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Marvellous thoughts, thank you, thank you very much! You have indeed enlightened me.God bless you. Muntazar Bashir Ahmed Pakistan ----- Original Message ----- From: Charles E Murray <[log in to unmask]> To: <[log in to unmask]> Sent: Saturday, May 13, 2000 11:54 AM Subject: Fw: From the bench, the aspiring Water Boy > In my school days I was active in athletics, football, basketball, pole > vaulting on the track team. If I wasn't out on the court or field of > play the sport held no interest for me. I had no desire to be anything > other than what we called a "starter." Any coach who took me out of the > game, even for a brief rest, was on my list of undesirable people. If I > wasn't a full time star I was nothing (and I was seldom a star). > > Winning, perfect performance, those were personal expectations, and they > continued in the game of life for many years. My expectations always > exceeded my willingness to work, and the stress this added ground me down > a little more each day. As these traits put so much subjective pressure > in my life, I began to falter. As my defects started to make my > performance unravel, liquid courage became my way of staying in the game. > > Finally, I crashed on wobbly legs and was carried off the field of play. > I was put in jock rehab and taught about a Power Greater that myself. I > was told that there was more to life than the game, and that the game > could be played by more gentle rules. > > But inevitably I charged back onto the field, though I'd like to think in > a more thoughtful and gentle way. This sometimes led to comic results, > as when I would smile and wave encouragement to the opposing half back as > he ran past me toward the end zone. My fellow players would chide me > into tackling him the next time, telling me I was shirking my "duty" to > the team by "loving my enemies." (What the hell kind of trial attorney > are you?") > > So most of the time for the next few years I tackled anyone who tried to > run through my position, but secretly refused to get excited when the > other team experienced success, as long as it didn't embarrass me > personally. I even slipped more and more into the black and white > stripes of a referee after being told I was better suited to be a > mediator of the contest than a player in the game. For ten years I > filled this neutral role, but I was still on the field, still taking the > game very seriously. > > And then came Parkinson's. > > As my legs began to feel like I was running through a vat of molasses, > fear and self pity set in. Why me? How can I keep influencing and > controlling? Will I even be able to stay in the game? I will be of no > value if I'm not doing my duty. No one will respect me. I won't survive > financially, (ad nauseam) > > I turned to the Coach, and this time, instead of the one named "Mi Ego," > who had always told me to "suck it up, get back in there and hit > somebody, " this new Coach, brought to me by the spiritual teaching I > learned after being knocked out of the game the first time, this Coach > found a willing heart when He said, "I've been watching you on the field > long enough. It is time for you to take a rest, sit out and watch, maybe > a period or two, maybe the rest of the game. Rest, observe, and we will > see. I promise you that if you will sit with patience and observe with > an open heart, you will will understand safety and love and you will be > transformed." > > At first the voice of that old coach echoed in my ear. I fretted, I was > unhappy and felt victimized. > > But then, watching from my new home on the bench, I noticed I could see > far more of the action than when my whole world was the"guy across the > line as a player, or breaking up a fracas as a referee. Next I began to > realize that what I was watching was a GAME. It was not something to > take too seriously. In the heat of battle I had lost sight of anything > outside the playing field, but from the bench I had time to notice the > birds flying over the field, unmindful of the importance of the contest > below. I could see the majestic mountains in the distance, sensing > instinctively that lovers were walking trails to the summit, hand in > hand, unmindful of the contest as the pursue their own path. > > Relieved of the stress of battle, the distraction of intense > concentration on the next play, it slowly dawned on me that I could play > a new and far more peaceful role in life, even more peaceful than that of > referee. I could be one of the Water Boys for both teams. I learned > that a capable Water Boy doesn't judge, penalize or discriminate between > one team or the other, but must carry water to anyone interested in a > drink. And I found the Coach smiles just as often at us Water carriers > as He does the hard charging competitors. > > Now that I am breaking in at this new position (one I always felt only > nerds and wimps would fill), I understand that, no matter how intense the > contest, no matter how long it lasts, and no matter what the outcome, > each of us needs the water of Love. Until I got benched by Parkinson's I > didn't realize that I can look past the uniforms, the team loyalties, the > action on the field and see the real core of all of us present and former > players, and that is (help me here doctors) something like 90 percent > water. > > Without Parkinson's this new job would never have appealed to me, yet > today it feels like something I was born to do, so I guess gratitude and > Parkinson's must fit into the same sentence. No matter what lies ahead > in my journey with PD, I can always carry the water. > > Sincerely, > Aspiring Water Boy (or Water Person if you prefer, as most of the Water > Boys I know are actually of the other gender) > Chuck >