more pervasive

One of the more pervasive and destructive mental tendencies I've seen is that of focusing on what we want instead of what we have. It doesn't seem to make my difference how much we have, we just keep expanding our list of desires, which guarantees we will remain dissatisfied. The mind-set that says "I'll be happy" when this desire is fulfilled is the same mind-set that will repeat itself once that desire is met.

We want this or that. If we don't get what we want, we keep thinking about all that we don't have and we remain dissatisfied. If we do get what we want, we simply recreate the same thinking in our new circumstances. So, despite getting what we want, we still remain unhappy. Happiness can't be found when we are yearning for new desires.

erected between us

first fell in love with husband when we would sit and talk in the living room of my old apartment in front of the (ceiling-to-floor) windows with the long, white curtains, drinking cups of scalding, black coffee. We would just sit and talk-sometimes until sunrise. I was so completely thrilled to have finally found that one special person and our wedding way was the happiest day of my life.

However, it was not long after our honeymoon when my husband climbed into the tomb called "the office" and wrapped his mind in a shroud of paperwork and buried himself in clients, and I said nothing for fear of turning into a nagging wife. It seemed as if overnight an invisible wall had been erected between us.

When our daughter, Desiree was born she quickly became the center of my world. I watched her grow from infant to toddler, and I no longer seemed to care that my husband was getting busier and spending less time at home. Somewhere between his work schedule and our home and young daughter, we were losing touch with each other. That invisible wall was now being cemented by the mortar of indifference.

Desiree went off to preschool and I returned to college to finish my degree, and I tried to find myself in the courses I took; I complained with all the other young women on campus about men who are insensitive. Sometimes late at night I cried and begged the whispering darkness to tell me who I really was, and my husband lay beside snoring like a hibernating bear unaware of my winter.

One day

One day I told Daniel that the great failing in my life had been that I didn‘t take a year
or two off to travel when I finished college. This is the best way, to my way of thinking,
to broaden oneself and develop a larger perspective on life. Once I had married and begun
working, I found that the dream of living in another culture had vanished.
Daniel thought about this. His friends said that he would be insane to put his career on
hold. But he decided it wasn‘t so crazy. After graduation, he worked as a waiter at
college, a bike messenger and a house painter. With the money he earned, he had enough to go
to Paris.
The night before he was to leave, I tossed in bed. I was trying to figure out something to
say. Nothing came to mind. Maybe, I thought, it wasn‘t necessary to say anything.

rather than waiting

Luckily, there is a way to be happy. It involves changing the emphasis of our thinking from what we want to what we have. Rather than wishing you were able to take a vacation to Hawaii, think of how much fun you have had close to home. The list of possibilities is endless! Each time you notice yourself falling into the "I wish life were different" trap, back off and start over. Take a breath and remember all that you have to be grateful. When you focus not on what you want, but on what you have, you end up getting more of what you want anyway. If you focus on the good qualities of your spouse, she'll be more loving. If you are grateful for your job rather than complaining about it, you'll do a better job, be more productive, and probably end up getting a raise any-way. If you focus on ways to enjoy yourself around home rather than waiting to enjoy yourself in Hawaii, you'll end up having more fun. If you ever do get to Hawaii, you'll be in the habit of enjoying yourself. And, if by some chance you don't, you have a great life anyway.

Make a note of yourself to start thinking more about what you have than what you want. If you do, your life will start appearing much better than before. For perhaps the first time in your life, you'll know what it means to feel satisfied.

school science fair

His finest hour, though, came at a school science fair. He entered an exhibit showing how
the circulatory system works. It was primitive and crude, especially compared to the fancy,
computerized, blinking-light models entered by other students. My wife, Sara, felt
embarrassed for him.
It turned out that the other kids had not done their own work-their parents had made their
exhibits. As the judges went on their rounds, they found that these other kids couldn‘t
answer their questions. Daniel answered every one. When the judges awarded the Albert
Einstein Plaque for the best exhibit, they gave it to him.
By the time Daniel left for college he stood six feet tall and weighed 170 pounds. He was
muscular and in superb condition, but he never pitched another inning, having given up
baseball for English literature. I was sorry that he would not develop his athletic talent,
but proud that he had made such a mature decision.

floor screaming

Just then the attendant appeared from the back of the store shouting, "Lady, get down on the floor. I've just been robbed and shot at!"

