This Reminds Me Of A Story

Beware the one who swells your pride. A flatterer gives nothing for what he takes. This reminds me of a story: In those charming old times when Nasrudin was poor like the fleas in his beard, but still forever young and full of resource, a complicated chain of lucky and unlucky circumstances led his pilgrim path to the city of Ankara. There he exercised the temporary profession of begging for his daily bread. And quite successful he was, among the other members of the charity-seeking fraternity. His unique feature, that made him notorious, consisted in only accepting the smaller coin and rejecting with disdain the larger, whenever he was offered such a choice. The fact is that he was offered many such choices, enough to eat well and sleep in an inn. Inevitably, a truly alms giving Muslim had to take him aside to explain the mistake: “Brother,” he said softly, “Why persist in error? You should take the larger coin. It’s worth more. Stop being the laughing stock of the town.” H

In one hundred occasions there may be ninety-nine when you don’t have a choice. But there is one when you can choose to do what you think to be good and right. That one decides who you are, with no excuse. This reminds me of a story * : The sand of the Black Sea coast was covered with myriads of starfish washed ashore by the storm, doomed to be soon dried out by the sun. Nasreddin picked them up patiently and threw them back, one by one, undisturbed by the hopeless immensity of the task. A passer-by wondered and asked him, “Why are you wasting your time? It’s all Allah’s will. Don’t you see that all you can do doesn’t count at all?” “It counts for me, and it counts for this one,” answered Hodja, tossing yet another starfish into the tide. * (The original was written by Loren Eiseley (1907–1977) "The Star Thrower"1978, Times Books, Random House)

To him that is joined to all the living there is hope. A living dog is better than a dead lion. This reminds me of a story: Timur's death mask The years had passed without mercy. Tamerlane grew to conceive that time was the one enemy he could not conquer. He became interested in what the world would do after him. At the usual hour of leisurely repose, so much deserved by a king of kings, he addressed the following deep thought to his humble jester Nasrudin: “When I am set down in my casket, mourned by my soldiers, ready to be taken to my last repose, I want people to look at my unmoving face and say: Here is one man whose glory is eternal!" Timur was silent for a while, satisfied with his thought, then he turned his heavy gaze to Hodja and asked generously: “And you, worm, what would you like people to say about you at such a moment?” Nasrudin thought for a moment, and then replied with a wry smile: “I, Master would love them to say: Look! He’s moving!”

Could someone please explain once more why you have to do unto others that which you want to have done unto you? This reminds me of a story: Two fishes to feed 5000 CC Grauesel Abu Hassan al-Mutakallim al-Hikma, utmost authority in the study of Divine Knowledge and Ethics, hearing too much and too often about the aforementioned Mullah Nasreddin, came to examine this man in his village of Horto. In order to make the small Mullah feel at ease and in confidence, open to investigation, Abu Hassan invited him to eat together at the local inn. That day they served fish. When the ordered course arrived, at last, it was easy to observe that on the platter there where two fishes; one larger and the second much smaller, both attractively prepared and smelling definitely appetising, sprinkled with fresh parsley. Nasreddin reached out without hesitation and pulled the large fish on his own plate. The distinguished guest and moralist looked at him in consternation and couldn’t contain his ri

You can do what you want, but can you want what you want? This reminds me of a story: Two merchants came to Nasrudin the cadi to obtain justice. One, Selim explained: “Before I left for a long and dangerous voyage earlier this year I wanted to keep my money, three hundred gold curush, safe. I went to my old time and respectable acquaintance Ahmed, here present and asked him to keep my money until I come back. Ahmed, I said, hold my money for one year. If I don’t come back, pray for me and do with it what you want. But if I do come back, as I hope, before that time, you will give me back what you want and keep the rest. Do you agree? He did. Allah be praised, I came back after only six month and asked for my money. Ahmed, says that he wants to keep two hundred and eighty for himself and he will give me back twenty curush, following our agreement. I don’t know how to put it in plain words but this is not fair.” Ahmed made clear that he was in his right, since a contract is a con

There is always higher than high and lower than low. This reminds me of a story: Once you have tasted good food, you will remember it from time to time. Nasrudin, who, being retired from Tamerlane’s court, lived in modesty, walked once by the sultan’s palaces and observed a big feast offered to important people under a splendid tent. His feet decided at once and carried him inside, straight to one of the chairs of honour, on the right hand of the throne. “And what do you think you are doing here?” asked the Chief Guard. “These places are for the guests of honour.” “I am more than a guest.” “Is that so? Are you an envoy of a foreign king?” “More than that.” The guard considered Hodja from the slippers to the turban: “Are you one of the ministers in disguise?” “Much more than that,“ said Nasrudin looking him in the eye. “So, you must be His Majesty the Sultan, himself!” scowled the soldier. “I am above this,” persisted Hodja without flinching. “Above the Sultan?! No

Truly, to practice humility you need a certain well-being. This reminds me of a story: One Friday afternoon, at the mosque, Nasrudin felt suddenly hit by modesty and depression for this life, so short, in a world so endless. He fell down on his knees, lifted his arms and cried out: “Oh, Everlasting One! I’m nothing! I’m nothing!” The Imam looked at him, saw that this was good and knelt down exclaiming in his turn: “I’m nothing! I’m nothing! A beggar in dregs was so impressed he threw himself down too, tears in his eyes: “I’m nothing! Nothing!” At this the Imam turned to Nasrudin and sneered: “Look who thinks he’s nothing now!”