Destiny

There was a merchant in Baghdad who sent his servant to market to buy provisions and in a little while the servant came back, white and trembling, and said, “Master, just now when I was in the market-place I was jostled by a woman in the crowd and when I turned I saw it was Death that jostled me. She looked at me and made a threatening gesture; now, lend me your horse, and I will ride away from this city and avoid my fate. I will go to Samarra and there Death will not find me.”

The merchant lent him his horse, and the servant mounted it, and he dug his spurs in its flanks and as fast as the horse could gallop he went.

Then the merchant went down to the marketplace and he saw Death standing in the crowd and he approached Death and said, “Why did you make a threatening gesture to my servant when you saw him this morning?” “That was not a threatening gesture,” Death said, “it was only a stare of surprise. I was astonished to see him in Baghdad, for I had an appointment with him tonight in Samarra.

-an Arab tale

Old vs New

Fruit was very scarce in the desert. God summoned one of his prophets and said:

‘Each person should be allowed to eat only one piece of fruit a day.’

The custom was obeyed for generations, and the ecology of the area was preserved. Since the uneaten fruit bore seeds, other trees grew up. Soon that whole region became very fertile, the envy of other cities.

However, faithful to the order an ancient prophet had passed on to their ancestors, the people continued to eat only one piece of fruit a day. Moreover, they would not allow the inhabitants of other towns to enjoy each year’s abundant crop of fruit. The result: the fruit rotted on the ground.

God summoned a new prophet and said:

‘Let them eat as much fruit as they like, and ask them to share out the surplus with their neighbours.’

The prophet arrived in the city with this new message, but so deeply rooted was the custom in their hearts and minds, that the city’s inhabitants stoned him.

As time passed, the young people began to question this barbarous custom, but since the traditions of the elders were untouchable, they decided instead to abandon their religion. That way they could eat as much fruit as they liked and give the rest to those who needed it.

The only people who continued to attend the local church believed themselves to be most holy. In fact, they were merely incapable of seeing that the world changes and that we must change with it.

-A Jewish story

Just passing through

An American tourist went to Cairo to visit the famous Polish rabbi Hafez Ayim. The tourist was surprised to see that the rabbi lived in a simple, book-lined room, in which the only pieces of furniture were a table and a bench.

‘Rabbi, where’s all your furniture?’ asked the tourist.

‘Why, where’s yours?’ retorted Hafez.

‘Mine? But I’m just passing through.’ said the tourist.

‘So am I,’ said the rabbi.

-Paulo Coelho

Children and Prayers

A Protestant priest, having started a family, no longer had any peace for his prayers. One night, when he knelt down, he was disturbed by the children in the living room.
"Have the children keep quiet!" he shouted.
His startled wife obeyed. Thereafter, whenever the priest came home, they all maintained silence during prayers. But he realized that God was no longer listening.
One night, during his prayers, he asked the Lord: "What is going on? I have the necessary peace, and I cannot pray!"
An angel replied: "He hears words, but no longer hears the laughter. He notices the devotion, but can no longer see the joy."
The priest stood and shouted once again to his wife: "Have the children play! They are part of prayer!" And his words were heard by God once again.

-Paulo Coelho

Rabbi and the Spirit

It was New Year's night, and the Rabbi was walking to his home when he met a shadowy figure. He was stunned to see that it was a man of the city who had recently died! "What are you doing here?" the Rabbi asked, "you are supposed to be dead."

"Rabbi, you know that," replied the spirit, "this is the night when souls reincarnate on earth. I am such a soul."
"And why were you sent back again?"
"I led a perfectly blameless life here on earth," the spirit told him.
"And yet," remarked the Rabbi, "you were forced to be born here again?"
"Yes," said the other, "when I passed on, I went thought about everything I had done and I found it so good; I had done everything just right. My heart swelled with pride, and just then I died. So I was sent back to pay for that."

The figure disappeared and the Rabbi, pondering, went on to his home. Shortly after, a son was born to his wife. The child became Rabbi Wolf, who was an extremely humble man.

-Unknown

A Zen Story

Ryokan, a Zen master, lived the simplest kind of life in a little hut at the foot of a mountain. One evening a thief visited the hut only to discover there was nothing to steal.

