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USKLADI SE S RITMOM ŽIVOTA

USKLADI SE S RITMOM ŽIVOTA
Dok nisi spreman predati Mi se i naći vremena da se smiriš i uskladiš sa Mnom, ne mogu djelovati u tebi i kroz tebe. Zapamti da ti uvijek moraš izvršiti svoj dio

Vodič za 11. Veljače

       Dok nisi spreman predati Mi se i naći vremena da se smiriš i uskladiš sa Mnom, ne mogu djelovati u tebi i kroz tebe. Zapamti da ti uvijek moraš izvršiti svoj dio. Moraš staviti prave stvari na pravo mjesto i dok to činiš otvaraš sva vrata i Ja mogu činiti čuda u tebi i kroz tebe. Bez prolaza u tebi, Moj posao zaostaje. Meni je potrebno sve više kanala očišćenih od ega, tako da ne bude ničega što bi zaustavilo slobodni protok u tebi i kroz tebe. Ja te ne mogu koristiti ako se ti sam ne predaš. Ja nikad ništa ne uzimam ukoliko nije slobodno dano. Zato se predaj sav Meni, ništa ne zadržavaj i u svom predavanju potpuno zaboravi svoj ego. Uskladi se s ritmom života, s Mojim ritmom i teci s lakoćom i skladom. Ne gubi više vrijeme razmišljajući o tome, već učini nešto sada.

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  • 11.02.2024. 09:46h

    Član emilio-iiMerlin0

    Citat za (pro)čitat - iiiii............