Sharon quickly dropped to the floor screaming, "Have you seen my boyfriend? He has auburn hair." The man did not reply but went back to the cooler where he found me choking on my vomit. The attendant quickly cleaned my mouth and then called for the police and an ambulance.

Sharon was in shock. She was beginning to understand that I was hurt, but she could not begin to comprehend or imagine the severity of my injury.

When the police arrived they immediately called the homicide division as they did not think I would survive and the paramedic reported that she had never seen a person so severely wounded survive. At 1:30 a.m. my parents who lived in Houston, were awakened by a telephone call from Brackenridge Hospital advising them to come to Austin as soon as possible for they feared I would not make it through the night.

closed the door

I never considered myself unique, but people are constantly telling me, "you are a miracle." To me, I was just an ordinary "guy" with realistic goals and big dreams. I was a 19-ye ar-old student at the University of Texas and well on my way toward fulfilling my "big dream" of one day becoming an orthopedic surgeon.

On the night of February 17, 1981 I was studying for an Organic Chemistry test at the library with Sharon, my girlfriend of three years. Sharon had asked me to drive her back to her dormitory as it was getting quite late. We got into my car, not realizing that just getting into a car would never quite be the same for me again. I quickly noticed that my gas gauge was registered on empty so I pulled into a nearby convenience store to buy $2.00 worth of gas. "I'll be back in two minutes," I yelled at Sharon as I closed the door. But instead, those two minutes changed my life forever.

loved each other

What does it matter in the course of a life-time if a father never tells a son what he

really thinks of him? But as I stood before Daniel, I knew that it does matter. My father

and I loved each other. Yet, I always regretted never hearing him put his feelings into

words and never having the memory of that moment. Now, I could feel my palms sweat and my

throat tighten. Why is it so hard to tell a son something from the heart? My mouth turned

dry, and I knew I would be able to get out only a few words clearly.

“Daniel," I said, "if I could have picked, I would have picked you."

I looked closely

In the doorway of my home, I looked closely at the face of my 23-year-old son, Daniel, his backpack by his side. We were saying good-bye. In a few hours he would be flying to France. He would be staying there for at least a year to learn another language and experience life in a different country.

It was a transitional time in Daniel‘s life, a passage, a step from college into the adult world. I wanted to leave him some words that would have some meaning, some significance beyond the moment.

But nothing came from my lips. No sound broke the stillness of my beachside home. Outside, I could hear the shrill cries of sea gulls as they circled the ever changing surf on Long Island. Inside, I stood frozen and quiet, looking into the searching eyes of my son.

What made it more difficult was that I knew this was not the first time I had let such a moment pass. When Daniel was five, I took him to the school-bus stop on his first day of kindergarten. I felt the tension in his hand holding mine as the bus turned the corner. I saw colour flush his cheeks as the bus pulled up. He looked at me-as he did now.

small of stature

Now, as I stood before him, I thought of those lost opportunities. How many times have we

all let such moments pass? A boy graduates from school, a daughter gets married. We go

through the motions of the ceremony, but we don‘t seek out our children and find a quiet

moment to tell them what they have meant to us. Or what they might expect to face in the

years ahead.

How fast the years had passed. Daniel was born in New Orleans, LA., in 1962, slow to walk

and talk, and small of stature. He was the tiniest in his class, but he developed a warm,

outgoing nature and was popular with his peers. He was coordinated and 6)agile, and he

became adept in sports.

Baseball gave him his earliest challenge. He was an outstanding pitcher in Little League,

and eventually, as a senior in high school, made the varsity, winning half the team‘s games

with a record of five wins and two losses. At graduation, the coach named Daniel the team‘s

most valuable player.