Ryokan returned and caught him. "You have come a long way to visit me," he told the prowler, "and you should not return empty-handed. Please take my clothes as a gift."

The thief was bewildered. He took the clothes and slunk away.

Ryoken sat naked, watching the moon. "Poor fellow," he mused, "I wish I could have given him this beautiful moon."

Guardian Angels

On an evening two angels met at the city gate, and they greeted one another, and they conversed.
The one angel said, "What are you doing these days, and what work is given you?"
And the other answered, "It was been assigned me to be the guardian of a fallen man who lives down in the valley, a great sinner, most degraded. Let me assure you it is an important task, and I work hard."
The first angel said, "That is an easy commission. I have often known sinners, and have been their guardian many a time. But it has now been assigned me to be the guardian of the good saint who lives in a bower out yonder. And I assure you that is an exceedingly difficult work, and most subtle."
Said the first angel, "This is but assumption. How can guarding a saint be harder than guarding a sinner?"
And the other answered, "What impertinence, to call me assumptious! I have stated but the truth. Methinks it is you who are assumptious!"

Then the angels wrangled and fought, first with words and then with fists and wings.
While they were fighting an archangel came by. And he stopped them, and said, "Why do you fight? And what is it all about? Know you not that it is most unbecoming for guardian angels to fight at the city gate? Tell me, what is your disagreement?"
Then both angels spoke at once, each claiming that the work given him was the harder, and that he deserved the greater recognition.
The archangel shook his head and bethought him.
Then he said, "My friends, I cannot say now which one of you has the greater claim upon honor and reward. But since the power is bestowed in me, therefore for peace' sake and for good guardianship, I give each of you the other's occupation, since each of you insists that the other's task is the easier one. Now go hence and be happy at your work."
The angels thus ordered went their ways. But each one looked backward with greater anger at the archangel. And in his heart each was saying, "Oh, these archangels! Every day they make life harder and still harder for us angels!"
But the archangel stood there, and once more he bethought him. And he said in his heart, "We have indeed, to be watchful and to keep guard over our guardian angels."

-Kahlil Gibran

Entertaining Angels

It was fifty years ago, on a hot summer day, in the deep south. We lived on a dirt road, on a sand lot. We were, what was known as "dirt poor". I had been playing outside all morning in the sand.

Suddenly, I heard a sharp clanking sound behind me and looking over my shoulder, my eyes were drawn to a strange sight! Across the dirt road were two rows of men, dressed in black and white, striped, baggy uniforms. Their faces were covered with dust and sweat. They looked so weary, and they were chained together with huge, black, iron chains. Hanging from the end of each chained row was a big, black, iron ball.

They were, as polite people said in those days, a "Chain Gang," guarded by two, heavily armed, white guards. I stared at the prisoners as they settled uncomfortably down in the dirt, under the shade of some straggly trees. One of the guards walked towards me. Nodding as he passed, he went up to our front door and knocked. My mother appeared at the door, and I heard the guard ask if he could have permission to get water from the pump, in the backyard, so that "his men" could "have a drink". My mother agreed, but I saw a look of concern on her face, as she called me inside.

I stared through the window as each prisoner was unchained from the line, to hobble over to the pump and drink his fill from a small tin cup, while a guard watched vigilantly. It wasn't long before they were all chained back up again, with prisoners and guards retreating into the shade, away from an unrelenting sun. I heard my mother call me into the kitchen, and I entered, to see her bustling around with tins of tuna fish, mayonnaise, our last loaf of bread, and two, big, pitchers of lemonade. In what seemed "a blink of an eye", she had made a tray of sandwiches using all the tuna we were to have had for that night's supper.

My mother was smiling as she handed me one of the pitchers of lemonade, cautioning me to carry it "carefully" and to "not spill a drop." Then, lifting the tray in one hand and holding a pitcher in her other hand, she marched me to the door, deftly opening it with her foot, and trotted me across the street. She approached the guards, flashing them with a brilliant smile. "We had some leftovers from lunch," she said, "and I was wondering if we could share with you and your men." She smiled at each of the men, searching their dark eyes with her own eyes of "robin's egg blue." Everyone started to their feet. "Oh no!" she said. "Stay where you are! I'll just serve you!" Calling me to her side, she went from guard to guard, then from prisoner to prisoner, filling each tin cup with lemonade, and giving each man a sandwich.

