Going through the newspaper today I found a very interesting article. Schumi returning back to F1 till Massa fully recovered and was fit enough to drive the Ferrari again. This particular bit of news generated both excitement and curiosity in me (as always.. I'm still a curious kid... ;))
At 40 Michael Schumacher will be the oldest person to race in the highest level of car racing in the present era. Though he still has to go through the fitness tests, I'm sure he'll come out of them with flying colors. But through all of this I began to wonder about perseverance and sports.
Everyone of us must have seen someone who has overcome all odds to defy things which are not possible in a normal course of life. Let us take the example of Tom Watson, who recently reached the playoffs of the Pga tour. At 59 years of age he was the oldest man to reach the finals of the tour. Though he had won 5 british PGA tours in 70s, reaching the finals of the same british open in 2009 about 3 decades later leaves us with awe and respect of the man.
Another example can be given in this respect. Basketball seldom has athletes who persevere through life changing beatings, but one man in particular, Alonzo Mourning, went through retirement which was caused by a failed kidney. Despite the injury, and a life changing kidney transplant, Mourning came back to basketball, and has since won a championship ring.
But the question now arises "What makes these men achieve the impossible?" Because at the end of the line lies greatness, and to get there, they need to persevere through the painful times and constantly train and take beatings. Although greatness lies at the end of the string, many end up on a tangent, and find themselves fatally injured and removed from the sport.
Coming to one of my favorite sportsperson of all time Lance Armstrong. His story of fighting the deadly cancer and survive it to win a record 7 consecutive Tour de France titles is known to all of us. Before Schumacher he was the one who returned to cycling tracks again and believe it or not he made podium finish. Thus, perseverance and sports have had steady relationship. A combination of these two qualities in a person leads to greatness which encompasses not only sports but every field of life and we all remember only those persons who are greats...... :)
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Self Realization...
As I sit in my home doing nothing at all, life suddenly seems to be stopped feeling so stressed out and interesting. May be because I'm under the able guidance and protection of my parents who protect me from the ugly outside world.So all the while sitting here I've stumbled upon something which is perhaps most important in our self development - The meaning and the power of self.
Each individual must know himself. He has to identify himself as the infinite, eternal and immortal Consciousness. However, the concept of Infinity, Eternity and Immortality is absolutely foreign to us. Why? The reason is quite simple. We live in the body, rather than in the soul. To us the body is everything. There is nothing and can be nothing beyond the body. The existence of the soul we consider sheer imagination. But I assure you that the soul is not imaginary. Most of us live in the body, in the earthbound physical consciousness. Our teacher is Darkness; our professor is Ignorance. But if ever we live in the soul, we shall see that our teacher is Vision and our professor is Illumination.
As we gain more knowledge we tend to become more and more enlightened but still there's emptiness inside, we feel hollow, unsatisfied but when we come in contact with our inner self, we find answers to all our questions, we are at peace. "How is this possible?" one may ask. The answer to this is that "Life is effort" to the body but "Life is blessing" to the soul.
Can dedication and aspiration offer man self realization? Yes. Man's dedication is his heart flower offered at the Feet of God. Man's aspiration is his soul fruit placed in the Lap of God.
We must cherish positive thoughts, positive ideas, positive ideals. Only then will our Goal no longer remain a far cry. Each man has to feel, "I am at the Feet of God, my own Master. I am in the Hands of God, my own Creator. I am in the Heart of God, my only Beloved."
Each individual must know himself. He has to identify himself as the infinite, eternal and immortal Consciousness. However, the concept of Infinity, Eternity and Immortality is absolutely foreign to us. Why? The reason is quite simple. We live in the body, rather than in the soul. To us the body is everything. There is nothing and can be nothing beyond the body. The existence of the soul we consider sheer imagination. But I assure you that the soul is not imaginary. Most of us live in the body, in the earthbound physical consciousness. Our teacher is Darkness; our professor is Ignorance. But if ever we live in the soul, we shall see that our teacher is Vision and our professor is Illumination.
As we gain more knowledge we tend to become more and more enlightened but still there's emptiness inside, we feel hollow, unsatisfied but when we come in contact with our inner self, we find answers to all our questions, we are at peace. "How is this possible?" one may ask. The answer to this is that "Life is effort" to the body but "Life is blessing" to the soul.
