Ist meine Fensterbank ein Heilstein ? (German Edition)

Das ist nicht meine Aufgabe. Das ist nicht zu verachten. Das ist noch nicht alles. Das ist schon wahr. Das ist streng verboten! Das ist zuviel gesagt. Das mache ich im Schlaf. I can do it on my head. Die Sache hat einen. Du bist mir ein feiner Freund!

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A fine friend you are! Du brauchst unbedingt Hilfe. It would be this very decision that drove him into bankruptcy. Eigenschaft predicate, quality, property, qualify Eigenschaften qualities, attributes, properties. Einrichtung constitution, installation, setup, institution Einrichtungen facilities, establishments,. Er entging knapp dem Tode. His life is no bed of roses. He is to blame for it. Er ist ein alter Hase. Er ist ein arger Tunichtgut.

He is all talker. Er ist ein paar Jahre zu jung. Er ist ein paar Tage verreist. Er ist ein Spielverderber. Er ist ein Stubenhocker. Er ist ein toller Kerl. Er ist ganz der Vater. Er ist ganz in Ihrer Hand. Er ist gut in Form. Er ist ihm nicht gewachsen. Er ist im besten Alter. Er ist mir ein Dorn im Auge. Er ist nicht mehr hier. He is full of beans. Er ist steif wie. Er kann sich alles erlauben. He gets away with everything.

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Er kann sich nicht benehmen. Er lebt hinter dem Mond. Er macht nicht viel Worte. He talks big fam. And pick it up for me? When I only asked this my brother laughed at me,. How can one touch it.

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For it is so far away from the earth. When mum smiles at me from the window. Is she so far from me? Yet my brother tells me,. Where will you get a trap so big? You could see how big it is. When mum comes closer to kiss me. Does she look so big? Yet my brother tells me. A more foolish fellow he is yet to see.

The Yoga of the Supreme Person. The Blessed Lord said: There is a banyan tree which has its roots upward and its branches down and whose leaves are the Vedic hymns. One who knows this tree is the knower of the Vedas. And the warblers sing: And the sparrows sing: Through the wheels, through the wheels on the interstate,. And hear no refrain. And the beetles creep. On the crippled trees ,. And they look down to where the soil must have been, wondering. And no, youre not alone. No, my cousins, youre not alone. Youre in our talons now, and were never letting go.

And the branches bend. To the growing sea. And they ask, and they ask it to spread their seeds,. For they know theyre drowning.

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Youre in our headlights, frozen, and no, were not stopping. You may not believe, but even we were scared at first. It takes a lot of nerve to destroy this wondrous earth. Were only human; this at least weve learned. So shall I kneel before your mighty power,. This sunset eve, this solemn silent hour. That I must die for angel wings to grow.

In one ultramarine wave of bliss, our. Hearts are blent beneath the marriage bower,.

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Consumed by fierce naked white hot flame,. Like a moth who flies too near the light,. Bewildered, blazing, brilliantly bright,. My eyes can no more bear this dazzling sight,. Just as a tree , though cut down, can grow again and again if its roots are undamaged and strong, in the same way if the roots of craving are not wholly uprooted sorrows will come again and again. I have heard that there was once an ancient and majestic tree, with branches spreading out towards the sky.

When it was in a flowering mood, butterflies of all shapes, colors and sizes danced around it. When it grew blossoms and bore fruit, birds from far lands came and sang in it. The branches, like outstretched hands, blessed all who came and sat in their shade. A small boy used to come and play under it, and the big tree developed an affection for the small boy. Love between big and small is possible, if the big is not aware that it is big. The tree did not know it was big; only man has that kind of knowledge.