It was very quiet, except for a "thank you, ma'am," and the clanking of the chains. Very soon we were at the end of the line, my mother's eyes softly scanning each face. The last prisoner was a big man, his dark skin pouring with sweat, and streaked with dust. Suddenly, his face broke into a wonderful smile, as he looked up into my mother's eyes, and he said, "Ma'am, I've wondered all my life if I'd ever see an angel, and now I have! Thank you!" Again, my mother's smile took in the whole group. "You're all welcome!" she said. "God bless you." Then we walked across to the house, with empty tray and pitchers, and back inside.

Soon, the men moved on, and I never saw them again. The only explanation my mother ever gave me, for that strange and wonderful day, was that I "remember, always, to entertain strangers, for by doing so, you may entertain angels, without knowing."

Then, with a mysterious smile, she went about the rest of the day. I don't remember what we ate for supper, that night. I just know it was served by an angel.

-Jaye Lewis (an award winning writer who looks at life from a unique perspective, celebrating the miracles in the ordinary. Jaye is in the last editing stages of her book, Entertaining Angels, which was inspired by her original story.)

Conversation In Heaven

Abd Mubarak was on his way to Mecca when one night he dreamed that he was in heaven and heard two angels having a conversation.

"How many pilgrims came to the holy city this year?" one of them asked.
"Six hundred thousand", answered the other.
"And how many of them had their pilgrimage accepted?"
"None of them. However, in Baghdad there is a shoemaker called Ali Mufiq who did not make the pilgrimage, but did have his pilgrimage accepted, and his graces benefited the 600,000 pilgrims".

When he woke up, Abd Mubarak went to Mufiq's shoe shop and told him his dream.

"At great cost and much sacrifice, I finally managed to get 350 coins together", the shoemaker said in tears. "But then, when I was ready to go to Mecca I discovered that my neighbors were hungry, so I distributed the money among them and gave up my pilgrimage".

-A Story by Paulo Coelho

A Short Story

Abbot Isaac of Thebes was in the patio of the monastery praying when he saw one of the monks commit a sin. Furious, he interrupted his prayers and condemned the sinner.

That night he was prevented from returning to his cell by an angel who said to him: "you condemned your brother, but you did not say what punishment we should inflict: the pains of hell? Some terrible disease in this life? Some torment in his family?"

Isaac knelt down and asked for pardon: "I tossed the words in the air, and an angel heard them. I sinned by being irresponsible for what I said. Forget my ire, Lord, and make me take greater care in judging my neighbor.

- A Story by paulo coelho

Is That So?

The Zen master "Hakuin" was praised by his neighbors as one living a pure life.

A beautiful Japanese girl whose parents owned a food store lived near by his house. Suddenly, without any warning, her parents discovered she is pregnent.

This made her parents very angry. She would not confess who the man was, but after much harassment at last named Hakuin.

In great anger the parents went to the master. "Is that so?" was all he would say.

When the child was born, the parents brought it to the Hakuin, who now was viewed as a pariah by the whole village. They demanded that he take care of the child since it was his responsibility. “Is that so?” Hakuin said calmly as he accepted the child.

A year later the girl-mother could stand it no longer. She told her parents the truth – that the real father of the child was a young man who worked in the fishmarket.

The mother and father of the girl at once went to Hakuin to ask his forgiveness, to apologize at length, and to get the child back again.

Hakuin was willing. In yielding the child, all he said was: "Is that so?"

-A Zen Story

A Zen Story

Once upon a time there was an old farmer who had worked his crops for many years. One day his horse ran away. Upon hearing the news, his neighbors came to visit. “Such bad luck,” they said sympathetically.

“Maybe,” the farmer replied.

The next morning the horse returned, bringing with it three other wild horses. “How wonderful,” the neighbors exclaimed.

“Maybe,” replied the old man.

The following day, his son tried to ride one of the untamed horses, was thrown, and broke his leg. The neighbors again came to offer their sympathy on his misfortune.