Can dedication and aspiration offer man self realization? Yes. Man's dedication is his heart flower offered at the Feet of God. Man's aspiration is his soul fruit placed in the Lap of God.
We must cherish positive thoughts, positive ideas, positive ideals. Only then will our Goal no longer remain a far cry. Each man has to feel, "I am at the Feet of God, my own Master. I am in the Hands of God, my own Creator. I am in the Heart of God, my only Beloved."
Sunday, July 26, 2009
The Power of Determination.....
It was another bitterly cold morning in Everetts, Kansas, a rural farming town like so many hundreds of communities throughout the American Midwest as the world was waging the Great War, World War I.
The residents in those small towns were not strangers to hard—often back-breaking—work, and from early childhood, they learned to value, even to love, hard work. Chores were doled out nearly as soon as a child could walk.
Such was the life of Clint (a water-well driller) who moved his family around a lot in a struggle to keep them fed.
On Aug. 4, 1909, while living in Atlanta, Kansas, Clint’s wife bore him a son, whom they named Glenn. By the time he was six, little Glenn was already working.
He and his nine-year old brother, Floyd, were assigned the onerous duty of walking almost two miles to the schoolhouse (that’s what they still called them back then, and many really were just abandoned houses that were converted to schools) to start the fire in the stove.
That way, the room would be warm by the time the teacher and other students arrived.
One cold morning in February of 1916, Floyd and Glenn arrived at the schoolhouse and unlocked the door, and were slapped in the face by the bitter cold wafting out of the still structure.
The two boys loaded the large, pot belly stove full of firewood, and took the kerosene can and soaked the logs thoroughly, as they always did. The kerosene accelerated the process of ignition, while also soaking into the logs enough to allow the flames to begin consuming the wood.
This morning, though, something went terribly wrong.
After letting the logs soak in the fluid for a bit, Floyd struck a match and dropped it into the pot belly stove. Almost instantaneously, the fire took on a life of its own. With a percussive “whoomp”, fire exploded everywhere, engulfing Floyd in a horrific sheet of flame.
Someone had mistakenly filled the kerosene container with gasoline.
Both of the boys were knocked to the ground by the mini-explosion, writhing in unspeakable pain. The flames quickly escaped the confines of the stove and violently swarmed throughout the front room of the schoolhouse.
On this day, their older sister Letha had accompanied them to school. She had been tending to other duties nearby, and heard the commotion coming from the schoolhouse. She saw the menacing flames and rushed to the front door, her horror growing by the moment.
She managed to open the door and coax her siblings out of the inferno. She ran for help; by the time she got back, Floyd was barely alive. He died shortly thereafter.
Little Glenn was mercifully unconscious for hours, as local doctors proclaimed him more dead than alive. His lower body had been ravaged by the flames.
He awoke in the local hospital, his legs swathed in bandages. The pain was unspeakable. He thought suddenly of his older brother, and tried to spring out of his bed to find him, but he could not move his legs.
He was crushed to learn that his brother had passed.
He was forced to stay in the hospital for weeks. His legs remained bandaged and lifeless. From his bed the dreadfully burned, semi-conscious little boy faintly heard the doctor talking to his mother. The doctor told his mother that her son would surely die - which was for the best, really - for the terrible fire had devastated the lower half of his body.
But the brave boy didn't want to die. He made up his mind that he would survive. Somehow, to the amazement of the physician, he did survive. When the mortal danger was past, he again heard the doctor and his mother speaking quietly. The mother was told that since the fire had destroyed so much flesh in the lower part of his body, it would almost be better if he had died, since he was doomed to be a lifetime cripple with no use at all of his lower limbs.
Once more the brave boy made up his mind. He would not be a cripple. He would walk. But unfortunately from the waist down, he had no motor ability. His thin legs just dangled there, all but lifeless.
His mother, mindful that her son had already lost his brother, refused to let him lose his legs, too.
When the bandages were finally removed and Glenn was sent home, it was easy to see why the doctors had been so pessimistic.
The little boy had lost all the toes on his left foot, and the transverse arch of the foot was ravaged. The flesh on his knees and shins had been eaten away by the flames. The right leg was grossly misshapen and was now a full two inches shorter than the left leg.
He still could not walk.
The doctors had done all they could. There was no such thing as transplants and skin grafts in those days nearly a century ago, and even if there had been, the family was not rich enough to afford the processes.