I had not returned

Entering the convenience store was like entering the twilight zone. On the outside I was a healthy, athletic, pre-med student, but on the inside I was just another statistic of a violent crime. I thought I was entering an empty store, but suddenly I realized it was not empty at all. Three robbers were in the process of committing a robbery and my entrance into the store caught them by surprise. One of the criminals immediately shoved a .38 caliber handgun to my head, ordered me to the cooler, pushed me down on the floor, and pumped a bullet into the back of my head - execution style. He obviously thought I was dead because he did not shoot me again. The trio of thieves finished robbing the store and left calmly. 。

Meanwhile, Sharon wondered why I had not returned. After seeing the three men leave the store she really began to worry as I was the last person she saw entering the store. She quickly went inside to look for me, but saw no one-only an almost empty cash register containing one check and several pennies. Quickly she ran down each aisle shouting, "Mike, Mike!"

engraving on the inside

Then tragedy struck our lives, when my husband's younger brother was killed on September 11, 2001, along with thousand of other innocent people. He made it out okay and spoke to his wife to say he was going back in to help those that were still trapped. He was identified only by the engraving on the inside of his wedding band.

Attending my brother's memorial service was an eye-opening experience for the both of us. For the first time, we saw our own marriage was almost like my in-laws. At the tragic death of the youngest son they could not reach out console one another. It seemed as if somewhere between the oldest son's first tooth and the youngest son's graduation they had lost each other. Their wedding day photograph of the young, happy, smiling couple on the mantle of their fireplace was almost mocking those two minds that no longer touched. They were living in such an invisible wall between them that the heaviest battering with the strongest artillery would not penetrate, when love dies it is not in a moment of angry battle or when fiery bodies lose their heat; it lies broken and panting and exhausted at the bottom of a wall it cannot penetrate.

Recently one night, my husband told of his fear of dying. Until then he had been afraid to expose his naked souls. I spoke of trying to find myself in the writings in my journal. It seemed as if each of us had been hiding our soul-searching from the other.

We are slowly working toward building a bridge—not a wall, so that when we reach out to each other, we do not find a barrier we cannot penetrate and recoil from the coldness of the stone or retreat from the stranger on the other side.

seven weeks ago

That‘s all I could say. I wasn‘t sure he understood what I meant. Then he came toward me

and threw his arms around me. For a moment, the world and all its people vanished, and there

was just Daniel and me in our home by the sea.

He was saying something, but my eyes misted over, and I couldn‘t understand what he was

saying. All I was aware of was the stubble on his chin as his face pressed against mine. And

then, the moment ended. I went to work, and Daniel left a few hours later with his

girlfriend.

That was seven weeks ago, and I think about him when I walk along the beach on weekends.

Thousands of miles away, somewhere out past the ocean waves breaking on the deserted shore,

he might be scurrying across Boulevard Saint Germain, strolling through a musty hallway of

the Louvre, bending an elbow in a Left Bank café.

What I had said to Daniel was clumsy and trite. It was nothing. And yet, it was everything.

In his room

What is it going to be like, Dad? Can I do it? Will I be okay? And then he walked up the

steps of the bus and disappeared inside. And the bus drove away. And I had said nothing.

A decade or so later, a similar scene played itself out. With his mother, I drove him to

William and Mary College in Virginia. His first night, he went out with his new schoolmates,

and when he met us the next morning, he was sick. He was coming down with mononucleosis, but

we could not know that then. We thought he had a hangover.

In his room, Dan lay stretched out on his bed as I started to leave for the trip home. I

tried to think of something to say to give him courage and confidence as he started this new

phase of life.

Again, words failed me. I mumbled something like, "Hope you feel better Dan." And I left.

to catch up

with that he let out a whistle, "Here, Dolly!" he called.

Out from the doghouse and down the ramp ran Dolly followed by four little balls of fur. The little boy pressed his face against the chain link fence. His eyes danced with delight.

As the dogs made their way to the fence, the little boy noticed something else stirring inside the doghouse. Slowly another little ball appeared; this One noticeably smaller. Down the ramp it slid. Then in a somewhat awkward manner the little pup began hobbling toward the others, doing its best to catch up.

"I want that one," the little boy said, pointing to the runt.

The farmer knelt down at the boy's side and said, "Son, you don't want that puppy. He will never be able to run and play with you like these other dogs would."

With that the little boy stepped back from the fence, reached down, and began rolling up one leg of his trousers. In doing so he revealed a steel brace running down both sides of his leg attaching itself to a specially made shoe. Looking back up at the farmer, he said, "You see sir, I don't run too well myself, and he will need someone who understands."

