Posts Tagged ‘value’

Even junk mail has its use

Sunday, April 5th, 2009

I woke up this morning and looked at my blackberry, and something seemed wrong… no flashing led, no email icon.  It wasn’t that I was expecting deluges of interesting and important mail, but usually I have to start the day by deleting the few spam mails that crawl through my filters.  The interesting thing was my reaction; my first thought was my blackberry must be faulty.  I even resorted to sending a test mail.  It was thus I realised that these annoying spams did serve one useful purpose, they do prove daily that my connections are working.

It is interesting how, if we change how we look at things, rather than just trying to change the things we look at we can find all sorts of value.  Take a fresh look around you and see if you can’t find some value in apparent  ‘rubbish’….  You might also enjoy this story of the Fields of Diamonds

Try not to become a man of success. Rather become a man of value.”   Albert Einstein 

 

Fields of Diamonds

Sunday, April 5th, 2009

This is from a famous speech by Russell Conwell

“The old guide told me that there once lived not far from the River Indus an ancient Persian by the name of Ali Hafed. He said that Ali Hafed owned a very large farm; that he had orchards, grain-fields, and gardens; that he had money at interest and was a wealthy and contented man. One day there visited that old Persian farmer one of those ancient Buddhist priests, one of the wise men of the East. He sat down by the fire and told the old farmer how this old world of ours was made.

He said that this world was once a mere bank of fog, and that the Almighty thrust His finger into this bank of fog, and began slowly to move His finger around, increasing the speed until at last He whirled this bank of fog into a solid ball of fire. Then it went rolling through the universe, burning its way through other banks of fog, and condensed the moisture without, until it fell in floods of rain upon its hot surface, and cooled the outward crust. Then the internal fires bursting outward through the crust threw up the mountains and hills, the valleys, the plains and prairies of this wonderful world of ours. If this internal molten mass came bursting out and cooled very quickly, it became granite; less quickly copper, less quickly silver, less quickly gold, and, after gold, diamonds were made. Said the old priest, “A diamond is a congealed drop of sunlight.” Now that is literally scientifically true, that a diamond is an actual deposit of carbon from the sun.

The old priest told Ali Hafed that if he had one diamond the size of his thumb he could purchase the county, and if the had a mine of diamonds he could place his children upon thrones through the influence of their great wealth. Ali Hafed heard all about diamonds, how much they were worth, and went to his bed that night a poor man. He had not lost anything, but he was poor because he was discontented, and discontented because he feared he was poor. He said, “I want a mine of diamonds,” and he lay awake all night. Early in the morning he sought out the priest. I know by experience that a priest is very cross when awakened early in the morning, and when he shook that old priest out of his dreams, Ali Hafed said to him:

“Will you tell me where I find diamonds?”

“Diamonds! What do you want with diamonds?”

“Why, I wish to be immensely rich.”

“Well, then, go along and find them. That is all you have to do; go and find them, and then you have them.”

“But I don’t know where to go.”

“Well, if you will find a river that runs through white sands, between high mountains, in those white sands you will always find diamonds.”

“I don’t believe there is any such river.”

“Oh yes, there are plenty of them. All you have to do is to go and find them, and then you have them.”

Said Ali Hafed, “I will go.”

So he sold his farm, collected his money, left his family in charge of a neighbor, and away he went in search of diamonds. He began his search, very properly to my mind, at the Mountains of the Moon. Afterward he came around into Palestine, then wandered on into Europe, and at last when his money was all spent and he was in rags, wretchedness, and poverty, he stood on the shore of that bay at Barcelona, in Spain, when a great tidal wave came rolling in between the pillars of Hercules, and the poor, afflicted, suffering, dying man could not resist the awful temptation to cast himself into that incoming tide, and he sank beneath its foaming crest, never to rise in this life again.

Then after that old guide had told me that awfully sad story, he stopped the camel I was riding on and went back to fix the baggage that was coming off another camel, and I had an opportunity to muse over his story while he was gone. I remember saying to myself, “Why did he reserve that story for his ‘particular friends’?” There seemed to be no beginning, no middle, no end, nothing to it.

That was the first story I had ever heard told in my life, and would be the first one I ever read, in which the hero was killed in the first chapter. I had but one chapter of that story, and the hero was dead. When the guide came back and took up the halter of my camel, he went right ahead with the story, into the second chapter, just as though there had been no break.

The man who purchased Ali Hafed’s farm one day led his camel into the garden to drink, and as that camel put its nose into the shallow water of that garden brook, Ali Hafed’s successor noticed a curious flash of light from the white sands of the stream. He pulled out a black stone having an eye of light reflecting all the hues of the rainbow. He took the pebble into the house and put it on the mantel which covers the central fires, and forgot all about it.

A few days later this same old priest came in to visit Ali Hafed’s successor, and the moment he opened that drawing-room door he saw that flash of light on the mantel, and he rushed up to it, and shouted:

“Here is a diamond! Has Ali Hafed returned?”

“Oh no, Ali Hafed has not returned, and that is not a diamond. That is nothing but a stone we found right out here in our own garden.”

“But,” said the priest, “I tell you I know a diamond when I see it. I know positively that is a diamond.”

Then together they rushed out into that old garden and stirred up the white sands with their fingers, and lo! There came up other more beautiful and valuable gems then the first. “Thus,” said the guide to me, “was discovered the diamond-mine of Golconda, the most magnificent diamond-mine in all the history of mankind, excelling the Kimberly itself. The Kohinoor, and the Orloff of the crown jewels of England and Russia, the largest on earth, came from that mine.”

Designer Labels

Monday, June 16th, 2008

We live in a society obsessed with designer labels. Certainly some of these designers merit their status and make lovely clothes and cars etc. However, as others have just cashed in on their names and sold the right to put them on any old toot, these labels are no guarantee of style. It is interesting that there is now a huge market in known fake designer goods, where people boast about having ‘knock-offs’

There are posh addresses to live in, and ‘in’ places to hang out, and God knows the media is utterly obsessed with celebrities, which really these days just means someone you have heard of.

So how does it feel to be ordinary in this label led world? How do we feel about just driving any old car, wearing clothes from the high street, rather than the cat-walk, and just being Joe (or Josephine) Ordinary?

I enjoy the few really nice things I have, as I am sure you do, but to feel that your value is somehow changed by these things seems daft. I just wonder what the other labels we put on ourselves do for us.. And those that others place round our necks?

“First say to yourself what you would be; and then do what you have to do.” Epictetus
“Our achievements of today are but the sum total of our thoughts of yesterday. You are today where the thoughts of yesterday have brought you and you will be tomorrow where the thoughts of today take you” Blaise Pascal