Ultimately he was released from the hospital. Every day his mother would massage his little legs, but there was no feeling, no control, nothing. Yet his determination that he would walk was as strong as ever.
When he wasn't in bed, he was confined to a wheelchair. One sunny day,during the summer of 1919, his mother wheeled him out into the yard to get some fresh air. This day, instead of sitting there, he threw himself from the chair. He pulled himself across the grass, dragging his legs behind him.
He worked his way to the white picket fence bordering their lot. With great effort, he raised himself up on the fence. Then, stake by stake, he began dragging himself along the fence, determined that he would walk, all the while resisting his mother’s attempts to help.
He did this every day for weeks, until he had worn a path along the fence.
Slowly—over a period of months—Glenn’s legs began to function, to the astonishment of the doctors.
Ultimately through his daily massages, his iron persistence and his resolute determination, he did develop the ability to stand up, then to walk haltingly, then to walk by himself - and then - to run.
He began to walk to school, then to run to school, to run for the sheer joy of running. Later in college he made the track team.
Still later in Madison Square Garden this young man who was not expected to survive, who would surely never walk, who could never hope to run - this determined young man, Dr. Glenn Cunningham, ran the world's fastest mile!
The residents in those small towns were not strangers to hard—often back-breaking—work, and from early childhood, they learned to value, even to love, hard work. Chores were doled out nearly as soon as a child could walk.
Such was the life of Clint (a water-well driller) who moved his family around a lot in a struggle to keep them fed.
On Aug. 4, 1909, while living in Atlanta, Kansas, Clint’s wife bore him a son, whom they named Glenn. By the time he was six, little Glenn was already working.
He and his nine-year old brother, Floyd, were assigned the onerous duty of walking almost two miles to the schoolhouse (that’s what they still called them back then, and many really were just abandoned houses that were converted to schools) to start the fire in the stove.
That way, the room would be warm by the time the teacher and other students arrived.
One cold morning in February of 1916, Floyd and Glenn arrived at the schoolhouse and unlocked the door, and were slapped in the face by the bitter cold wafting out of the still structure.
The two boys loaded the large, pot belly stove full of firewood, and took the kerosene can and soaked the logs thoroughly, as they always did. The kerosene accelerated the process of ignition, while also soaking into the logs enough to allow the flames to begin consuming the wood.
This morning, though, something went terribly wrong.
After letting the logs soak in the fluid for a bit, Floyd struck a match and dropped it into the pot belly stove. Almost instantaneously, the fire took on a life of its own. With a percussive “whoomp”, fire exploded everywhere, engulfing Floyd in a horrific sheet of flame.
Someone had mistakenly filled the kerosene container with gasoline.
Both of the boys were knocked to the ground by the mini-explosion, writhing in unspeakable pain. The flames quickly escaped the confines of the stove and violently swarmed throughout the front room of the schoolhouse.
On this day, their older sister Letha had accompanied them to school. She had been tending to other duties nearby, and heard the commotion coming from the schoolhouse. She saw the menacing flames and rushed to the front door, her horror growing by the moment.
She managed to open the door and coax her siblings out of the inferno. She ran for help; by the time she got back, Floyd was barely alive. He died shortly thereafter.
Little Glenn was mercifully unconscious for hours, as local doctors proclaimed him more dead than alive. His lower body had been ravaged by the flames.
He awoke in the local hospital, his legs swathed in bandages. The pain was unspeakable. He thought suddenly of his older brother, and tried to spring out of his bed to find him, but he could not move his legs.
He was crushed to learn that his brother had passed.
He was forced to stay in the hospital for weeks. His legs remained bandaged and lifeless. From his bed the dreadfully burned, semi-conscious little boy faintly heard the doctor talking to his mother. The doctor told his mother that her son would surely die - which was for the best, really - for the terrible fire had devastated the lower half of his body.
But the brave boy didn't want to die. He made up his mind that he would survive. Somehow, to the amazement of the physician, he did survive. When the mortal danger was past, he again heard the doctor and his mother speaking quietly. The mother was told that since the fire had destroyed so much flesh in the lower part of his body, it would almost be better if he had died, since he was doomed to be a lifetime cripple with no use at all of his lower limbs.