    *“There were three individuals who all died in the same tragic road
    accident,” don Juan said as he looked into my eyes and his reflected the
    sunset. “One was an extremely wealthy middle-aged man. One was a
    working man of average means. And one was a six-year-old boy. After a time
    in spirit transition, each one found themselves at a gateway, a crossroads, a
    tunnel. Within the tunnel was a guardian and this guardian spoke its challenge
    to the three newly dead.
    “‘You have each died. You will not go back again to live. Yet you must
    each go back and select one thing from your lives to present as the
    representative, the token of the lives that you have lived,’ the guardian said.
    ‘This will determine where you go from here. To accomplish this task, you
    will be given what would be the equivalent of one day in the world from
    which you have come. No one from your life there will be able to see or hear
    you during this special time, so do not waste any of it on that. Select your gift
    and then return here to where you now wait. Do not become lost in
    forgetfulness or remorse.’
    “With that, all three of them found themselves with the ability to move back
    into the domain of their everyday lives as though they were within a lucid
    dream. The first gentleman went straight to his mansion. He surveyed, with
    the relish of one last look, all of the fine collectible items he had amassed
    during the course of his life—his antiques, crystal, finely crafted porcelain,
    massive furnishings, exquisite luxuries, and world-famous art. From all of
    this he had one treasure he loved most of all: a priceless solid-gold Roman
    Imperial candelabra from the time of Jesus, his favorite period of history. He
    retrieved this from his household and went back to wait at the entrance to the
    tunnel.
    “The second man had no fine things and he was very embarrassed about the
    stage of life in which his death had caught him. He had not found the best in
    himself. He was not happy. Neither was he successful. His home was a
    cheap, filthy dump. None of his personal relationships had worked out for
    him. He had never allowed himself to fully reveal, accept, express, or
    experience pure genuine love. He had made many mistakes and none of them
    were completely corrected. His human values had been, well, less than
    admirable for the most part. He had dealt somewhat dishonestly with his
    fellows and was a liar, a misrepresenter, and a braggart without cause,
    mostly about trivial, petty things. In the light of the end of his life, he saw all
    of this with painful clarity.
    “He retrieved an empty journal from his abode and began the task of
    writing a long lament and a recapitulation, a recounting and an expression of
    remorse for every lousy, substandard, cowardly, selfish moment he had ever
    lived or failed to live. It was this journal that he intended as his offering to
    the throne of heaven, in the hopes that in some small way it could atone for
    the sins he had committed and for all the good that he had failed to do.
    “The last of the three was the young boy, who had no fine things and no
    long life filled with mistakes to apologize for. All the boy possessed that was
    worth anything to him, all he truly loved, was a dead butterfly collection.
    Each of the specimens had been found on the ground in perfect condition after
    having died. He hadn’t killed a single one. He had merely retrieved each
    from its fate with infinite care. He went into his childhood bedroom and
    selected from the glass case the most sublimely beautiful specimen he had
    ever found.
    “Thus at the end of the day allowed them, the three recently departed
    spirits returned to the tunnel and to the passageway to the light, there to wait
    before the entrance to the throne of heaven. At the appointed time, the
    guardian angel returned to demand that each one bring forth his gift in turn.
    The first man approached and proudly set down a twenty-four-karat-gold
    Roman candelabra. He placed it before the threshold of the throne of heaven.
    And it was judged as a gift and nothing more.
    “The second man approached and laid down his apologetic before the
    angel.
    “This was judged as an attempt. There was silence. Now it was the boy’s
    turn to approach and he trembled with fear at the pitiful gift he held in his
    hand. He was not the rich master of a large estate, nor had he lived a long life
    that could be counted as an epic tale of his vast experiences. Still, he was no
    coward. He had what he had to offer and that was all. He was sincere.
    Trembling, he approached the light and gently placed his dead butterfly at the
    angel’s feet.
    “Suddenly a celestial chorus rained down upon the boy like a waterfall and
    the finger of God emerged from the light to touch the immobile wings of the
    butterfly. The vaulted heavens opened. Instantly the butterfly flew up in the
    most exquisite pattern and with its flight the boy was lifted up through the
    golden white celestial light to a place that the others could only imagine.
    “When the light receded from above and only the light at the end of the
    tunnel remained, the two men were taken off to the side, away from the tunnel
    and the light, to a darker place of instruction. For though they had witnessed
    everything that transpired, they did not understand why the boy’s gift had
    been selected and theirs had not.”
    I was shivering uncontrollably when don Juan finished recounting his tale,
    even though it was a warm desert twilight. The owls were out. I felt as
    though I had been bathed in ice water. My lower lip was trembling and my
    eyes were so watery that the entire landscape looked like an impressionistic
    painting done in periwinkle blue.
    “The journey is not for cowards,” don Juan said as he turned again to me.
    “You are not at all fearful, but you are tender hearted and appalled by the
    condition of life on Earth. You think that this is well hidden, but it isn’t. It’s
    obvious. Now you have seen how beings can die here and this is even more
    horrifying for you, but it doesn’t have to be that way, or rather, beings do not
    have to die in a squalid manner. You can’t speak now. You don’t know how
    to tell me what is in your heart, what has happened, but it’s not necessary. I
    can see through all that.”
    “Someone I love died horribly with unfinished business,” I blurted out.
    “And you think this is somehow your fault?” he asked me with a sardonic
    inflection.
