Category: Do No Harm


Pathway

It’s been a strange week in Washington (D.C.)

It started approximately four days ago. Washington Post columnist Erik Wemple began his column stating that in the early months of the Trump administration, Attorney General Sessions pledged to take a hard line against leaks of classified information.

Why that reference? Who was Wemple opining? Henry Kyle Frese.

On October 9th, Henry Kyle Frese, 30, was arrested on Wednesday at his office at the Defense Intelligence Agency. Mr. Frese allegedly shared information with two reporters: CNBC reporters Amanda Macias, a national security reporter who also appeared to be his girlfriend, and NBC reporter Courtney Kube.

On Thursday, Lev Parnas and Igor Fruman, associates of President Trump’s lawyer Rudy Giuliani, were arrested before flights departing the United States. Parnas and Fruman were part of the pressure campaign on Ukraine to investigate Democrat Joe Biden and Hunter Biden. This criminal case exposes the president’s allies as Mr. Trump tries to discredit ongoing impeachment efforts in Congress.

All of these have one common theme, conflict of interest.

In the CNBC/NBC reporter case, why not have sex with the people they cover?

The answer is painfully obvious: No. Never partner in a business with sources, much less become boyfriend/girlfriend. Such mixing contaminates the end product with the taint of compromise and conflict of interest. Kube should have seen that coming. Yet, she willfully agreed to work on sourced material from Frese and Macias.

In the case of Parnas and Fruman, ethics manuals and rules, either didn’t exist or didn’t deter blending business with criminal probing.

We’ve become accustomed to such intermingling. Hollywood romances such relationships, often adopting this forbidden pairing to power stories, often with female bedding a source. A shortlist of contemporary movies, and TV shows include:

  • Thank You for Smoking;
  • Absence of Malice;
  • Nashville;
  • Scoop;
  • Scandal;
  • Trainwreck;
  • Top Five;
  • How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days;
  • The Fly;
  • Fletch;
  • Mr. Deeds;
  • Three Kings;
  • The West Wing;
  • Crazy Heart; and
  • Iron Man.

After my ethical lapses in business, including one that sacrificed a career ten years ago, I reapplied Spiritual training to my life. I better understand issues of conflicts based on wealth (Trump), sexuality (Catholic sex scandals), and power (Me Too movement). While each member of society is expected to dedicate him or herself to training, avoiding such mistakes, and harmful actions. When such transgressions occur, destructive forces can be released. Thus, such instances must be acknowledged and worked with skillfully through the wisdom of both inner spiritual thought and practical ethical standards.

A Code of Ethics provides a pathway. And I cannot help but think that all the participants referenced in this blog post should have remembered that ‘pathway’ and asked one critical question.

“If I had to justify my actions, how would others view it?”

Had that question been asked, all of this could have been avoided. Yet, here we are. Therein, I query.

“What’s your pathway?”

Plowshares

When asked about my disease, my comparison is root rot. Yeah, true. Webster’s Dictionary will define root rot as a condition in which the roots of a plant begin to decay, but that’s where I’m at. My days are composed of overcoming various problems: stiffness, numb hands, dropping things, sporadic tremors, and so on. The latest issue is extreme neck numbness accompanied by full neck lock.

Several nights ago, while sitting in a comfortable chair watching the Cubs lose, I suddenly became unable to turn my neck. I quickly downed some essential medication. After an hour, little relief was achieved and grabbed my one form of ‘use at last resort’ medicine, a muscle relaxer, and pain blocker. By night’s close, I drifted off to beautiful sleep.

At dawn’s early light, I stumbled from the bed, showered, drank a cup of coffee, downed a batch of morning medications, dressed and reached for my Smith and Wesson 351PD.

Before this weapon, the only gun I ever owned was a Lone Ranger toy gun received from my Uncle at years for Christmas. Of course, I grew into a trained sniper and handled many weapons during my time in the military, yet I hadn’t owned a gun until 2017. Ownership came after being robbed while coming from a department store. And Smith and Wesson became my choice for personal protection. The 351 PD I carried provided me with a sense of security. With it, merely flashing the weapon to another would-be robber was all required to dispel an attack,

From there, I somehow acquired 8.