Once more the brave boy made up his mind. He would not be a cripple. He would walk. But unfortunately from the waist down, he had no motor ability. His thin legs just dangled there, all but lifeless.
His mother, mindful that her son had already lost his brother, refused to let him lose his legs, too.
When the bandages were finally removed and Glenn was sent home, it was easy to see why the doctors had been so pessimistic.
The little boy had lost all the toes on his left foot, and the transverse arch of the foot was ravaged. The flesh on his knees and shins had been eaten away by the flames. The right leg was grossly misshapen and was now a full two inches shorter than the left leg.
He still could not walk.
The doctors had done all they could. There was no such thing as transplants and skin grafts in those days nearly a century ago, and even if there had been, the family was not rich enough to afford the processes.
Ultimately he was released from the hospital. Every day his mother would massage his little legs, but there was no feeling, no control, nothing. Yet his determination that he would walk was as strong as ever.
When he wasn't in bed, he was confined to a wheelchair. One sunny day,during the summer of 1919, his mother wheeled him out into the yard to get some fresh air. This day, instead of sitting there, he threw himself from the chair. He pulled himself across the grass, dragging his legs behind him.
He worked his way to the white picket fence bordering their lot. With great effort, he raised himself up on the fence. Then, stake by stake, he began dragging himself along the fence, determined that he would walk, all the while resisting his mother’s attempts to help.
He did this every day for weeks, until he had worn a path along the fence.
Slowly—over a period of months—Glenn’s legs began to function, to the astonishment of the doctors.
Ultimately through his daily massages, his iron persistence and his resolute determination, he did develop the ability to stand up, then to walk haltingly, then to walk by himself - and then - to run.
He began to walk to school, then to run to school, to run for the sheer joy of running. Later in college he made the track team.
Still later in Madison Square Garden this young man who was not expected to survive, who would surely never walk, who could never hope to run - this determined young man, Dr. Glenn Cunningham, ran the world's fastest mile!
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Trees that Wood.....
Then the second tree said, "Someday I will be a mighty ship. I will take kings and queens across the waters and sail to the corners of the world. Everyone will feel safe in me because of the strength of my hull."
Finally the third tree said, "I want to grow to be the tallest and straightest tree in the forest. People will see me on top of the hill and look up to my branches, and think of the heavens and God and how close to them I am reaching. I will be the greatest tree of all time and people will always remember me."
After a few years of praying that their dreams would come true, a group of woodsmen came upon the trees. When one came to the first tree he said, "This looks like a strong tree, I think I should be able to sell the wood to a carpenter" ... and he began cutting it down. The tree was happy, because he knew that the carpenter would make him into a treasure chest.
At the second tree a woodsman said, "This looks like a strong tree, I should be able to sell it to the shipyard." The second tree was happy because he knew he was on his way to becoming a mighty ship.
When the woodsmen came upon the third tree, the tree was frightened because he knew that if they cut him down his dreams would not come true. One of the woodsmen said, "I don't need anything special from my tree so I'll take this one", and he cut it down.
When the first tree arrived at the carpenters, he was made into a feed box for animals. He was then placed in a barn and filled with hay. This was not at all what he had prayed for. The second tree was cut and made into a small fishing boat. His dreams of being a mighty ship and carrying kings had come to an end. The third tree was cut into large pieces and left alone in the dark. The years went by, and the trees forgot about their dreams.
Then one day, a man and woman came to the barn. She gave birth and they placed the baby in the hay in the feed box that was made from the first tree. The man wished that he could have made a crib for the baby, but this manger would have to do. The tree could feel the importance of this event and knew that it had held the greatest treasure of all time. Years later, a group of men got in the fishing boat made from the second tree. One of them was tired and went to sleep. While they were out on the water, a great storm arose and the tree didn't think it was strong enough to keep the men safe. The men woke the sleeping man, and he stood and said "Peace" and the storm stopped. At this time, the tree knew that it had carried the King of Kings in its boat.
Finally, someone came and got the third tree. It was carried through the streets as the people mocked the man who was carrying it. When they came to a stop, the man was nailed to the tree and raised in the air to die at the top of a hill. When Sunday came, the tree came to realize that it was strong enough to stand at the top of the hill and be as close to God as was possible, because Jesus had been crucified on it.