    “No, it isn’t. He offered himself. But I am beginning to realize that how we
    live and how we die affects everything. It affects all life and awareness
    wherever we are. It affects our journeys afterward.”
    “So it is,” don Juan mused.
    “What can we do about it?” I asked him.
    “Change the way you live and the way you die,” he challenged.
    “In your tale, the individuals had no time!” I insisted.
    “Exactly, we have no time,” he affirmed.
    “The boy, he used something else, something other than his intellect,
    something other than his memories, other than time,” I baited.
    “He used his heart, but first we have to have one,” don Juan conceded.
    “That’s the problem, isn’t it? The world has no heart. The boy didn’t need
    time! All he had was a handful of dead moments and still he made the right
    choice. He chose sincerely with love and humility. That was his wisdom and
    it was more moving in the eyes of heaven than all earthly riches or mental
    exercises.”
    “So much for your lost tongue,” don Juan smiled slyly. “You are right,” he
    smirked. “The whole civilized world goes around wearing watches and
    complaining that they have no time. They also say that time is money, so they
    must not have any of that either. Time is money, so make the most of every
    cent.”
    I began to laugh. This old fellow was quite profound, unconventional, and
    humorous. It was strange, but I also found him very handsome. Don Juan
    raised his brow as if he had read my thoughts.
    “What causes beings to lose heart, so that they make all the wrong
    choices?” I asked.
    “Oh, myriad things,” he sighed. “Fear, envy, denial, anger, vanity, abuse,
    self-pity, self-importance, greed, want, gluttony, ignorance, hunger for
    knowledge . . . or perhaps they were just made to be stupid. They certainly
    don’t teach love to one another. It has to grow up like a wild weed. And
    when they find it, if ever, they are so afraid of it that they try to convert it into
    what they are or even kill it. They replace it with the mirror reflection of
    themselves and then say ‘There . . . there now.’ They want carbon copies of
    themselves, false agreement in every petty way, and then they complain when
    that doesn’t satisfy.”
    “I know a story about that!” I exclaimed.
    “Let’s hear it,” don Juan said. “C’mon, hit me with it. Give me your best
    shot straight to the heart.”
    “There was once a king who lived alone in his palace surrounded by his
    court,” I began. “His only relief was the nightly song of a bird in the tree
    outside his bedroom window. Each and every night the bird would come to
    perch on a different branch of the tree and sing a beautiful song, never the
    same way twice.
    “The court found out about the nightly serenades and became jealous of the
    king’s attentions and affections. To vainly reacquire them, they constructed a
    solid-gold music box in the form of a bird and presented it to the king as a
    gift one night while in his bedchamber. He could listen to the mechanical bird
    any time he wished and keep it with him in his room, or he could even carry
    it around in his pocket.
    “At first the king was enchanted and didn’t notice that the song was always
    the same. He listened to the music box over and over, so often that he forgot
    to listen for his beloved in the tree outside his bedroom window. Eventually
    the little bird stopped coming to sing for him and went to sing alone in the
    tree of a far-off field.
    “After a time, the king grew heartsick with the monotonous song of the
    music box. He went to his window to listen for the bird, but she was gone.
    So he continued to listen to his toy bird and then one day the toy broke. The
    king became very ill and the court was selfishly fearful of his demise. They
    also felt some remorse for what they had done.
    “They sent out an emissary to look for the wild bird and they found her,
    singing alone in a tree by the river. They tried to bribe her with food to get
    her to follow them back, but she wasn’t interested in their morsels. Then they
    confessed to her that the king was sick.
    “Without another thought she flew back to him and began to sing in the tree
    outside his window. Her song had grown even more beautiful through her
    sadness and isolation, so lovely in fact that the king roused himself from his
    sickbed to ask her where she had been and why she had left him.
    “She replied that she had been hurt by his actions and by his lack of loyalty.
    Each night she had come freely of her own volition to offer her songs for him.
    There was never any question or doubt of her love for him nor any need of
    ownership. It did not even matter that he had become fascinated by a
    mechanical song, but what did matter very much was that he abandoned the
    window and had stopped listening to the genuine, which was the only thing
    he had ever truly loved in his life.
    “The king, heart struck, asked her why she had come back then. She
    replied, ‘Because I love you and they told me you have realized your true
    heart.’ It was hard for him to say that he had, for he was very saddened by the
    choice he had made. The little bird saw his sadness and stayed to sing in the
    tree for him all night.”
    “But he still died, didn’t he?” don Juan inferred.
    “Yes, he died that night, listening to the song,” I answered.
    “Was the little bird responsible then for his death?” he asked.
    “No,” I answered. “She brought him medicine so that he could have a good
    life and a good death.”
    “Did the little bird deserve to be imprisoned by the court in order to keep
    him alive?”
    “No,” I replied, “and he would never have allowed that, not after what he
    had learned.”
    “Neither are you responsible for the death in the world, nor for the manner
    of it, and you do not need to be imprisoned to keep it alive,” don Juan
    consoled. His left eye was slightly moist. “Just bring them your medicine.
    That’s all you can do.” And with those words and feelings, he concluded our
    storytelling for the night and we walked to his home in silence.***

    ..........iiiiiii što je bilo dalje-e ?

    Pa nema dalje........ kamo češ dalje !o'o!

    P.S:*. Bez savršenog razumijevanja samog sebe, nemoguće je naučiti razumjeti
    druge.”* ??

    A raz'um i jezik čine svijet takvim i takvim........ ???

  • 11.02.2024. 19:36h

    Član bglavacMerlin23

    Pozdrav Emilio2!

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    Dragim mališanima želim puno darova u čizmicama!

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