Women have strengths that amaze men. They carry children, they carry hardships, they carry burdens…but they hold happiness, love and joy. They smile when they want to scream. They sing when they want to cry. They cry when they are happy and laugh when they are nervous…
Women wait by the phone for a “safe at home call” from a friend after a snowy drive home.Woman friends keep secrets you told them years ago and never bring it up again. Women have special qualities about them. They volunteer for good causes. They are pink ladies in hospitals, they bring food to shut ins. They are childcare workers, executives, attorneys, stay-at-home moms, biker babes and your neighbors.
They wear suits, they wear jeans, they wear uniforms. Women fight for what they believe in. They stand up for injustice. They are in the front row at PTA meetings. They vote for the person that will do the best job for family issues. They walk and talk the extra mile to get their children in the right schools and for getting their family the right health care.
They write to the editor, their congressmen and to “the powers that be” for things that make for a better life. They don’t take “no” for an answer when they believe there is a better solution.
They can wipe a tear, cover a cut and pat you on the back at the same time. They eat a little so their family can have more.
They rush to school to pick up a sick child. They stick a love note in their husband’s lunch box. They do without new shoes so that their children can have them. They go to scout meetings and are chaperones on class trips. They go to the doctor with a frightened friend. Women don’t make excuses for defending their family or friends.
They give a friend some money in times of trouble. They love unconditionally. They are loyal, honest and forgiving. They are smart, knowing that knowledge IS power. But they still know how to use their softer side to make a point. Their world consists of goodness, love and caring.
Women want to be the best for their family, their friends and themselves. They cry when their children excel and cheer when their friends get awards. They get teary eyed when others do great things. They save their anger for the unjust and the insincere. They tell people that need to be told to straighten up their act. They lend a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen and a voice to make suggestions…
They are happy when they hear about a birth or a new marriage. Their hearts break when a friend dies. They have so much sorrow at the loss of a family member, yet they are strong when they think there is no strength left. They can control situations that seem uncontrollable.
They can round up energy when they are tired. They can stay up a little longer to talk to someone that needs a friend. They will rush to be by your side when you are lonely. They will give up their favorite TV show to help with homework or read a bedtime story.
A woman’s touch can cure any ailment. They know that a hug and a kiss can heal a broken heart. She can make a romantic evening unforgettable. She can bring out the best in her husband, children and friends. They don’t mind standing in the shadows.
They are not there to push, but to gently encourage. They are cheerleaders, teachers, lovers and important in many peoples daily lives. They can whisper a kind word, scream a loud cheer and laugh away a fear. They can mend your broken spirit and give you back your self-esteem. They can knit a family back together after a break or a loss.
Women come in all sizes, in all colors and shapes. They live in homes, apartments, cabins and trailers. They drive, fly, walk, run or e-mail you to show how much they care about you. They have hearts that forgive and forget an injustice. They have hearts that remember a kindness. They have hearts that beat with loyalty and love. The heart of a woman is what makes the world spin. They can cry and laugh at the same time. They can be sad and hopeful at the same time.
Women do more than just give birth. They bring joy and hope. They teach us to dream and make goals. They give compassion and ideals. They climb into a person’s life and make everything better again. They give moral support to their family and friends. And all they want back is a hug, a smile and for you to do the same to the people you come in contact with.
Women are leaders, but don’t want followers. They want people to grow into the best person they can be. They want to touch you in a way that will make you share your goodness with others. One touch can turn a bad day into a better one.
One extra minute of her time will make a child feel special. One more kiss will make her husband feel loved. Women have a lot to say and a lot to give.
By Author Unknown
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Friday, March 21, 2008
Swami Bramma Sri Sivananda Maharaj
Clarity is Divinity
Yoga or Boga-Now or Never Select Quick
Imprint Love - Impart Love
Fix your eyes and mind on the statue or the flame and pray. Then only the grace will help you.
Awake - Arise - Meditate
Thursday, March 13, 2008
A Cup Of Inspirational For Everyone
ROOM 712
The hospital was unusually quiet that bleak January evening, quiet and still like the air before a storm. I stood in the nurses' station on the seventh floor and glanced at the clock.
It was 9 P.M. I threw a stethoscope around my neck and headed for room 712, last room on the hall. Room 712 had a new patient. Mr. Williams. A man all alone. A man strangely silent about his family.
As I entered the room, Mr. Williams looked up eagerly, but drooped his eyes when he saw it was only me, his nurse. I pressed the stethoscope over his chest and listened. Strong, slow, even beating. Just what I wanted to hear. There seemed little indication he had suffered a slight heart attack a few hours earlier.