The moral of this story is that when things don't seem to be going your way, always know that God has a plan for you. If you place your trust in Him, He will give you great gifts. Each of the trees got what they wanted, just not in the way they had imagined. We don't always know what God's plans are for us. We just know that His ways are not our ways, but His ways are always best.
Friday, July 3, 2009
DETERMINATION!!!!
In 1883, a creative engineer named John Roebling was inspired by an idea to build a spectacular bridge connecting New York with the Long Island. However bridge building experts throughout the world thought that this was an impossible feat and told Roebling to forget the idea. It just could not be done. It was not practical. It had never been done before.
Roebling could not ignore the vision he had in his mind of this bridge. He thought about it all the time and he knew deep in his heart that it could be done. He just had to share the dream with someone else. After much discussion and persuasion he managed to convince his son Washington, an up and coming engineer, that the bridge in fact could be built.
Working together for the first time, the father and son developed concepts of how it could be accomplished and how the obstacles could be overcome. With great excitement and inspiration, and the headiness of a wild challenge before them, they hired their crew and began to build their dream bridge.
The project started well, but when it was only a few months underway a tragic accident on the site took the life of John Roebling. Washington was injured and left with a certain amount of brain damage, which resulted in him not being able to walk or talk or even move.
"We told them so." "Crazy men and their crazy dreams." "It`s foolish to chase wild visions."
Everyone had a negative comment to make and felt that the project should be scrapped since the Roeblings were the only ones who knew how the bridge could be built. In spite of his handicap Washington was never discouraged and still had a burning desire to complete the bridge and his mind was still as sharp as ever.
He tried to inspire and pass on his enthusiasm to some of his friends, but they were too daunted by the task. As he lay on his bed in his hospital room, with the sunlight streaming through the windows, a gentle breeze blew the flimsy white curtains apart and he was able to see the sky and the tops of the trees outside for just a moment.
It seemed that there was a message for him not to give up. Suddenly an idea hit him. All he could do was move one finger and he decided to make the best use of it. By moving this, he slowly developed a code of communication with his wife.
He touched his wife's arm with that finger, indicating to her that he wanted her to call the engineers again. Then he used the same method of tapping her arm to tell the engineers what to do. It seemed foolish but the project was under way again.
For 13 years Washington tapped out his instructions with his finger on his wife's arm, until the bridge was finally completed. Today the spectacular Brooklyn Bridge stands in all its glory as a tribute to the triumph of one man's indomitable spirit and his determination not to be defeated by circumstances. It is also a tribute to the engineers and their team work, and to their faith in a man who was considered mad by half the world. It stands too as a tangible monument to the love and devotion of his wife who for 13 long years patiently decoded the messages of her husband and told the engineers what to do.
Perhaps this is one of the best examples of a never-say-die attitude that overcomes a terrible physical handicap and achieves an impossible goal.
Often when we face obstacles in our day-to-day life, our hurdles seem very small in comparison to what many others have to face. The Brooklyn Bridge shows us that dreams that seem impossible can be realised with determination and persistence, no matter what the odds are.
Excellence!!!!
A German once visited a temple under construction where he saw a sculptor making an idol of God. Suddenly he noticed a similar idol lying nearby. Surprised, he asked the sculptor, "Do you need two statues of the same idol?" "No," said the sculptor without looking up, "We need only one, but the first one got damaged at the last stage." The gentleman examined the idol and found no apparent damage. "Where is the damage?" he asked. "There is a scratch on the nose of the idol." said the sculptor, still busy with his work. "Where are you going to install the idol?"
The sculptor replied that it would be installed on a pillar twenty feet high. "If the idol is that far, who is going to know that there is a scratch on the nose?" the gentleman asked. The sculptor stopped his work, looked up at the gentleman, smiled and said, "I will know it."
The desire to excel is exclusive of the fact whether someone else appreciates it or not.
"Excellence" is a drive from inside, not outside. Excellence is not for someone else to notice but for your own satisfaction and efficiency...
The sculptor replied that it would be installed on a pillar twenty feet high. "If the idol is that far, who is going to know that there is a scratch on the nose?" the gentleman asked. The sculptor stopped his work, looked up at the gentleman, smiled and said, "I will know it."
The desire to excel is exclusive of the fact whether someone else appreciates it or not.
"Excellence" is a drive from inside, not outside. Excellence is not for someone else to notice but for your own satisfaction and efficiency...
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