

Hearing my father say to a woman that left me three years ago -I love you my child.

An invite to eat or sleep in an unknown’s home when travelling

A kind smile or look from a passerby

Listening to old people’s stories

Seeing a young person get up for an elderly person to sit down

The smell of rain on dry asphalt

You

To give love

Knowing that I don’t need things I see many others have

Music

Bringing a Thai meal for my 80-year-old grandmother and grandfather to tickle their taste buds in their otherwise bland non-spicy diet

Knowing that one of my friends sends haphazardous text messages with hugs to another troubled friend

Thinking about the bread my grandmother baked

Sitting in the place where my late grandfather and I reasoned for hours

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

and

knowing that my heart, soul and mind is who I am,

not my body,

nor what I can or can’t do.

 

 

 

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In my life I have indeed met some truly good people.

I come to think of it today since

I might have left a truly good woman

giving unconditional love.

 

Sometimes I feel there is something wrong with the world,

but hen I remember:

 

If we see good we don’t think that all is good.

When we see one thing or person being bad,

we generalize and many think that all persons or situations similar must be equally bad.

 

So why should not the opposite also be true?

You see one thing good = more things are good!

If it is, the world is not half as bad as I thought.

There is at least as much good as there is bad.

In fact the people that do good (uncoditionally) are many times not seen,

but they are there, among us everywhere.

Many of them are not older than they can show with their fingers.

 

I am talking about unconditional good

without any expectation of getting anything back at all:

 

leaving nice and comforting notes in a book at the library for a mother to be,

so called guerrilla goodness.

Or letting a refugee live in your house until ready to move on.

Or the unselfish goodness that happens when you most need it:

 

Some 18 years ago (before mobile phones and digital cameras)

I left my home in a hurry. Brokenhearted I spent my last money and flew to the other side of the world.

In the south of Mexico I chopped and cleared jungle for roads to pass,

people gave me food that was left over when restaurants closed,

poor families sharing what little food they had on trains that traveled so slow it took days to get where you were going.

Those were unselfish acts as well as the five Mariachis escorting me from parts of Mexico City in which I would not have lasted long.

Or the veterinarian taking me into his home, treating my typhoid fever for weeks without asking for nothing in return.

 

But above all

the little Zapotec boy

with torn clothes,

not a half man tall,

that just before nightfall

high up in the Oaxaca mountains

spent all his money

to pay the bus

for a skinny bearded long-haired-giant

a stranger

whom he had never met before

also giving me half his bread to eat

even though I did not understand a word of Chatino.

 

 

That is unconditional good

and

I have not forgotten you little hero

 

 

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“Nipa ye nipa” = “A human being is a human being”

The writing on this wall in Nsoatre, Ghana; in all its simplicity it means more than something I have ever read before.

Please read the post of a young person and very new blogger  who jolted the memory of  this photo and you will see the truth of the message expressed in a remarkable way far away from Ghana.

“we must have spectacles

through which we can see beyond

the prostitutes … ” 

(click and read the full spectacles post here)

Written by a very wise girl named Rida.  My guess is in Pakistan because of two clues: the language Urdu and the money rupee

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I cried for the first time in a long while.

Not only out of sorrow.

My tears went rolling down my cheeks as I realized how many people out there are doing good and how many people actually let their hearts guide them.

 

I love you

I love you for seeing the person and not the illness

I love you for seeing the individual and not the disability

I love you for talking to the person carried by the wheel chair and not to the person pushing it

I love you for doing good for others

I love you for not being afraid to still visit your neighbor, friend or workmate when they or someone in their family is struggeling.

I love you for being there when you are not sure what to do.

 

Hala

In Sweden, the apartment buildings most of the time has a slot in the door for the mailman to deliver the mail. It is about an inch wide 3 feet above ground and just wide enough to put your fingers through it after opening the lid.

I lived in a place where my neighbor was the sweetest father I have ever seen. Always outside playing with his little daughter for hours at a time, the youngest of four children. Her birthday is on February 14, easy to remember because of Valentine’s day. Such an adorable child, full of energy, curly locks and big brown eyes.

As soon as she started walking she used to stand on the balcony of the first floor greeting people going in and out of the building, always putting a smile on my face.

One day,

as I was walking up the stairs inside the building,

I heard my name echo in a fragile voice.

I turned around and saw no one.

I kept walking and there it was again:

 

david … david … david

 

I walked back down a couple of steps and through the slot three feet up  in the door of the first floor I saw the most adorable pair of eyes looking at me.

 

Today Hala is 4 almost 5.

She is a fighter, and a bundle of Palestinian-Swedish joy.

Hala has been and still is fighting a vicious cancer for several years. Her family’s weapon in this fight is never ending love. Something they will need as the struggle continues.

Donna

Today I read Donna’s story

Chris led me to it.

That is why I cried.

Today 3 out of 4 kids in Sweden survive cancer. My best friend did too, even though the odds in the 80s were not good. Please help improving those odds.

In Sweden: http://barncancerfonden.se/

In the US: http://www.childrenscancer.org/main/ways_to_donate/

or help Chris and Donna’s Good Things here

Love can take us far but money will do too. Many small drops makes a river in the end.

Stay strong warriors of love!

To Remind me

Please people add more links in the comment section, especially for other countries

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When I was eight I had an old lady as my teacher. At least I thought she was old. She always had long dresses with flowers on.

Once the whole class was invited to her home. It was a small apartment. She had baked cookies. I liked them and asked for the recipe. I found it some years ago among the few belongings I still have. It said “Teacher Märta´s cookies” in bad handwriting.

An accident had just changed my life and I was feeling quite emotional. I always liked her and felt it was a shame I had never told her so.

I thought she must be dead by now, but recalled where she lived back then. I looked her name up in the digital phone book here in Sweden. She still lived at the same address!

I remembered her with love in my heart and gave her a call. I told her my name, and would you believe it but she remembered me, some 30 years later. She even asked me how my two best friends from then were doing.

She was eighty years old by now. We talked for a long while.

Her remembering me just filled my heart with joy and brought tears to my eyes. She told me I had been one of her favorite pupils. Something I would have never guessed, since I could never keep my mouth shut and never remember to raise my hand in class.

Even my mother was surprised when I said I had called her. She told me that she thought that Märta did not like me.
I think subconsciously that she was the one that planted the seed of becoming a teacher in me.
Just thinking about this still brings tears to my eyes.

Märta Carlsson, I still love you

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