Strangely, in spite of everything, I could still shoot. My military instructors would be damn proud. I put in countless hours at the range, and in spite of my root rot, I could shoot nearly as good as some competitors.

Still groggy from the previous night’s medication, I flipped the cylinder open to ensure proper loading, spun the cylinder for the hell of it, handle in right-hand, barrel resting in my left, while and carefully checked the trigger.

The trigger slipped — a rookie mistake made by a professional.

Surprisingly, the. 22 caliber bullet provided little recoil. Amazingly, the bullet travel between my index finger and middle finger touched neither. Best I can tell, the shot angled through the drywall, wedging in a wall stud.

The explosion still resonates in my ear today. Suffice to say; it was huge. It was the first time I heard a weapon discharge so close to my ear. My ear still rings. That sound is forever etched in my mind. I’ll never forget it.

For the first time in my life, I understood the fear of gun violence; it’s sound and the fear of being shot. I could have been seriously wounded. Under different circumstances, I could have seriously injured a loved one or bystander.

The hundreds of hours spent in training is futile when one is slightly groggy. At that moment, I became a threat.

I was blinded to the real possibilities of killing someone. The idea to purchase the weapon was to feel safer. In a split second, I realized just how idyllic and self-delusional. I wasn’t warped by NRA, by some fancy salesman, by the notion of the second amendment. I had distorted by a belief that a weapon would make me safer.

I broke my honor, and the Buddhist precept of Ahimsa, do not harm. The real villain in this story is not the man who robbed me years ago. It’s was neither media nor gun rights advocates. The real villain was ignorance — my ignorance. I projected my fear unto a dreamlike state of peace that could never be created. Personal peace via a weapon cannot be attained.

Late afternoon, I gathered my weapons and handed them over for destruction.

I ended the fantasy.

————————

. . . and they shall beat their swords into plowshares . . .

Isaiah 2:4

And the good old days
They say they’re gone.
Only wise men
And some new born fools
Say they know what’s going on.
But I sometimes think the difference is
Just in how I think and see
And the only changes going on
Are going on in me.

~ Changes, 1973, Harry Chapin ~

In my younger days as a consultant, I would charge off into the world, serving as one of the few ‘hired guns’ that would bail clients out of sticky situations, regardless of whether the client was good or bad. As my former boss would say, “Some of our best clients are our worst clients.” I never overthought it. I would show up, work hard. Sometimes, I didn’t know the endgame. Other times, I did.

Life was a constant ever cyclical season of waves. Like a weather-beaten sea captain, I never gave fear center stage. In the still of the night some years ago, I silently confided: I never feared the surface, but I thought long and hard of the devil underneath. Storms would come, toss the boat, bang your insides, and then … calm.

And just as the Buddha predicted, everything changed. From top consultant, no tumor, to patient … Patient ID: H78 . . . blah, blah . . .blah, blah, blah.

In the 90 days since, there are times when I’ve felt very voiceless. Pre-tumor, my weapons of choice, i.e., my medical knowledge and knowledge of the medical proved defenseless against my body. Now, doctors and nurses play high-stakes chess within the confines of my bones as I remain simply a witness.

There are some positives. I’ve had the opportunity to revisit and evaluate several facets of my life. There are all the usual priorities one normally debates: family, careers and other relationships. For me, I was able to look past the disease itself and found transforming truths. First, never take life for granted. Second, love better. Third, I don’t know all the answers. Fourth, there’s significant joy in learning to let go.