The world is full of people who need someone who understands.

Koobor the Koala and Water-1

Then he sang a special song and the tree began to grow and grow, with Koobor sitting in the

middle of it, holding the buckets.

His relatives came back hot and tired after searching for food all day. They could not find

their water buckets or Koobor. Then they saw him in the tallest of all the trees, with water

buckets hanging from the branches.

"Koobor, bring those buckets down now, or we will beat you" they cried. "No! I'm not coming

down" shouted Koobor. "It's your turn to be thirsty!"

Several men started to climb the tall tree, but Koobor threw the water buckets at them,

knocking them to the ground.

Finally, two men managed to climb up, dodging the buckets. They grabbed Koobor, beat him

very badly and threw him down.

His broken body smashed into the earth, where it changed into Koobor the Koala.

The animal climbed into a nearby tree and began munching gum leaves. Then he looked down at

the people on the ground.

"From now on, you may kill me if you need food, but you must cook my body before you take

off my skin or break my bones.

This is my law. If you don't follow it, I will come back and dry up all the rivers and lakes

and you will always be thirsty."

This is why Koalas don't need water to


keep alive and why aborigines always follow Koobor's law when cooking a dead koala. They are

frightened that he will come back and take all their water, leaving them thirsty forever.

The Storytelling Stone-1

A long time ago, a young man called Crow lived in one of the villages of the Seneca people. His parents had died many years before and he had no one to care for him, or to cook and sew for him.

He lived at the very edge of the village in a small lodge made from bark and branches. His hair was always a tangled mess, and his clothes were old and tattered cast offs he had been given in trade.

The village children were cruel and made fun of him because of the way he looked and because he was an orphan. This was a time when people did not have stories to teach them how to respect and care for others.

Young Crow was an excellent hunter with his bow and arrows. He traded the birds and animals he killed for parched corn, other food and clothes.

As winter drew nearer, Crow had to go further and further into the woods to hunt. One day he went further than he had ever been before. Eventually he came to a clearing where there was a large flat smooth stone with another round stone sitting on top of it.

Crow sat on the flat stone and rested his back against the round one. He laid the birds he had killed next to him. Then he reached into his buckskin pouch for some parched corn, and began to tighten his bowstring.

“Shall I tell you a story?” asked a deep rumbling voice near him.

Crow got such a fright he nearly choked. He jumped up quickly, spitting corn from his mouth and looked around but could see no one.

The Storytelling Stone-4

He sat down in front of the stone. Its deep voice told him of a time before this one, how

Sky Woman fell to earth, how Turtle Island was made, and about stone giants. When he

finished one story, the stone told another and then another. On and on he went.

As the sun began to set the stone said, “That’s enough for today. Come back tomorrow and I

will tell you more stories. But don’t tell anyone about what you’ve heard today.”

Crow ran back to the village. He managed to kill a few birds on the way to trade for hot

food and parched corn.

When he traded the birds with a woman in the village she asked him “Why have you brought

back so few birds from your hunting?”

“Winter is getting nearer and it’s harder to find anything to hunt,” answered Crow.

Early the next morning, Crow went into the woods with his bow and arrow. He hunted for birds

and then rushed back to the clearing.

“Grandfather Stone, I’ve brought you more birds as gifts,” said Crow. He put the birds

down on the flat stone. “Please tell me some more stories.”

Crow sat down and the stone started telling one story after another until it was nearly

nightfall. This happened for many days. Crow brought back fewer and fewer birds to the

village. The children of the village were even crueler to him. They made fun of him and told

him that now he wasn’t even a good hunter.

One day Crow came to the clearing, placed his gift on the stone and said, “Grandfather

Stone, please tell me some more stories.”

But the stone answered, “I have no more stories to tell. You have heard all that has

happened before this time. Now you must pass on the knowledge you have learned from the

stories. You will be the first storyteller.

The Storytelling Stone-2

“Who’s there?” shouted Crow. “Come out and show yourself.”

The clearing was silent. Nothing moved.

“I must be hearing things,” Crow said to himself. “And now I’m talking to myself too.”