He looked up from his starched white bed. "Nurse, would you - "He hesitated, tears filling his eyes. Once before he had started to ask me a question, but changed his mind. I touched his hand, waiting. He brushed away a tear. "Would you call my daughter? Tell her I've had a heart attack. A slight one. You see, I live alone and she is the only family I have."
His respiration suddenly speeded up. I turned his nasal oxygen up to eight liters a minute. "Of course I'll call her," I said, studying his face. He gripped the sheets and pulled himself forward, his face tense with urgency. "Will you call her right away - as soon as you can?"
He was breathing fast - too fast. "I'll call her the very first thing," I said, patting his shoulder. I flipped off the light. He closed his eyes, such young blue eyes in his 50 - year - old face. Room 712 was dark except for a faint night light under the sink. Oxygen gurgled in the green tubes above his bed. Reluctant to leave, I moved through the shadowy silence to the window. The panes were cold. Below a foggy mist curled through the hospital parking lot.
"Nurse," he called, "could you get me a pencil and paper?" I dug a scrap of yellow paper and a pen from my pocket and set it on the bedside table. I walked back to the nurses' station and sat in a squeaky swivel chair by the phone. Mr. Williams's daughter was listed on his chart as the next of kin. I got her number from information and dialed.
Her soft voice answered. "Janie, this is Sue Kidd, a registered nurse at the hospital. I'm calling about your father. He was admitted tonight with a slight heart attack and " "No!" she screamed into the phone, startling me. "He's not dying is he ?"
"His condition is stable at the moment," I said, trying hard to sound convincing. Silence. I bit my lip. "You must not let him die!" she said. Her voice was so utterly compelling that my hand trembled on the phone. "He is getting the very best care."
"But you don't understand," she pleaded. "My daddy and I haven't spoken. On my 21st birthday, we had a fight over my boyfriend. I ran out of the house. I-I haven't been back. All these months I've wanted to go to him for forgiveness. The last thing I said to him was, 'I hate you."
Her voice cracked and I heard her heave great agonizing sobs. I sat, listening, tears burning my eyes. A father and a daughter, so lost to each other. Then I was thinking of my own father, many miles away. It has been so long since I had said, "I love you."
As Janie struggled to control her tears, I breathed a prayer. "Please God, let this daughter find forgiveness." "I'm coming. Now! I'll be there in 30 minutes," she said.
Click. She had hung up. I tried to busy myself with a stack of charts on the desk. I couldn't concentrate. Room 712; I knew I had to get back to 712.
I hurried down the hall nearly in a run. I opened the door. Mr. Williams lay unmoving. I reached for his pulse. There was none. "Code 99, Room 712. Code 99. Stat." The alert was shooting through the hospital within seconds after I called the switchboard through the intercom by the bed. Mr. Williams had a cardiac arrest. With lightning speed I leveled the bed and bent over his mouth, breathing air into his lungs (twice). I positioned my hands over his chest and compressed. One, two, three. I tried to count.
At fifteen I moved back to his mouth and breathed as deeply as I could. Where was help? Again I compressed and breathed, Compressed and . He could not die! "O God," I prayed. "His daughter is coming! Don't let it end this way."
The door burst open. Doctors and nurses poured into the room pushing emergency equipment. A doctor took over the manual compression of the heart. A tube was inserted through his mouth as an airway. Nurses plunged syringes of medicine into the intravenous tubing. I connected the heart monitor. Nothing. Not a beat.
My own heart pounded. "God, don't let it end like this. Not in bitterness and hatred. His daughter is coming. Let her find peace."
"Stand back," cried a doctor. I handed him the paddles for the electrical shock to the heart. He placed them on Mr. Williams's chest. Over and over we tried. But nothing. No response. Mr. Williams was dead. A nurse unplugged the oxygen. The gurgling stopped. One by one they left, grim and silent.
How could this happen? How? I stood by his bed, stunned. A cold wind rattled the window, pelting the panes with snow. Outside -everywhere - seemed a bed of blackness, cold and dark. How could I face his daughter?
When I left the room, I saw her against a wall by a water fountain. A doctor who had been inside 712 only moments before stood at her side, talking to her, gripping her elbow. Then he moved on, leaving her slumped against the wall. Such pathetic hurt reflected from her face. Such wounded eyes. She knew.
The doctor had told her that her father was gone. I took her hand and led her into the nurses' lounge. We sat on little green stools, neither saying a word. She stared straight ahead at a pharmaceutical calendar, glass-faced, almost breakable-looking.
"Janie, I'm so, so sorry," I said. It was pitifully inadequate. "I never hated him, you know. I loved him," she said. God, please help her, I thought. Suddenly she whirled toward me. "I want to see him."