I wish to focus on the fourth, letting go, for a moment. It’s hard to believe my blog has lasted over seven years. To date, I’ve listed over 600 blog posts. Throughout my last seven years, I’ve focused on making amends. A May 2012 blog post recorded:

“. . . success of one’s faith might be found in the value of your morals and the willingness to make amends, even when that test may be so brutally honest and painful. I will say this up front; my Atonement List has twenty-six (26) severely painful situations requiring amends, including:

    • The Catholic Church, for all my mortal sins;
    • The only love of my life ~ for whom God called us and I broke your trust;
    • Former boss for violating my position;
    • Financial mistakes; and
    • Mother and Father, for not being the son you could honor.

Twenty-six (26). That’s quite a list–almost one for every year I have roamed the corporate world. I felt an obligation to honor the Atonement List. I researched and contacted all of the people I could. In some cases, the outcome was exceedingly painful. Seven (7) of the twenty-six (26) refused my amends, including the Catholic Church and my love. Eleven (11) forgave me. Four (4) couldn’t be located and four (4) others are a work in progress.

Those numbers haven’t changed in seven years. The only thing that changed, was me.

I told my case manager this past Thursday that I awoke earlier this week and found myself forgiven–the deck was cleared–my sins forgiven. I told her, it was not a ‘faith,’ but rather a ‘knowing.’ I simply knew it. My life is nearing a plateau, maybe its crescendo. And I believe that’s it, some ‘thing’ is coming.

And I feel that something’s coming, and it’s not just in the wind.
It’s more than just tomorrow, it’s more than where we’ve been,
It offers me a promise, it’s telling me “Begin”,
It’s something worth believing in.
~ Remember When the Music, 1980, Harry Chapin ~

‘Begin.’

Three weeks ago, Ms. Kalabash, my 63-year-old neighbor, stopped me before my travel to Sacramento. She noted how the cool early morn temperature floated through her shoulder-length hair, of the crisp morning air, and of the birds jotting from tree to tree.

“Beautiful morning. Just beautiful,” Kalabash exclaimed. Noting my luggage, “Where are you off to this week?”

“Ah. To the desert –Sacramento.”

“Why? What the hell’s there?”

“Ah, someone decided it was a great place to build a company headquarters.”

She raised an eyebrow while simultaneously wrinkling her nose. “Well,” she paused. “Have a great trip.”

It was the last time I saw Kalabash.

Three days ago, a realtor notice posted a for sale sign the community bulletin board. Deep in debt from recurring years of arthritic pain, and no hope blooming over the horizon, she went to bed on June 10th and never awoke. Some speculated she passed from lack of proper medical care. Others claimed she downed a series of pills in sequence and committed suicide.

Meeting her daughter yesterday afternoon, her daughter indicated Kalabash was over $60,000 in medical debt, even with insurance. “My mother couldn’t keep up,” wiping away an errant tear. Kalabash racked up more than several thousand dollars in out-of-pocket medical expenses—doctors, x-rays, surgeons, anesthesiologists, radiologists, and pharmaceuticals, you name it. She had health insurance. However, the policy had a $6,000 deductible.

Herein lay just one debate over the future of the Affordable Care Act—just because a person is insured, doesn’t mean healthcare is affordable. Years and years of deductibles add up. For those with lifetime illnesses, physicians, hospitals, pharmaceuticals, and other medical costs are killers.

And like many others before, Kalabash became invisible. She disappeared into the night.

Kalabash became invisible – to everyone.

Invisible. Strange word.

Like Kalabash, I don’t look sick yet. Like Kalabash, I’ve told nothing of my health to but only a limited few. Clothes hide weight loss; drugs help me walk; smiles and laughter disarm the curious. As a result, I can find myself not wanting to go out, even if I if can, because the importance of willing to be accepted is more critical than the months remaining. How I look doesn’t necessarily reflect how I feel.

Invisibility can bring tragic consequences. Kalabash feared misunderstanding over what it meant to be disabled. Too sick to work and be active also meant she couldn’t go out to a restaurant or experience a night out. She feared her long-term disability payments would be revoked if someone saw them being active in some way, perhaps going to the store.

Kalabash felt the burden was on her to be invisible to others. It turns out; she died that way.