“Maybe,” answered the farmer.

The day after, military officials came to the village to draft young men into the army. Seeing that the son’s leg was broken, they passed him by. The neighbors congratulated the farmer on how well things had turned out.

“Maybe,” said the farmer.

Sveta-ketu goes to school (A Story from the Upanishads)

Long ago in India, there was a boy named Sveta-ketu. He was already twelve years old, but he had not yet gone to school. Probably he had no brothers or sisters and there was so much work for him to do at home, helping his parents, that there had been no way for him to go to the house of a learned teacher, which is where the pupils studied in those days. A boy had to live with the teacher and study with him the various branches of knowledge that were taught at that time.

The father of this boy said to him one day, "Sveta-ketu, go to school. You are a brahmin, of a well born family, and no one in our family line has failed to live up to that. A brahmin must be educated and learn how to behave nobly in every respect."

So Sveta-ketu went off to the local teacher's house and studied the great books, called The Vedas, and similar subjects, for twelve years. In that time, of course, he had been able to master many things, so he had quite a good opinion of himself. He walked proudly and smiled very little. When, at the age of twentyfour, he had come back to his parents, they were very happy to have him home again. But his father noticed the proud attitude in the boy and decided that there was only one word for Sveta-ketu: conceited!

One day he said, "Well, my boy, since you consider yourself a very serious person and well educated indeed, let me now test your knowledge. Did you ever ask your teacher for that instruction by which one hears the unhearable, perceives the unperceivable, and knows the unknowable?"

"How, sir," the young man answered, very much surprised, "can there be any such instruction?"

"Why, in this way, my boy: by knowing the nature of one lump of clay, we can know the nature of everything made of clay, can we not? The shapes of other things, such as a pot, a toy elephant, etc., are just names, given to help us talk about them. The reality in them is just the clay, is it not?"

"By knowing the nature of a nugget of gold, the nature of all gold things is known; likewise, by knowing the structure of a nailfile, we understand everything made of iron. The shapes and names we use for convenience. The reality is just the gold, or the iron."

"Yes, Father," said Sveta-ketu. "Surely my revered teachers did not know this; why did they not tell me? So, you please tell me about that."

His father agreed, and the instruction he gave his son, remembered by him and passed on to generations of students, takes up a large part of one of the Upanishads. Let's hear the beginning and a few other portions of that teaching.

"In the beginning, my boy," said the father, "there was just Being and nothing else. Some people said there was Nonbeing and nothing else, and that Being came out of that. But they were foolish! How could Being be produced by NonBeing?"

"It was just the opposite, son: in the beginning, there was just Being and nothing else. That Being felt lonely. It thought, 'Well, let me become many. Let me produce other things.' And so It produced the different elements of this universe, one after another." In this way, Sveta-ketu's father went on to explain to him the various stages of creation.

"There is more to growing up than you may think. Facts, gathered from books and teachers are all very well, but wisdom is to know that they all come from one source."

You are That!

Sveta-ketu's father continued:

"Every night, when they go into a state of dreamless sleep, all creatures enter again into that Being from which they have come. Then, why do they not know it?"

"When the bees make honey by collecting the nectar of different trees and reduce them all to one juice, these nectars cannot say, 'I am the nectar of an orange blossom,' 'I am the nectar of a mango blossom,' etc. In the same way, my boy, all these creatures, though they have entered that Being, they cannot say what they are. When they return again to the waking state, whatever they are in this world -- a man, a tiger, a wolf, a boar, a worm, a fly, or a mosquito -- that is what they become again. They do not know that they have come back from that Being."

"Suppose there is a hidden treasure of gold lying buried in a field. People who do not know about it will walk again and again over that treasure and will not find it. Just so, all of us go, day after day, into the embrace of that divine Being but do not realize it. The Self of this whole universe is the same as the Seed from which it came. And you, O Sveta-ketu, are That!"

"But, sir," asked the son, "that Being has no name or form. So, how could this universe, with all its objects having all these names, come out of that?"

"Bring me a fig from our figtree," his father suggested. Sveta-ketu went out and came back with a fig from the tree.

"Now break it."

"Yes, it is broken."

"What do you see now?"

"Seeds -- hundreds of them."