With a laugh, he sat down again and rested his back against the round stone.


“Shall I tell you a story?” asked the deep voice again.

Crow sprang to his feet and shouted “Alright, that’s enough. Show yourself now!”

Again, the clearing was silent and nothing moved.

Then Crow looked at the round stone he’d been resting against. He could see a face in it. He realised it was the stone’s voice he’d heard.

“Who are you, and what are you?” asked Crow.

“I am Grandfather Stone. I’ve been here since time began,” answered the stone.

“Shall I tell you a story?” asked the deep rumbling voice.

“What is a story?” asked Crow. “What does it mean to tell a story?”

“Stories tell us of all things that happened before this time,” answered Grandfather Stone. “Give me a gift of your birds a


nd I will tell you how the world came to be.”

my humble opinion

Mooba continued, "For purposes of decorum, tomorrow I will teach you about the Xxlepis." His top feathers suddenly stiffened. "Be forewarned. Although highly evolved intellectually, the Xxlepis are emotionally fragile and quick to perceive imaginary insults if decorum isn't carefully followed. They're quirky that way--easily offended. And if you offend them you will not reap the benefits they can bestow."




"Fair enough" the President aGREed, but his expression was one of puzzlement.




The conversation was over.

DAY TWO
Wednesday, June 16




The next day two soldiers were sent to escort Mooba back to the White House, but he wasn't on the spaceship. Instead, when the President with his staff and secret agents arrived at the meeting room, Mooba was already there. Without anyone noticing, he had left the spaceship, slipped through a ring of military, a mob of reporters and White House staff to find the secured meeting room no one had told him about the day before. It unnerved the President and particularly his secret agents.




Standing at the back of the room Mooba waited for everyone to get settled. Then he abruptly began, "The first thing to do when introduced...is to bow. Some of your human cultures already practice that formality. And the second thing after bowing... is to do nothing." He paused for emphasis. "It's best, Sir President, to allow me to do all the talking, particularly in the beginning. The Xxlepis themselves rarely speak because words to them are sacred. They believe that by saying less, what is said increases in value. So speaking only at the end of a conversation is a sign of respect. Of course, in my humble opinion, that makes for very short conversations." It was hard to tell if Mooba was joking so no one laughed.

The Storytelling Stone-3

“Who’s there?” shouted Crow. “Come out and show yourself.”

The clearing was silent. Nothing moved.

“I must be hearing things,” Crow said to himself. “And now I’m talking to myself too.”

With a laugh, he sat down again and rested his back against the round stone.


“Shall I tell you a story?” asked the deep voice again.

Crow sprang to his feet and shouted “Alright, that’s enough. Show yourself now!”

Again, the clearing was silent and nothing moved.

Then Crow looked at the round stone he’d been resting against. He could see a face in it. He realised it was the stone’s voice he’d heard.

“Who are you, and what are you?” asked Crow.

“I am Grandfather Stone. I’ve been here since time began,” answered the stone.

“Shall I tell you a story?” asked the deep rumbling voice.

“What is a story?” asked Crow. “What does it mean to tell a story?”

“Stories tell us of all things that happened before this time,” answered Grandfather Stone. “Give me a gift of your birds a


nd I will tell you how the world came to be.”

“You may have the birds,” said Crow.

contact on this planet

It paused to scratch the base of a head feather. "I myself am Mooba. My kind are respected throughout the universe as the finest of translators. I must tell you that the Xxlepis ship has been moored at the edge of your solar system for a year now while I've been studying your languages and customs on their behalf. I know all there is to know about all of you, in my humble opinion."




The President smiled halfheartedly, "Should I find that comforting?"




Mooba brightened, "Of course. Because I'm thorough I rarely make mistakes." He shrugged. "I'll admit to a few, but none that wasn't rectified. I'm sorry to in


form you that yours is not the only species I considered for contact on this planet. There are some others more appealing, but yours is the most intelligent. And yours is also the only species believing themselves in charge."