My first thought was, Why put yourself through more pain? Seeing him will only make it worse. But I got up and wrapped my arm around her. We walked slowly down the corridor to 712. Outside the door I squeezed her hand, wishing she would change her mind about going inside. She pushed open the door.
We moved to the bed, huddled together, taking small steps in unison. Janie leaned over the bed and buried her face in the sheets. I tried not to look at her at this sad, sad good-bye. I backed against the bedside table. My hand fell upon a scrap yellow paper. I picked it up. It read:
"My dearest Janie,
I forgive you. I pray you will also forgive me. I know that you love me.
I love you too,
Daddy"
The note was shaking in my hands as I thrust it toward Janie. She read it once. Then twice. Her tormented face grew radiant. Peace began to glisten in her eyes. She hugged the scrap of paper to her breast.
"Thank You, God," I whispered, looking up at the window. A few crystal stars blinked through the blackness. A snowflake hit the window and melted away, gone forever. Life seemed as fragile as a snowflake on the window. But thank You, God, that relationships, sometimes fragile as snowflakes, can be mended together again - but there is not a moment to spare.
I crept from the room and hurried to the phone. I would call my father. I would say, "I love you"
The hospital was unusually quiet that bleak January evening, quiet and still like the air before a storm. I stood in the nurses' station on the seventh floor and glanced at the clock.
It was 9 P.M. I threw a stethoscope around my neck and headed for room 712, last room on the hall. Room 712 had a new patient. Mr. Williams. A man all alone. A man strangely silent about his family.
As I entered the room, Mr. Williams looked up eagerly, but drooped his eyes when he saw it was only me, his nurse. I pressed the stethoscope over his chest and listened. Strong, slow, even beating. Just what I wanted to hear. There seemed little indication he had suffered a slight heart attack a few hours earlier.
He looked up from his starched white bed. "Nurse, would you - "He hesitated, tears filling his eyes. Once before he had started to ask me a question, but changed his mind. I touched his hand, waiting. He brushed away a tear. "Would you call my daughter? Tell her I've had a heart attack. A slight one. You see, I live alone and she is the only family I have."
His respiration suddenly speeded up. I turned his nasal oxygen up to eight liters a minute. "Of course I'll call her," I said, studying his face. He gripped the sheets and pulled himself forward, his face tense with urgency. "Will you call her right away - as soon as you can?"
He was breathing fast - too fast. "I'll call her the very first thing," I said, patting his shoulder. I flipped off the light. He closed his eyes, such young blue eyes in his 50 - year - old face. Room 712 was dark except for a faint night light under the sink. Oxygen gurgled in the green tubes above his bed. Reluctant to leave, I moved through the shadowy silence to the window. The panes were cold. Below a foggy mist curled through the hospital parking lot.
"Nurse," he called, "could you get me a pencil and paper?" I dug a scrap of yellow paper and a pen from my pocket and set it on the bedside table. I walked back to the nurses' station and sat in a squeaky swivel chair by the phone. Mr. Williams's daughter was listed on his chart as the next of kin. I got her number from information and dialed.
Her soft voice answered. "Janie, this is Sue Kidd, a registered nurse at the hospital. I'm calling about your father. He was admitted tonight with a slight heart attack and " "No!" she screamed into the phone, startling me. "He's not dying is he ?"
"His condition is stable at the moment," I said, trying hard to sound convincing. Silence. I bit my lip. "You must not let him die!" she said. Her voice was so utterly compelling that my hand trembled on the phone. "He is getting the very best care."
"But you don't understand," she pleaded. "My daddy and I haven't spoken. On my 21st birthday, we had a fight over my boyfriend. I ran out of the house. I-I haven't been back. All these months I've wanted to go to him for forgiveness. The last thing I said to him was, 'I hate you."
Her voice cracked and I heard her heave great agonizing sobs. I sat, listening, tears burning my eyes. A father and a daughter, so lost to each other. Then I was thinking of my own father, many miles away. It has been so long since I had said, "I love you."
As Janie struggled to control her tears, I breathed a prayer. "Please God, let this daughter find forgiveness." "I'm coming. Now! I'll be there in 30 minutes," she said.
Click. She had hung up. I tried to busy myself with a stack of charts on the desk. I couldn't concentrate. Room 712; I knew I had to get back to 712.