"Now break one of the seeds, son."

"That is difficult, sir. But here, it is done."

"Do you see anything inside?"

"No, sir, there is nothing inside."

"Sveta-ketu, just because you cannot see it, that does not mean that there is not a fine principle at work in the seed, which is the cause of the whole fig tree. Believe me, my boy, the Self of this whole universe is the same as the tiny seed from which it came. And you are That!"

Now Sveta-ketu was puzzled and had a doubt in his mind: if some principle, called Being is the cause of all this world, why do we not see that? So, he asked his father, who replied:

"Here is a lump of salt. Put this lump in a vessel of water, and I will see you again in the morning." His son did so. Next morning, when he came, his father asked him to bring him that lump of salt. Sveta-ketu looked into the vessel, but of course the salt had dissolved.

"Taste some water from the surface of the vessel," said his father, "and tell me how it is."

"Salty," Sveta-ketu said.

"Now taste a little from the other side and tell me how that is."

"Salty, Sir."

"Now carefully pour off most of the water and try a little from the bottom of the pot." This done, Sveta-ketu replied that it tasted salty too.

"You could not perceive the salt with your eyes, you had to apply the sense of taste. So, also, in this body of ours -- that Being is not perceived by eyes or tongue or any of the senses, but it is here nevertheless. It has to be discovered by a different means."

( Later he will explain the means: meditation and discrimination.)

"The Self of this whole universe is the same as the tiny seed it came from. And you, O Sveta-ketu, are That!"

-Chhandogya Upanishad

A Short story

Once upon a time there was a monk who after 20 years, finally achieved self-realization and heard the call to write a book. He had never forgotten that as a young monk, he had been confused and upset by ponderous and misguided religious writings. One day in his despair, he vowed that when he finally understood LOVE, he would write something true, something heartfelt and something that would actually assist people in their journey.

For he felt that LOVE, although talked about, was greatly misunderstood, so he sat down to write his book. He took out the first page and right in the middle with perfect focus and concentration and a truly loving intent, he wrote the word LOVE.

Immediately, across the street, a woman put down the phone and comforted her crying child. Next door, two children gave each other a hug. Across time, a family picked up their new dog. Three thousand miles away, an unexpected wind arose and blew away the city smog.

With the same focus and concentration, with peace and sincere intent, the monk wrote LOVE in the middle of the second page.

Immediately, several blocks away, a child was conceived and a woman who had been contemplating death, decided instead, to risk truly living. Many people in the city just felt happy for no apparent reason. In the capital, an attemp by the government to cover up a scandalous misuse of money was unsuccessful.


The monk pulled out a third page and in the middle, wrote LOVE with the same feeling and intent as before.

Not far away, a woman from a dysfunctional family suddenly, effortlessly, forgave her parents and in that moment ended the cycles of pain that had dogged her family for generations. In the city, a businessman asked a depressed colleague for lunch and a mother bent down to give her tired child a piggyback. Across the world, a rich man gave a poor man, one hundred dollars, a fortune in that country.

In the middle of the fourth page, the monk completed the writing of LOVE.

Nearby, a woman with small children chose to meditate for 5 minutes rather than let her irritation run things. A child in a coma from a car accident and not expected to live, opened her eyes. A man and woman destined to become lovers, met for the first time and a wise and gentle healer felt a tumor dissolve beneath her hands.

The monk did this 365 times, for each day of the year. He really wanted to remind people about LOVE since he'd found LOVE to be the true key to happiness and self-realization.

At first, several publishers returned his manuscript but the monk still felt it had changed the world. Naturally being the monk, he gave away copies or showed people how to write it themselves. The manuscript became so widespread and so well-known and had such an impact on people, it changed the world again.

The monk became even happier and more loving. Such is the power of LOVE.

-about the author of this story (After spending her 20's as a journalist, publishing in Canada, the US and in Europe, Janet Hobbs' life changed when her son experienced a miraculous healing from terminal Leukemia. This experience sent her on the path of healing and study with aboriginal and East Indian spiritual masters.)