The President's eyebrows lifted at such a statement.

dog's back

"That was tasty," he said, "in my humble opinion. Now, let me explain more about the Xxlepis. Having mastered the mysteries of science and technology, they have returned to the arts, particularly their poetry. They are on a quest for new forms of expression. For example, the 20 ways an elephant calls to its young or the 59 words the Eskimos use for snow. Whether or not a language is written or spoken is of secondary importance. The Xxlepis take pleasure in converting all manner of creature communication into just the right word with a precise meaning and contextual flavor to be used in their poetry. So they traverse the universe in search of communication to define new words because, to them, only words have true value. Personally, I think it's because words convey emotions."




"Speaking of value..." Mooba stopped mid-thought. "Ah... could I have more coffee?"




"Sir, there's no more coffee," said one of the agents addressing the President.




The President waved his hand. "Well then, please get another carafe. It'll only take a minute."




The agent left the room. Through the door, which had not fully closed, squeezed a short, rotund Basset Hound. It went immediately to the President wagging its tail while casting side-glances at Mooba.




"Hi there, Sally," the President gently stroked the dog's back. "Mooba, this is my dog. She just had puppies four weeks ago. What do you think of her?"




Mooba was quite interested, particularly when Sally left the President to approach him, her tail still wagging. He bent over so that his face was almost level with the dog's and she licked the sugar off his chin. His head feathers danced wildly. "I like her," he said and then made a noise somewhere between a bark and a whine. It startled everyone in the room, but Sally woofed in response.

The Storytelling Stone-5

You must tell others what you have heard, and also add stories of what happens from now on.

The people you tell will remember your stories. Some will remember better than others. Some

will tell different versions when they pass them on. It doesn’t matter. The truths and

lessons from the stories will be remembered.”

“Thank you Grandfather Stone,” said Crow. “I will make sure the stories are not

forgotten.”

Crow went back to the village. He knew it was time to move on. The people here didn’t

respect him and wouldn’t listen. He collected his few belongings and left the village

without telling anyone. No one missed him.

Crow travelled far and eventually came to another village. The people welcomed him warmly.

They invited him to come in out of the cold wind, sit by the fire and share their food.

After he had finished eating Crow said, “You have been so kind I’d like to


share something with you.”

He began to tell the stories he had learned from Grandfather Stone. He told them of the time

when animals could speak, and when the turtle raced the bear.

That night the lodge house seemed warmer and the sound of the first storyteller’s voice

could be heard above the howling wind outside. People went to sleep dreaming of the stories

they had heard.

Warreen planned revenge

"H'mmph" snorted Warreen. "Well, sleep over there - in the corner. You're all wet and I don't want cold rainwater dripping on me." Wombat stretched out near the fire again and went back to sleep.

Mirram lay down in the corner, but there was a hole in the wall of the hut and the wind and rain came in. He couldn't dry himself or get warm. The fire went out, but Warreen didn't notice. He snored as he slept and laughed every now and again, enjoying a nice dream. This made Mirram more angry.In the morning his body was stiff and sore. He hobbled outside and picked up a large rock. When he came back, Warreen was stretching and yawning as he woke up. Mirram dropped the rock on Warreen's head, flattening his forehead and making his nose curl around

"This is for not helping me get warm and dry" said Mirram. "And from now on, you will always live in a damp hole. Your flattened forehead and cold home will remind you of last night."

After that, Warreen and Mirram didn't speak to each other or play together and Warreen planned revenge.

He made a big spear and waited until Mirram was busy washing himself.

Then he threw the spear with all his strength and it hit the kangaroo at the base of his spine. Mirram yelled in pain and tried to pull the spear out, but it was stuck.

"From now on, that will be your long tail" yelled Warreen, "and you'll never have a home to live in!"

That is why wombats now have flat foreheads and live in dark, damp burrows underground and why kangaroos have long tails and always sleep outside, under the stars.

culture values

Suddenly, the agent with the coffee appeared. "Here's the coffee, Sir."




At that point Sally was let out of the room. Mooba drank more coffee, after which he continued instructing the President.




"As I was saying, concerning value it's things that have no price that are worth the most to the Xxlepis. Things such as honor or knowledge or joy. That's because emotions, or the intangible, offer infinite possibilities for new words of shading and intensity. When a thing has a price, its value is already set, defined and limited according to the Xxlepis. So instead of price, value for them is in how many words a thing inspires."