The big always has the ego as its prime concern, but for love, nobody is big or small. Love embraces whomsoever comes near. So the tree developed a love for this small boy who used to come to play near it. Its branches were high, but it bent and bowed them down so that he might pluck its flowers and pick its fruit. Love is ever ready to bow; the ego is never ready to bend. If you approach the ego, its branches will stretch upwards even more; it will stiffen so you cannot reach it. The playful child came, and the tree bowed its branches. The tree was very pleased when the child plucked some flowers; its entire being was filled with the joy of love.

Love is always happy when it can give something; the ego is always happy when it can take. One becomes like a king when the flowers of love are there, but one becomes poor and miserable when the thorns of the ego are present. To see the boy wearing a crown of flowers and dancing about filled the tree with joy. It nodded in love; it sang in the breeze. The boy grew even more. He began to climb the tree to swing on its branches. The tree felt very happy when the boy rested on its branches.

Love is happy when it gives comfort to someone; the ego is only happy when it gives discomfort. With the passage of time the burden of other duties came to the boy. Ambition grew; he had exams to pass; he had friends to chat with and to wander about with, so he did not come often. But the tree waited anxiously for him to come. I am waiting for you. Love waits day and night. And the tree waited. The tree felt sad when the boy did not come. Love is sad when it cannot share; love is sad when it cannot give. Love is grateful when it can share. When it can surrender, totally, love is the happiest.

As he grew, the boy came less and less to the tree. The man who becomes big, whose ambitions grow, finds less and less time for love. The boy was now engrossed in worldly affairs. I expect you daily. Why should I come to you? Have you any money? I am looking for money. Only if there is some purpose to be served will the ego come. But love is motiveless. Love is its own reward. The ego amasses, but love gives unconditionally. Many fruits grow on us. We give soothing shade.

We dance in the breeze, and sing songs. The day we get involved with money, we will have to go to the temples like you weak men do, to learn how to obtain peace, to learn how to find love. No, we do not have any need for money. I will go where there is money. Pick my fruit and sell it. You will get money that way. The boy brightened immediately. The tree felt happy, even though some twigs and branches were broken, even though some of its leaves had fallen to the ground. Getting broken also makes love happy, but even after getting, the ego is not happy. The ego always desires more.

It had had its thanks when the boy accepted the offer to pick and sell its fruit. The boy did not come back for a long time. Now he had money and he was busy making more money from that money. He had forgotten all about the tree. The tree was sad.

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Her whole being craves for her son; she searches madly for her son so he can come to lighten her. Such was the inner cry of that tree. Its entire being was in agony. After many years, now an adult, the boy came to the tree. That was a childhood thing. I am not a child any more. But the tree invited him: Come play with me.

I need to build a house. Can you give me a house? I am without a house. Nobody else lives in a house but man. And do you notice his condition after his confinement among four walls? The bigger his buildings, the smaller man becomes. Without wasting any time, the man brought an axe and severed all the branches of the tree. Now the tree was just a bare trunk. But love cares not for such things — even if its limbs are severed for the loved one.

Love is giving; love is ever ready to give. He built his house. And the days flew into years. The trunk waited and waited. It wanted to call for him, but it had neither branches nor leaves to give it strength. And still its soul resounded with one prayer only: Time passed and the man had now become old.

Once he was passing by and he came and stood by the tree. You have come after a very, very long time. I want to go to distant lands to earn more money. I need a boat, to travel. Cut my trunk, and make a boat from it. I would be so very happy if I could help you go to faraway lands to earn money. But, please remember, I will always be awaiting your return. The man brought a saw, cut down the trunk, made a boat and sailed away. Now the tree is a small stump. And it waits for its loved one to return.

It waits and it waits and it waits. The man will never return; the ego only goes where there is something to gain and now the tree has nothing, absolutely nothing to offer. The ego does not go where there is nothing to gain. The ego is an eternal beggar, in a continuous state of demand, and love is charity.

Love is a king, an emperor! Is there any greater king than love? I was resting near that stump one night. I am very worried in case he might have drowned, or in case he might be lost. He may be lost in one of those faraway countries. He might not even be alive any more. How I wish for news of him!