For those living an invisible life, Author Toni Bernhard wrote:

… I remembered something a [Buddhist] teacher had said: ‘If your compassion doesn’t include yourself, it is incomplete.’

Bernhard’s comments will come as a challenge to many, but looking at myself,  maybe I need to stop blaming myself for getting sick. It might help if the world does the same.

‘All In’

According to Reuters, when choosing a flight, U.S. fliers apparently prefer ticket prices over air safety. In fact, recent safety issues of the Boeing 737 Max had had little impact. Only 3 percent said that aircraft or model was important when buying a plane ticket. In contrast, 57 percent said ticket price was critical.

However, Southwest Airlines passengers expressed concerns on social media after confusion over on-board safety cards led passengers to think they were flying on a Boeing 737 Max. In reality, Southwest had already grounded all 737 Max airplane and stated the safety card used can be used for more than one plane model, adding that safety procedures for the 737 Max and 737-800 are identical.

In other words, up to the point of takeoff, people were more concerned about. Unfortunately folks, at that point, it’s too late. You’re ‘all in.’ You’ve succumbed to fate.

In American usage, the phrase “all in” began as a colloquial expression meaning to be in a bad spot—exhausted, worn out, and spent. In the game of poker, it refers to the moment when a player—whether out of bravado, recklessness, or desperation—bets all of his or her chips on a single hand. The all-in moment in poker is a thrilling win-or-lose-everything crisis of dramatic clarity: you’ve wagered all you’ve got, giving your fate over to the cards, and you can’t go back out again.

“Can you drive me to my car? It’s late and I parked in an unsafe area after dark.”

“Why didn’t you park in the parking garage across directly across the street?”

“Well, the garage costs $90.00 a month,” she paused.

“And you didn’t want to pay $90.00 a month?” I interjected, finishing the sentence.

“Correct.”

Knowing the position she has at the firm, I’m fairly confident her annual salary nears $120,000 annually. Roughly speaking, she bet her life on $1,200 savings, a smidgen less than 1% of her salary.

“So, you placed savings above safety?”

“Huh?” she quipped.

“You bet personal safety for less than 1% of your salary?”

“Hey, don’t jinx me,” she snapped. Continuing, “You’ll be responsible if I get hurt.”

“Yes, I will feel bad if you get injured. However, you went ‘all in,’ not me'”

History will tell you that going all in is often a spectacularly bad idea. In life though, it seems all good. In life we hope many of poker’s words and phrases bring forth a sense of romance and drama that break the normal mundane activities of life. in many cases, we simply want to up the ante.

In life, almost everything contains some level of risk; the key to success is to identify an appropriate risk tolerance and then manage the that tolerance. In some instances, this may mean avoidance of any loss is appropriate, but in others moderate losses may be tolerable. In my friend’s case, there’s appears to little reward in gaining less than 1% reward. Sure, should she live that same routine over a decade, the reward would equal nearly $12,000. Then again, a decade of wages would net $1,200,000. The risk reward remains at 1%.

Going ‘all in.’ Wagering everything for the 1% is why Vegas almost always wins.

Pretty stupid.

Several days have past since my last post. I’ve felt ill these past several days – not from the previous eighteen letters – but from my body. A body zooming past the highest point of life’s roller coaster. I will soon bid adieu and go forth in nature. With that being said, someone asked via private email if I learned anything from opening and reading my previous work.

Of course. Yes.

First. I keep thinking just how badly I constructed those early letters. Like most writers, I don’t have the benefit of an editor. Never been paid for writing. Thus, it’s hard to write, rest, edit, write, rest, edit and publish. But I think all who write – anything – should take the time between writing and submission. Editing is critical. It’s the key to success.

Second. Maybe it was good these letters were never written. Ha! At times, I thought of Harry Chapin’s quote:

“In the sixties I wrote about four hundred songs before anybody even paid any attention. They were my protest songs – to which, I was known, as ‘Gapping Chapin”’

And, uh, my songs had the implications that if only the world was as truly wonderful as I, there’d be no problems …”

Reading through, I sometimes thought I appeared as Mr. Wonderful. And truly, in all confession, eight years ago, I was not all that wonderful.