"But as for emotions...the Xxlepis fell in love with the Drugans on the planet Phizell because they're always laughing. They have 32 words for 'giggle'. The Xxlepis were so thrilled with this that they made fools of themselves, showering them with half our gifts." He frowned. "I had an awful time convincing them to leave that planet."




Rolling his eyes, the little alien continued.




"Unfortunately, your culture values things more than words. That's what I learned from your television and radio signals. For example, when a commercial says a car has a soul, where does that leave a man? In order to add value to a thing, you've stolen a word meant only for living beings and devalued it. And in devaluing that word you've devalued yourselves. The Xxlepis would never understand and it's better that they not know about it. In my humble opinion."

Second Thoughts

At high noon a large spaceship floated gently down out of a blue sky to land on the front lawn of the White House. It rested motionless for the next five hours while the White House hummed with activity. The President was evacuated and then the military moved in with troops, tanks and helicopters. Stealth fighters roared overhead. Both ConGREss and the United Nations called emergency sessions as a frightened world held its breath.




At exactly 5:00 p.m. eastern time, a small door opened in the side of the craft and a human-like creature stepped out.




As beings go, it wasn't that alarming. About three feet tall, it had a large head atop a small body with two spindly legs. And there were feather-like appendages growing from its head as well as from what could have been a tail if it were a bird. But it moved like a human and wore a one-piece uniform of a gold metallic material that sparkled in the sun. Walking to the nearest soldier, it stopped short, its two unnaturally large eyes blinking twice. Then in perfect English with a high-pitched voice, it said, "Take me to your esteemed leader."




After much military and political consternation, the request was granted. Standing before the President of the United States, who was seated at his desk in the oval office surrounded by half a dozen secret agents, the little being bowed. "President and Chief Commander, I humbly come to you as ambassador facilitator for an ancient and distinguished race. Please realize that you're dealing with beings of such power that their purpose must be friendly or you'd have already been destroyed in my humble estimation."

There isn't enough room

All summer they played together as friends, but Mirram sometimes still made fun of Warreen's hut.

Things changed when winter came. The wind became colder at night while Mirram slept outside. At first he didn't mind. He snuggled up to a tree to protect himself, and laughed at the thought of Warreen in his smelly hut. "Wombat would not brave the wind like me" he said to himself.

The wind became stronger and colder. Mirram curled himself into a tight ball, hugging his tree.

He told himself that the wind couldn't hurt him - he wasn't afraid. When it began to rain, he muttered "a little wind and rain won't hurt me. I'm not afraid."

One night, blasts of wind lashed the kangaroo with raindrops that felt like icy needles. Mirram was so wet and cold, he couldn't take it any longer. He struggled onto his hind legs and blown by the wind, hopped slowly towards the bark hut.

"It is me!" screamed Mirram, banging on the door. "Now, let me in!" "No!" yelled Wombat. "There isn't enough room."

Mirram's t


eeth were chattering. He became very angry and pushed hard at the door until it opened. "I'm inside now - and you aren't big enough to throw me out!"

feathers twitched excitedly

The alien continued. "The Xxlepis find it difficult dealing with other cultures, so they take GREat care to insulate themselves. In addition to being their translator I serve as a filter to shield their refined sensibilities--but still I must be accurate and complete. Not an easy job, in my humble opinion. The Xxlepis are emotional, you see. Despite all their sophistication, they just want to be loved and they can't handle rejecti


on. I think you humans can appreciate that." He watched as one of the staff arose and walked to a table at the side of the room pouring himself a cup of coffee.




"What's that?"




"The President smiled. "It's coffee, a common beverage. And there's also donuts. Would you like some?"




Mooba's top feathers twitched excitedly. "Certainly." He stepped quickly across the room and to everyone's surprise gulped down a whole carafe of hot coffee. Then he grabbed several donuts. Returning to the front of the room, he noisily smacked his lips. Powdered sugar from the donuts had somehow ended up on his chin. It was a comical sight that everyone politely ignored.

listened with their ears

The chief of the village sent runners to other villages, inviting everyone to come and hear

the stories. They brought gifts of food and clothing for Crow to thank him. A beautiful

young woman came and sat by him every time he spoke. She listened to every story. Many

seasons passed. Crow stayed in the village and married the young woman.

