A Message by George Carlin

Hello Friends..This is a master piece !!

GEORGE CARLIN (He died recently)

Isn't it amazing that George Carlin - comedian of the 70's and 80's - could
write something so very eloquent...and so very appropriate.

A Message by George Carlin:

The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings but
shorter tempers, wider Freeways, but narrower viewpoints. We spend
more, but have less, we buy more, but enjoy less. We have bigger houses and
smaller families, more conveniences, but less time. We have more degrees but
less sense, more knowledge, but less judgment, more experts, yet
more problems, more medicine, but less wellness.

We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little,
drive too fast, get too angry, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too
little, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom.

We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too
much, love too seldom, and hate too often.

We've learned how to make a living, but not a life. We've added years to
life not life to years. We've been all the way to the moon and back, but
have trouble crossing the street to meet a new neighbor. We conquered outer
space but not inner space. We've done larger things, but not better things.

We've cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul. We've conquered the atom,
but not our prejudice. We write more, but learn less. We plan more, but
accomplish less. We've learned to rush, but not to wait. We build more
computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever, but we
communicate less and less.

These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion, big men and small
character, steep profits and shallow relationships. These are the days of
two incomes but more divorce, fancier houses, but broken homes. These are
days of quick trips, disposable diapers, throwaway morality, one night
stands, overweight bodies, and pills that do everything from cheer, to
quiet, to kill. It is a time when there is much in the showroom window and
nothing in the stockroom. A time when technology can bring this letter to
you, and a time when you can choose either to share this insight, or to just
hit delete...

Remember; spend some time with your loved ones, because they are not going
to be around forever.

Remember, say a kind word to someone who looks up to you in awe, because
that little person soon will grow up and leave your side.

Remember, to give a warm hug to the one next to you, because that is the
only treasure you can give with your heart and it doesn't cost a cent.

Remember, to say, 'I love you' to your partner and your loved ones, but most
of all mean it. A kiss and an embrace will mend hurt when it comes from deep
inside of you.

Remember to hold hands and cherish the moment for someday that person will
not be there again.

Give time to love, give time to speak! And give time to share the precious
thoughts in your mind.

AND ALWAYS REMEMBER:

Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments
that take our breath away.

George Carlin

RISKING

RISKING

Two seeds lay side by side in the fertile spring soil.

The first seed said," I want to grow! I want to send my roots deep into the soil beneath me, and thrust my sprouts through the earth's crust above me….. I want to unfurl my tender buds like banners to announce the arrival of spring……… I want to feel the warmth of the sun on my face and the blessing of the morning dew on my petals!"

And so she grew.

The second seed said," I am afraid. Of I send my roots into the ground below, I don't know what I will encounter in the dark, If I push my way through the hard soul above me I may damage my delicate sprouts….. what if I let my buds open and a snail tries to eat them? And if I were to open my blossoms, a small child may pull me from the ground. No, it is much better for me to wait until it is safe."

And so she waited.

A yard hen scratching around in the early spring ground for food found the waiting seed and promptly ate it.

MORAL OF THE STORY

Those of us who refuse to risk and grow get swallowed up by life.

Patty Hansen

The Funeral

Rest in Peace: The "I Can't" Funeral

Donna's fourth grade classroom looked like many others I had seen in the past. Students sat in five rows of six desks. The teacher' desk was in the front and faced the students. The bulletin board featured student work. In most respects it appeared to be a typically traditional elementary classroom. Yet something seemed different that day I entered it for the first time. There seemed to be an undercurrent of excitement.

Donna was a veteran small town school teacher only two years away from retirement. In addition she was a volunteer participant in a county-wide staff development project I had organized and facilitated. The training focused on language arts ideas that would empower students to feel good about themselves and take charge of their lives. Donna's job was to attend training sessions and implement the concepts being presented. My job was to make classroom visitations and encourage implementations.

I took an empty seat in the back of the room and watched. All students were working on a task, filling a sheet of notebook paper with thoughts and ideas. The ten year old student closest to me was filling her page with "I Can'ts."

"I can't kick the soccer ball past second base."

I can't do long division with more than three numerals."

I can't get Debbie to like me."

Her page was half full and she showed no signs of letting up. She worked on with determination and persistence.

I walked down the row glancing at students papers. Everyone was writing sentences, describing things they couldn't do.

"I can't do ten pushups."

"I can't hit over the left field fence."

I can't eat only one cookie."

By this time, the activity engaged my curiosity, so Id decided to check with the teacher to see what was going on. As I approached her, I noticed that she too was busy writing. I felt it best not to interrupt.

"I can't get Johns mother to come in for a teacher conference."

"I can't get my daughter to put gas in the car."

"I can't get Alan to use words instead of fists."

Thwarted in my efforts to determine why students and teacher were dwelling on the negative instead of writing the more positive. "I Can" statements, I returned to my seat and continued my observations. Students wrote for another ten minutes. Most filled their page. Some started another.