Third. Most importantly, there were some brilliant expressions of love I wished she could have read. Who knows? Maybe she will. Or, maybe she does.

So, what happened?

In reality, people breathe their own work, their own life. And often times, in our world, one cannot sustain anything that one cannot make use of – relationships included. Often, a weaker personality gives way to the stronger. This dominant personality can work flawlessly in life’s macro-level. However, such divisiveness is not endearingly palatable at the micro-level. Thus, those eagerly willing to please initiates the downfall.

Humans are complex beings. Each of us has inner conflicts, both with life and in our relationships. Truth be told, not every relationship works. Not every boy gets the girl. Not every girl gets the boy. Sometimes, you end up with someone else – someone better. As such, in her world, I know I would have been out of place.

The fact that I (maybe even we) still think of her (of each other) shows our relationship had some level of substance. And yet, like most sea-bearing Captain’s whose lost a love, I was too stupid to return to harbor, too fearful of sailing dry land. Yet, as I give way to nature, I accept that the extraordinary days of loving her will probably be my last. She could pierce my eyes, and cleanse my soul. I miss the beauty of her hair, its wave against gentle summer breezes and her radiant smile.

I recently visited the home I stayed in upstate New York during the Fall of 2010 and Winter of 2011. Looking past the Hudson River, up upon a Waxing Gibbous, I remembered the changes of fortune in both our lives, thinking of the many people who worked to make us whole, to return us to our inner home.

And … I wonder what tomorrow may bring.

America’s lust for hate and weaponization intersected three time this week. First, on Wednesday, a white man with a history of violence shot and killed two African-Americans, seemingly at random, at a Kentucky grocery store. Second, after mail bombs were sent to Democratic criticized by the President. And third, on Saturday, a man shouting anti-Semitic slurs opened fire at a Pittsburgh synagogue, killing 11 people attending Jewish services.

In today’s world, ‘prayers and thoughts’ are likened to ‘checking a box.” All us recognize  something has to change. We even recognize our participation in injustice, and yet we intend to do nothing. So, just as in other acts of terror, American political leaders are quick to offer prayers, condolences and thoughts but deny any culpability. In essence, our political leaders are saying, “Screw’em. They’re dead.” When tragedy occurs, ‘thoughts and prayers. Check.

Op-ed writer AJ Willingham capture my thoughts.

“Semantic satiation is the phenomenon in which a word or phrase is repeated so often it loses its meaning. But it also becomes something ridiculous, a jumble of letters that feels alien on the tongue and reads like gibberish on paper.

“Thoughts and prayers” has reached that full semantic satiation.

In today’s world, politicians take line up as guests on MSNBC, CNN, FOX News and others and deny any responsibility for their actions. In their minds, ‘thoughts and prayers’ absolves them of guilt. In today’s world of Trump, the National Rifle Association and second amendment fear mongering, dissent is a deadly business. In fact, white supremacist Andrew Anglin told the HuffPost what he thought of Trump’s refusal to denounce them. “We interpret that as an endorsement.”

A friend asked, “Do you believe Trump is either, in whole or partly, responsible?

Yes.” I replied.

Forbes writer Todd Essig summarizes my thoughts.

President Trump has, intentionally or not, hit a trifecta of hate that foments terrorism, in this case domestic terrorism. At rallies and speeches his incendiary eloquence identifies opponents as enemies then motivates hatred and sanctions violence against them. Facts no longer matter. Nor do values shared with those he sees as horrible, terrible people. What matters is that it’s us versus them. And we can’t let them win. Never apologize, never back down.

However, my friend missed the larger question.

Are we, like Trump, either partly or in whole, responsible?

Yes,” I would have replied. “America is just as liable.”

