Odilia Carmen Chirica

The Emperor of China sent ambassadors to a hermit living in the northern mountains. They were to invite him to become Prime Minister of the Kingdom.  After many days of travel the ambassadors arrived. The hermitage was empty! But nearby in the middle of a river was a half-naked man, seated on a rock, fishing with a line. Could this be the man the Emperor thought so highly of? Enquires at the village proved it was. So they returned to the river bank and, as respectfully as they could, attempted to attract the fisherman’s attention.  The hermit waded through the river and stood before the messengers barefoot, arms akimbo. “What is it you want?”  “Honoured sir. His Majesty the Emperor of China, having heard of your wisdom and your holiness has sent us with these gifts. He invites you to accept the post of Prime Minister of the Realm.”  “Prime Minister of the Realm?”  “Yes, respected Sir.”  “Me?”  “Yes, respected sir.”  “Is His Majesty out of his mind?” said the hermit as he roared with un

"The mystic was back from the desert. “Tell us,” they said, “what God is like.” But how could he ever tell them what he had experienced in his heart? Can God be put into words? He finally gave them a formula — inaccurate, inadequate—in the hope that some might be tempted to experience it for themselves. They seized upon the formula. They made it a sacred text. They imposed it on others as a holy belief. They went to great pains to spread it in foreign lands. Some even gave their lives for if. The mystic was sad. It might have been better if he had said nothing." from the book  "Song Of The Bird"  by  Anthony de Mello ...in truth,  OdiliaCarmen

"Nasruddin was in a philosophical frame of mind: “Life and Death—who can say what they are?” His wife looked up from her cooking and said, “You men ore all alike— unpractical. Anyone can fell that when a man’s extremities are rigid and cold, he is dead.”  Nasruddin was impressed by his wife’s efficient wisdom. One day he was out in the snow when his hands and feet went numb. “I must be dead,” he thought. Then came a further thought: “If I am dead, what am I doing walking about? I should be lying down like a normal corpse.” Which is exactly what he did.  An hour later, a group of traveller’s, finding him by the roadside; fell to arguing among themselves about whether he was dead or alive. Nasruddin yearned to cry out, “Fools, can’t you see my extremities are rigid and cold?” But he knew better than to say that, for corpses do not talk.  They finally concluded he was dead and put him on their shoulders to take him to the cemetery. They hadn’t gone a mile when they came to a forking