"Finish the one you're on and don't start a new one," were the instructions. Donna used to signal the end of the activity. Students were then instructed to fold their paper in half and bring them to the front. When students reached the teachers desk, they placed their "I Can't" statements into an empty shoe box.

When all of the student papers were collected, Donna added hers. She put the lid on the box, tucked it under her arm and headed out the door down the hall. Students followed the teacher. I followed the students.

Halfway down the hall the processions stopped. Donna entered the custodian's room, rummaged around and came out with a shovel. Shovel in one hand, shoe box in the other, Donna marched the students out of the school to the farthest corner of the playground. There they began to dig.

They were going to bury their "I Cants"! The digging took over ten minutes because most of the fourth graders wanted a turn. When the hole approached three feet deep, the digging ended. The box of "I Cants" was placed in position at the bottom of the hole and quickly covered with dirt.

Thirty one 10 and 11 year old stood around the freshly dug grave site. Each had at least one page full of "I Cants" in the shoe box, four feet under. So did their teacher.

At this point Donna announced, "Boys and Girls, please join hands and bow your heads." The students complied. The quickly formed a circle around the grave, creating a bond with their hands. They lowered their heads and waited. Donna delivered the eulogy.

"Friends, we gather today to honor the memory of 'I Can't'. While he was with us on earth, he touched the lives of everyone, some more than others. His name, unfortunately, has been spoken in every public building- Schools, City Halls, State capitols even the White House.

We have provided 'I can't' with a final resting place and headstone that contains his epitaph. He is survived by his brothers and sisters, 'I Can', 'I Will' and 'I'm Going to Right Away'. They are not as well known as their famous relative and are certainly not as strong and powerful yet. Perhaps someday, with our help, they will make an even bigger mark on the world.

"May 'I Can't' rest in peace and may everyone present pick upon their lives and move forward in his absence. Amen."

As I listened to the eulogy I realized that these students would never forget this day. The activity was symbolic, a metaphor for life. It was a right brain experience that would stick in the unconscious and conscious mind forever.

Writing "I Cants," burying them and hearing the eulogy. That was a major effort on the part of this teacher. And she wasn't done yet. At the conclusion of the eulogy she turned the students around, marched them back into the classroom and held a wake.

They celebrated the passing of "I can't" with cookies, popcorn and fruit juices. As part of the celebration, Donna cut out a large tombstone from butcher paper and put RIP in the middle. The date was added at the bottom.

The paper tombstone hung in Donna's classroom for the remainder of the year. On those rare occasions when a student forgot and said, "I Can't," Donna simply pointed to the RIP sign. The student then remembered that "I can't" was dead and chose to rephrase the statement.

I wasn't one of Donna's students. She was one of mine. Yet that day I learned an enduring lesson form her.

Now, years later, whenever I hear the phrase, "I Can't", I see images of that fourth grade funeral. Like the students, I remember that "I can't" is dead.

Chick Moorman

The Magic of Believing

I’m not old enough to play baseball or football. I’m not eight yet. My mom told me when you start baseball, you aren’t going to be able to run that fast because you had an operation. I told Mom I wouldn’t need to run that fast. When I play baseball, I’ll just hit them out of the park. Then I’ll be able to walk.
Edward J McGrath, Jr.
“An Exceptional View of Life”

Another one to Share with my friends

I am really enjoying this book, Chicken Soup for the Soul... Some more stuff from the book.

START WITH YOURSELF

The following words were written on the tomb of an Anglican Bishop in the Crypts of Westminister Abbey:

When I was young and free and my imagination had no limits, I dreamed of changing the world. As I grew older and wiser, I discovered the world would not change, so I shortened my sights somewhat and decided to change only my country.

But it, too, seemed immovable.

As I grew into my twilight years, in one last desperate attempt, I settled of changing only my family, those closest to me, but alas, they would have none of it.

And now as I lie on my deathbed, I suddenly realize: If I had only changed myself first, then by example I would have changed my family.

From their inspiration and encouragement, I would have been able to better my country and, who knows, I may have changed the world.

The Awakening

When you are 18, you worry about what everybody is thinking about you; when you are 40, you give a darn what anybody thinks about you; when you're 60, you realize nobody has been thinking about you at all….. Dr. Daniel Amen

We all spend our lives living the Looking Good factor, as we feel we have to make the best looks for everyone around us will be watching us. The fact which comes to light when we cross 60 is that nobody has had any time thinking about you, as they were also living the Looking Good factor and more bothered about their own selves rather than looking at you…

What we need to do is live a fulfilling life, life full of courage and meaning, rather than living a life for others.

THE GIFT

Bennet Cerf relates his touching story about a bus that was bumping along a back road in the South.
In one seat a wispy old man sat holding a bunch of fresh flowers. Across the aisle was a young girl whose eyes came back again and again to the man’s flowers. The time came for the old man to get off. Impulsively he thrust the flowers into the girl’s lap. “I’ll tell her I gave to you.” The girl accepted the flowers, then watched the old man get off the bus and walk through the gate of a small cemetery.