I hurried down the hall nearly in a run. I opened the door. Mr. Williams lay unmoving. I reached for his pulse. There was none. "Code 99, Room 712. Code 99. Stat." The alert was shooting through the hospital within seconds after I called the switchboard through the intercom by the bed. Mr. Williams had a cardiac arrest. With lightning speed I leveled the bed and bent over his mouth, breathing air into his lungs (twice). I positioned my hands over his chest and compressed. One, two, three. I tried to count.
At fifteen I moved back to his mouth and breathed as deeply as I could. Where was help? Again I compressed and breathed, Compressed and . He could not die! "O God," I prayed. "His daughter is coming! Don't let it end this way."
The door burst open. Doctors and nurses poured into the room pushing emergency equipment. A doctor took over the manual compression of the heart. A tube was inserted through his mouth as an airway. Nurses plunged syringes of medicine into the intravenous tubing. I connected the heart monitor. Nothing. Not a beat.
My own heart pounded. "God, don't let it end like this. Not in bitterness and hatred. His daughter is coming. Let her find peace."
"Stand back," cried a doctor. I handed him the paddles for the electrical shock to the heart. He placed them on Mr. Williams's chest. Over and over we tried. But nothing. No response. Mr. Williams was dead. A nurse unplugged the oxygen. The gurgling stopped. One by one they left, grim and silent.
How could this happen? How? I stood by his bed, stunned. A cold wind rattled the window, pelting the panes with snow. Outside -everywhere - seemed a bed of blackness, cold and dark. How could I face his daughter?
When I left the room, I saw her against a wall by a water fountain. A doctor who had been inside 712 only moments before stood at her side, talking to her, gripping her elbow. Then he moved on, leaving her slumped against the wall. Such pathetic hurt reflected from her face. Such wounded eyes. She knew.
The doctor had told her that her father was gone. I took her hand and led her into the nurses' lounge. We sat on little green stools, neither saying a word. She stared straight ahead at a pharmaceutical calendar, glass-faced, almost breakable-looking.
"Janie, I'm so, so sorry," I said. It was pitifully inadequate. "I never hated him, you know. I loved him," she said. God, please help her, I thought. Suddenly she whirled toward me. "I want to see him."
My first thought was, Why put yourself through more pain? Seeing him will only make it worse. But I got up and wrapped my arm around her. We walked slowly down the corridor to 712. Outside the door I squeezed her hand, wishing she would change her mind about going inside. She pushed open the door.
We moved to the bed, huddled together, taking small steps in unison. Janie leaned over the bed and buried her face in the sheets. I tried not to look at her at this sad, sad good-bye. I backed against the bedside table. My hand fell upon a scrap yellow paper. I picked it up. It read:
"My dearest Janie,
I forgive you. I pray you will also forgive me. I know that you love me.
I love you too,
Daddy"
The note was shaking in my hands as I thrust it toward Janie. She read it once. Then twice. Her tormented face grew radiant. Peace began to glisten in her eyes. She hugged the scrap of paper to her breast.
"Thank You, God," I whispered, looking up at the window. A few crystal stars blinked through the blackness. A snowflake hit the window and melted away, gone forever. Life seemed as fragile as a snowflake on the window. But thank You, God, that relationships, sometimes fragile as snowflakes, can be mended together again - but there is not a moment to spare.
I crept from the room and hurried to the phone. I would call my father. I would say, "I love you"
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Divine Dictionary- Rituals - 10
External ceremonies during external idol worship. A Basic and elementary stage of worship and preparation to love and trust God. Mostly for earthly needs. Does not lead to spritual development.
Divine Dictionary- Manthras - 9
Human energy thourght chanting gets transfomed into Mystic Power Throught the mystical vocal and sound Vibration. Mostly to attain earthly and divine needs. But does not lead to clarity of mind.
Divine Dictionary- Demands In Prayer - 8
Worshipping for some need in Mind and asking God to grant Something in prayer or chanting manthraas or singing Gods praise for the same purpose
Divine Dictionary- Prayer - 7
An act of faith. The act of melting and merging with God with love and trust. An effort of man to commune with or contact God. Prayer does nt demand high intelligence or eloqunce. God wants your heart to be involved when you pray. Even a few words from a humble, pure soul, though illiterate will appeal to the Lord more than the eloquent flowing words of an orator if the heart is not involved.
Divine Dictionary- Satguru - 6
Parama Guru. The Universal Protective Cosmic Energy that is doing everything within us and outside of us. This energy is creative and protective.
Divine Dictionary- Sishya - 5
A Disciple. Devotee. Following the chosen Master or Guru with True Love, devotion and faith. Even in adversities or failures is steadfast never leaves the Guru.
Divine Dictionary - Guru -4
A Saint. Master Guide. Spiritual Guide. Helps in Divine and Practical Life. An enlightened soul.
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