A Reincarnation Story

this is a true story written by "Jo Leonard"

I’d been working at the international headquarters of a spiritual organization in Menlo Park, California. As most of the employees were members of the organization, lunch table conversations naturally centered on subjects inherent to the teaching, subjects such as dreams, past lives, and the shortest path home to God.

One day, as she nibbled on a carrot stick, a co-worker I had nicknamed Zeta told me of a past life recall she’d had. She remembered flying in a one person aircraft, seeing herself as both the pilot and a bombardier. A white cloth was tied around her head. She was horrified as she watched herself dropping bombs on people who were going about their lives in an open plaza in Atlantis.

At the time, some of my managerial duties included providing oversight to a department that was editing video recordings from a recent conference. We had hired an outside production company to help record the event and to assist our own folks with assembling the material for eventual distribution to the membership.

One day in casual conversation, one of the production assistants from the outside company confided in me that she was still troubled by a dream she’d had years ago. Before going any further, however, she made it perfectly clear that she did not believe in any of the things we believed in—things such as prophetic dreams, reincarnation or karma. Slightly red-faced from knowingly being in contradiction to her own belief system, she told me her dream.

It seems that she had been walking across a plaza where there were lots of people milling about doing what people do on pleasant days. A deafening sound descended, quite literally, out of the blue. The crowd began to run in all directions as dozens of low-flying planes roared into sight and began dropping bombs, creating small, but effective explosions. The production assistant recalled that the pilots wore (drum roll here) white headbands.

If your logical mind is asking how someone on the ground could tell what the pilots were wearing, I can only say that dreams do not play out like our lives in the physical universe. In dreams, you can be present in your all-knowing, 360-degree soul body as an observer.

I imagine my mouth must have hung open as I listened to her story. Two people I knew who didn’t know one another had the same dream from different perspectives. As they say, something was afoot in all of this.

Hesitantly, I asked the production assistant if she would like to meet someone who had told me about a similar dream. She nodded. “Stay right here,” I said as I spun on my heel and started off in the direction of Zeta’s cubicle.

Zeta and the production assistant exchanged stories as they stood in the back hallway. Hardly able to breathe, I watched in silence and astonishment. This was one of those momentous moments in time and space that somehow get orchestrated to resolve a longstanding karmic debt. The disturbing memory of that day in Atlantis, lodged deeply within both their hearts, was about to be removed with the precision of a surgeon’s knife.

How simply the karma played itself out. Zeta looked at the production assistant, tears swimming in her eyes, and said, “I’m sorry.” The production assistant nodded her acceptance and a debt was paid.

The world began to spin again.

Not all karma gets to be worked out in such a simple and straightforward manner. And who knows, perhaps the two of them have been meeting and working toward this moment for centuries. The moral of the story, however, is to stay awake. Watch for those moments when you can consciously finish unfinished business and make further spiritual progression possible for all. If you miss a moment, it might be a long time coming before all the circumstances and conditions for resolution get so perfectly lined up once again.

The bottom line: live consciously, resolve, grow.

In Search of Truth

The devil was talking to his friends when they noticed a man walking along a road. They watched him pass and saw that he bent down to pick something up.

"What did he find?" asked one of the friends.

"A piece of Truth," answered the devil.

The friends were very concerned. After all, a piece of Truth might save that man�s soul - one less in Hell. But the devil remained unmoved, gazing at the view.

"Aren't you worried?" said one of his companions. "He found a piece of Truth!"

"I'm not worried," answered the devil.

"Do you know what he'll do with the piece?"

The devil replied, "as usual, he'll create a new religion. And he'll succeed in distancing even more people from the whole Truth."

-Paulo Coelho

no work

As soon as he dies, Juan found himself in a very beautiful place surrounded by all the comforts and beauty he had ever dreamed of. Someone dressed in white came up to him:

"You are entitled to whatever you wish: any food, pleasure, entertainment," he said.

Enchanted, Juan did everything he had dreamed of during his life. After many years filled with pleasure, he sought out the person in white:

"I've already tried everything I wished for. Now I need a job so that I can feel useful."

"I'm so sorry," said the person in white. "But that is the only thing that I cannot manage for you; there is no work here."

"How terrible!" said Juan in irritation. "I shall spend eternity dying of tedium! I'd prefer a thousand times to be in hell!"