America’s inaction gives permission of hatred. One percent of Americans, was responsible for about a fifth of hate crimes. Other assaults included an elderly man at a Jewish retirement home, a 12-year-old boy on his way home from Friday prayers, a woman in a taxi, a person on a subway train and a man who was attacked and maced while waiting at a red light and a man pulling down a statue and calling members of a Vietnamese Buddhist Meditation Center “Devil Worshippers.

Buddha taught hatred is a form of suffering. He said holding hatred in the mind and heart is like tightly clutching a hot coal. Guess who suffers? As such, those responsible for controlling a white-nationalist President (that being ‘we‘) have done nothing. America’s done nothing. No one does anything except offering thoughts and prayers.

I envision many getting to heaven and Christ asking, “Hey. What’s that in your hand?”

In the wake of Trump’s election, I have found myself pondering about non­violence, its contributions, limits, and place in my Buddhist ethics and life. Having watched Trump since the 2016 presidential campaign, I wondered when the logical migration from talking of violence to violence would occur. October 24th was the day political violence breached the bounds of custom and political dignity oozed toward a darker, more sinister spectacle. If Clausewitz were alive, he might rephrase one of his most notable aphorisms to “Terrorism of my enemies is the continuation of politics by other means.” Of course, one could also state, “Trump is the continuation of politics by other means.”

As you may know, explosives were mailed/delivered to homes of Democratic fundraiser George Soros, Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton, CNN’s New York studios, offices of Debbie Wassermann Schultz’s and Maxine Waters. As a result, some expressed fears that Democratic leaders were being attack in advance of America’s 2018 mid-term elections. New York police commissioner James O’Neill stated the recipients may have been selected because of their opposition to Trump.

Of course, terrorism is not unique to America. Terror attacks in France, London, Middle East, September 11th and other countries contribute to our questioning God, and more specifically, “Why?

An article I read in UK’s Telegraph newspaper, the Archbishop of Canterbury admitted the terror attacks in Paris made him “doubt” the presence of God.

Justin Welby was left asking why the attacks happened, and where God was in the French victims’ time of need. He said he reacted with “profound sadness” at the events, particularly because he and his wife had lived in Paris.

Asked if these attacks had caused him to doubt where God is, he said: “Oh gosh, yes,” and admitted it put a “chink in his armor.”

Many would claim America was lucky. However, the resultant questions that often spring forward in my mind are similar to all ethical people. My questions are time-tested but not original, as they were noted by the ancient Greek philosopher Epicurus.

  • Is God willing to prevent evil, but not able? If so, then He seems not so omnipotent; or
  • Is He able, but not willing? As such, then He appears malevolent; or
  • Is He both able and willing? Whereas then whence cometh evil; or lastly
  • Is He neither able nor willing? Propose yes, then why call Him God?

Neither Epicurus nor I have received any answers.

Several Thoughts

First. What has Trump learned that most political adversaries have not? To me it’s fairly simple can be found in sacred scrolls that comprised the “Art of War.” It’s basically this, whatever you are trying to achieve, realize that you will have to pay for it in the form of time, effort, pain, and sacrifices. Anything worth having comes at a cost. The bigger the goal, the greater sacrifice is necessary.

In other words, for Trump, the end justified the means. Set your goals high, one has to be prepared to pay the price. Trump has willing gone where no American politician has been unwilling to go.

Second. It’s strange to say, but I believe God is somewhere in all the shit. My justification you ask? Not one bomb exploded. No one died. In the days ahead, survivor thoughts may scatter, from those who continue to believe in a Complete Power to those who will never trust a Complete Power again; but as a Buddhist, it is my general opinion that something of a higher cause worked today, even if the emotional toll was great. The “Faith” of coworkers, politicians and staff, firefighters, bomb experts, police, FBI and terrorism units’ breached unwritten boundaries and became part of a larger family — despite their differences. And it is within this hope that people like Trump will always lose.

Conclusion

In the United States, people get leaders they choose. And those leaders reflect the values of the constituents who elect them. As such, the reason President Trump is President lies not because of a fault in our stars, but in ourselves.