When he had shared all the stories with the people of the village and its neighbours, Crow

and his wife left and travelled to other villages further away, to tell the stories.

Eventually they came to the first village where he had lived before. The people didn’t

recognise him in his fine clothes and with his beautiful wife.

The village chief welcomed them, inviting them to sit by the fire and share their food. Crow

told his stories. The people listened with their ears and their hearts.

Crow told them, “You must not forget the stories and legends. You must pass them on to your

children and your grandchildren, and they must pass them onto theirs. We can never again

forget the stories and their wisdom.”

And that is how it has been from that day to this. The stories from Grandfather Stone have

been handed down from generation to generation and storytellers are still honoured today by

those who listen.

How Kangaroo got his Tail

A long time ago, some animals looked different to the way they look now. Kangaroos had no tails and wombats had high, round heads.

Mirram the Kangaroo and Warreen the Wombat were good friends. They lived together in a hut that Warreen had built from tree bark.

They liked being with each other, but Mirram liked to sleep outside at night and he made fun of Warreen who always wanted to sleep inside

"Come, Warreen, sleep outside with me" said Mirram. "It's much better to look up at the stars at night and listen to the fresh wind in the trees."

"It's too cold outside" snuffled Warreen, "and sometimes it rains. I might get wet! I like sleeping in my hut with a nice fire to keep me warm."

Mirram the Kangaroo would not accept this. "Your bark hut is dark and smelly. It is much better to sleep out in the clean air under the bright stars!" "No, thank you" said Warreen. "I will stay in my hut where I am comfortable."


Mirram was impatient. "You are too scared to sleep outside with me. You are frightened to feel a little wind." "I'm not frightened" snuffled Warreen. "I just like sleeping in my bark hut!"

Mirram kept on taunting Warreen, until one night the wombat aGREed to sleep outside. During the night he got really cold and waddled back inside the hut. Kangaroo laughed at him.

Koobor the Koala and Water

A long time ago, animals weren't animals - they were people. Koobor the koala was a boy. His parents were dead and he lived with relatives in a very dry part of the country, where there was never enough water.
Everyone in the family was given water each evening, but Koobor was always given his drink last and he never thought it was enough.

"I'm still thirsty!" he cried, "I want more water."

"Be quiet, Koobor" shouted his relatives. "You're an orphan and we've given you a home. You should be grateful and take what you are given." If he complained again, they beat him and called him ungrateful.

When they were going out to look for food, they hid their water buckets so that Koobor couldn't drink any more water.

Koobor learned how to take moisture from gum leaves, but it was never enough to stop him feeling thirsty.

One day when the relatives left Koobor alone and went to find food, they forgot to hide their water buckets. As soon as they were out of sight, he drank all the water his stomach could hold. For the first time he wasn't thirsty, but his body swelled up like a balloon.

When the sun started to rest for the night, Koobor knew that his relatives would come back soon. They would beat him and take all the water and he would be thirsty again.

He collected all the water buckets and climbed into the branches of a small tree.

The Love letter

I was always a little in awe of GREat-aunt Stephina Roos. Indeed, as children we were all frankly terrified of her. The fact that she did not live with the family, preferring her tiny cottage and solitude to the comfortable but rather noisy household where we were brought up-added to the respectful fear in which she was held.
We used to take it in turn to carry small delicacies which my mother had made down from the big house to the little cottage where Aunt Stephia and an old colored maid spent their days. Old Tnate Sanna would open the door to the rather frightened little messenger and would usher him-or her - into the dark voor-kamer, where the shutters were always closed to keep out the heat and the flies. There we would wait, in trembling but not altogether unpleasant.
She was a tiny little woman to inspire so much veneration. She was always dressed in black, and her dark clothes melted into the shadows of the voor-kamer and made her look smaller than ever. But you felt. The moment she entered. That something vital and strong and somehow indestructible had come in with her, although she moved slowly, and her voice was sweet and soft.
She never embraced us. She would GREet us and take out hot little hands in her own beautiful cool one, with blue veins standing out on the back of it, as though the white skin were almost too delicate to contain them.

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