The creature in white came over to him and said in a low voice:

"And where do you think you are?"

-A story by paulo coelho

In Moses's Footsteps

Rabbi Zuya wanted to discover the mysteries of life. He therefore resolved to imitate the life of Moses.

For years, he tried to behave like the prophet - without ever achieving the results he hoped for. One night, tired of so much study, he fell into a deep sleep.

God appeared in his dream:

"Why are you so upset, my son?" He asked.

"My days on Earth will end, and I am still so far from being like Moses," answered Zuya.

"If I needed another Moses, I�d have already created him," said God. "When you come before me for judgment, I will not ask whether you were a good Moses, but who you were. Try and be a good Zuya." -A story by Paulo coelho

Crowns on the Torah

When Moses ascended to Heaven to write a certain part of the Bible, the Almighty asked him to place small crowns on some letters of the Torah. Moses said: "Master of the Universe, why draw these crowns?" God answered: "Because one hundred generations from now a man called Akiva will interpret them."

"Show me this man's interpretation," asked Moses.

The Lord took him to the future and put him in one of Rabbi Akiva's classes. One pupil asked: "Rabbi, why are these crowns drawn on top of some letters?"

"I don't know." Replied Akiva. "And I am sure that not even Moses knew. He did this only to teach us that even without understanding everything the Lord does, we can trust in his wisdom."
-a story by Paulo coelho

Story of two sons

"In ancient Rome, at the time of Emperor Tiberius, there lived a good man who had two sons. One was
in the military, and had been sent to the most distant regions of the empire. The other son was a poet, and
delighted all of Rome with his beautiful verses.
"One night, the father had a dream. An angel appeared to him, and told him that the words of one of his
sons would be learned and repeated throughout the world for all generations to come. The father woke
from his dream grateful and crying, because life was generous, and had revealed to him something any
father would be proud to know.
"Shortly thereafter, the father died as he tried to save a child who was about to be crushed by the wheels
of a chariot. Since he had lived his entire life in a manner that was correct and fair, he went directly to
heaven, where he met the angel that had appeared in his dream.
" 'You were always a good man,' the angel said to him. 'You lived your life in a loving way, and died
with dignity. I can now grant you any wish you desire.'
" 'Life was good to me,' the man said. 'When you appeared in my dream, I felt that all my efforts had
been rewarded, because my son's poems will be read by men for generations to come. I don't want
anything for myself. But any father would be proud of the fame achieved by one whom he had cared for
as a child, and educated as he grew up. Sometime in the distant future, I would like to see my son's
words.'
"The angel touched the man's shoulder, and they were both projected far into the future. They were in an
immense setting, surrounded by thousands of people speaking a strange language.
"The man wept with happiness.
" 'I knew that my son's poems were immortal,' he said to the angel through his tears. 'Can you please tell
me which of my son's poems these people are repeating?'
"The angel came closer to the man, and, with tenderness, led him to a bench nearby, where they sat
down.
"'The verses of your son who was the poet were very popular in Rome,' the angel said. 'Everyone loved
them and enjoyed them. But when the reign of Tiberius ended, his poems were forgotten. The words
you're hearing now are those of your son in the military.'
"The man looked at the angel in surprise.
" 'Your son went to serve at a distant place, and became a centurion. He was just and good. One
afternoon, one of his servants fell ill, and it appeared that he would die. Your son had heard of a rabbi
who was able to cure illnesses, and he rode out for days and days in search of this man. Along the way,
he learned that the man he was seeking was the Son of God. He met others who had been cured by him,
and they instructed your son in the man's teachings. And so, despite the fact that he was a Roman
centurion, he converted to their faith. Shortly thereafter, he reached the place where the man he was
looking for was visiting.'
" 'He told the man that one of his servants was gravely ill, and the rabbi made ready to go to his house
with him. But the centurion was a man of faith, and, looking into the eyes of the rabbi, he knew that he
was surely in the presence of the Son of God.'
" 'And this is what your son said,' the angel told the man. 'These are the words he said to the rabbi at
that point, and they have never been forgotten: "My Lord, I am not worthy that you should come under
my roof. But only speak a word and my servant will be healed."

-Paulo Coelho