Want to change it? Yes?

Then Vote.

Why We Vote

Time magazine reported today that after instituting a $1.5 trillion tax cut and signing off on a $675 billion budget for the Department of Defense, Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell said the only way to lower the record-high federal deficit would be to cut entitlement programs like Medicare, Medicaid and Social Security. Thus, as many have mentioned, the only people who’ll pay for the rich tax cuts are the poor.

This reminds me of my post from yesterday, Today We Campaign, November 6 We Vote.  Holding true to form, The Atlantic reported last year that Republicans are hoping to use the deficits created by their own tax cuts to slash the social safety net—but they may end up setting the stage for tax hikes instead. So what would happen? Here’s a few thoughts:

  • Massive homelessness — millions of the working poor use their paycheck to cover rent, relying on welfare for food. But hunger wins over homes. Within a few months, landlords would go broke across the country.
  • Housing prices collapse — with a large percentage of houses and apartments are rented to the working poor comes mass evictions landlords will be unable to cover mortgages. Foreclosures soar and the frail housing market collapses again.
  • Far Less Money — With far less tax money going to poor people. Let’s assume the government uses the cash to pay down debt instead of offering tax rebates. This drops interest rates and frees up capital for business loans. That would be stimulative, but with far fewer consumers, the economy is sliding into massive recession.  Business will contract, not expand.

The Republican Methodology – The Ant and Grasshopper Parable

The ants worked hard all summer collecting food and preparing for winter. The grasshoppers ruled all who worked. When winter came, the grasshoppers felt they didn’t have enough. No worries. They elected themselves a hard line leader and took away 40 percent of all ant benefits and gave it to the grasshoppers.

Being naive, the following year, the ants decided that the new government would certainly care for them in the same manner as the grasshoppers. However, as winter returned, there were no more benefits and the ants starved.

That’s why this election is important.

 

This story has been on the Internet for quite some time. But I found it yesterday. According to what I understand, the author is unknown, but remains greatly appreciated! A video of the story can be found by clicking the picture.


I sat with my friend in a well-known coffee shop in a neighboring town of Venice, Italy, the city of lights and water.

As we enjoyed our coffee, a man entered and sat at an empty table beside us. He called the waiter and placed his order saying, “Two cups of coffee, one of them there on the wall.”

We heard this order with rather interest and observed that he was served with one cup of coffee but he paid for two.

When he left, the waiter put a piece of paper on the wall saying “A Cup of Coffee”.

While we were still there, two other men entered and ordered three cups of coffee, two on the table and one on the wall. They had two cups of coffee but paid for three and left. This time also, the waiter did the same; he put a piece of paper on the wall saying, “A Cup of Coffee”.

It was something unique and perplexing for us. We finished our coffee, paid the bill and left.

After a few days, we had a chance to go to this coffee shop again. While we were enjoying our coffee, a man poorly dressed entered. As he seated himself, he looked at the wall and said, “One cup of coffee from the wall.”

The waiter served coffee to this man with the customary respect and dignity. The man had his coffee and left without paying. We were amazed to watch all this, as the waiter took off a piece of paper from the wall and threw it in the trash bin. Now it was no surprise for us – the matter was very clear. The great respect for the needy shown by the inhabitants of this town made our eyes well up in tears.

Ponder upon the need of what this man wanted. He enters the coffee shop without having to lower his self-esteem… he has no need to ask for a free cup of coffee… without asking or knowing about the one who is giving this cup of coffee to him … he only looked at the wall, placed an order for himself, enjoyed his coffee and left.

A truly beautiful thought. Probably the most beautiful wall you may ever see anywhere!

Moral

In our fast lives we often miss to see the needs of those around us. Needs are not always financial. Those could be emotional as well. Or certain needs can just be gratified with simple “hello” and “genuine smile” to a stranger. We never know what value such a simple ‘hello’ will hold for many people. Of all the resources available in this world, every species has its claim to. Let’s see ourselves as custodians – custodians of love.

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