C.R.I.- E.V.H. n° 6

part 1

APPROVAL NOT IMPORTANT....

In the quest of true bliss, to be sincere with oneself, opinions or approval of  others simply do not matter.

The only important thing is how to deepen that bliss, and how to spurn any action that obscures it.
The judgments of most people are unreliable as they may be influenced by their own personal conditioning & delusion!

La chanson de petit crapaud

Pastel1995 – école des loisirs – Vivian French

Maman crapaud chantait pour son bébé :
-Croak, croak, croak, dors mon petit trésor.
Croak, croak, croak, ferme tes jolis yeux et fais dodo.

Mais, petit crapaud n’avait pas envie de dormir. Les yeux grands ouverts, il regardait autour de lui.
Un bélier broutait dans la prairie. Il entendit la chanson de maman crapaud et vit les grands yeux de bébé crapaud.

-Maman crapaud, ton petit ne s’endormira jamais si tu coasses ainsi. Tu dois lui chanter une douce mélodie, comme ceci : Bêêêê ! Bêêêê … Bêêêê…

-Oh là là ! suis-je bête ! Et elle berce bébé crapaud en chantant : Bêêêê ! Bêêêê … Bêêêê…
Les yeux de bébé crapaud s’écarquillent de surprise.

Une cane remontait la rivière avec ses canetons. Elle entendit la chanson de maman crapaud et les grands yeux brillants de petit crapaud.
- Maman crapaud, petit crapaud ne s’endormira jamais si tu bêles ainsi.
Tu dois lui chanter une chanson joyeuse, comme ceci : Coin, coin, coin !!!

-Oh là là ! suis-je bête ! Et elle berce tendrement bébé crapaud en chantant : coin, coin, coin !!!
Bébé crapaud se redresse dans son lit et fixe sa maman avec étonnement.

Un rossignol était perché dans l’arbre. Il entend la chanson de maman crapaud et voit briller les grands yeux de bébé crapaud.
-Maman crapaud, ton petit ne s’endormira jamais si tu cancanes ainsi.
-Tu dois lui chanter une jolie berceuse. Ecoute-moi.
Le rossignol se met à chanter. Il chante la douce nuit printanière et le vaste ciel étoilé. Il chante les clapotis de l’eau et les bruissements des roseaux.

Le bélier et la cane écoutaient. Maman crapaud écoutait et une larme d’argent brillait au bord de ses paupières. Comme c’est beau ! dit-elle. Elle poussa un gros soupir : jamais je ne pourrais chanter aussi merveilleusement ! et une larme d’argent tomba sur le berceau de petit crapaud.

Maman ! maman ! appelait petit crapaud.
Maman regardait petit crapaud, ses yeux brillaient dans l’obscurité.
-Petit crapaud, quand vas-tu enfin t’endormir ?

Petit crapaud regarda sa maman :
-Tu me chantes ma chanson à moi ? Tu as la plus belle voix du monde, maman. Chante-moi ma chanson.

Alors maman crapaud chanta :
-Croak, croak, croak, dors mon petit trésor.
Croak, croak, croak, ferme tes jolis yeux et fais dodo.

Petit crapaud ferma les yeux et s’endormit. 

The ederly carpenter

An elderly carpenter was ready to retire. He told his employer-contractor of his plans to leave the house building business and live a more leisurely life with his wife enjoying his extended family. He would miss the paycheck, but he needed to retire. They could get by.

The contractor was sorry to see his good worker go and asked if he could build just one more house as a personal favor. The carpenter said yes,but in time it was easy to see that his heart was not in his work. He resorted to shoddy workmanship and used inferior materials. It was an unfortunate way to end his career.

When the carpenter finished his work and the builder came to inspect the house, the contractor handed the front-door key to the carpenter. “This is your house,” he said: “My gift to you.”
What a shock! What a shame!

If he had only known he was building his own house, he would have done it all so differently. Now he had to live in the home he had built none too well.

So it is with us. We build our lives in a distracted way, reacting rather than acting, willing to put up less than the best. At important points we do not give the job our best effort. Then with a shock we look at the situation we have created and find that we are now living in the house we have built. If we had realized, we would have done it differently.

Think of yourself as the carpenter. Think about your house. Each day  you hammer a nail, place a board, or erect a wall. Build wisely. It is the only life you will ever build. Even if you live it for only one day more, that day deserves to be lived graciously and with dignity.

The plaque on the wall say:

"Life is a do-it-yourself project."

Who could say it more clearly?

Your life today, is the result of your attitudes and choices in the past.
Your life tomorrow, will be the result of your attitudes and the choices you make today.

 Man is love embodied; he thirsts for love and he finds real joy in loving and receiving selfless love. You have forgotten your real nature, which is Love, and so you exude misery, hate and jealousy. Never be morose or melancholic. Let all see you exuberant with Love and Light and Joy. Do not entertain passion or prejudice, anger or anxiety.

THE CUP OF LIFE

As he was about to sip his tea, the disciple noticed a fly in his cup. This was, of course, a minor occurrence.

Living in an ahram surrounded by the woods, such occurrences are but inevitable - a fly in the tea, insects crawling all over one's body, ants in the sugar bin, spiders in the cupboard, even scorpions on the roof!

The Master happened to see the disciple grimace. He leaned forward with sympathy and consternation.
"What's the matter?"
"Oh, nothing." The disciple said. "It's nothing - just a fly in my tea." The disciple managed a little smile to project acceptance and composure.

"I don't want my Master to think that mere insects can disturb me. certainly not after all these years of being with him," the disciple thought to himself.

"Oh, oh, a fly in the tea," the Master said in a low tone.
"It's no problem." The disciple reiterated, smiling reassuringly at the Master.

But the Master, with concern written all over his face, continued to focus on the cup. He rose from his chair, leaned over and dipped his fingerinto the tea. With great care, he lifted out the offending fly and then left the room.

A while later, the Master returned, beaming.
"He's going to be all right," he said softly. He explained how he had placed the fly on the leaf of a bush so his wings could dry.

 "He's still alive and has started flapping his wings. We can confidently expect him to take flight soon."

Then the Master turned towards his disciple and said:
"It wasn't a question of the tea, but the life of the fly. You can always make another cup of tea, but the fly wouldn't have got another moment to live, if we hadn't acted in time."

To the disciple stunned at the Master's compassion, the Master said:

"Use things and love life. don't love things and abuse life."

100 jours de solitude:

 Trois jeunes moines tibétains, parvenus au bout de leurs années d'apprentissage, demandèrent à leur vieux maître quelle était la dernière épreuve qu'il leur réservait avant qu'ils puissent prétendre au nom de sages.

Assis en tailleur dans la petite pièce où le maître vivait reclus, les trois jeunes le virent apparaître derrière la fumée des encensoirs et écoutèrent sans bruit ce qu'il avait à leur dire.
« Avant de pouvoir atteindre les cîmes de la sagesse,
vous devrez apprendre à supporter la solitude.
100 jours sans voir âme qui vive, seuls dans le désert. Il y a pour cela une seule méthode. A vous de la découvrir. »

Le premier moine ne prit pas vraiment cette ultime épreuve au sérieux.
Il avait des raisons de croire qu'il supporterait mieux que quiconque la solitude.
« Solitude n'est qu'un mot se dit-il et il suffit que je le répète assez longtemps pour ne plus en avoir peur. »
Et il partit l'esprit tranquille dans le désert.

Le second moine, qui était allé un peu plus loin dans l'étude de la sagesse prit quelques précautions:
« La solitude n'est pas qu'un vain mot, c'est une idée et c'est cette idée qui est censée nous faire peur.
Je dois donc réfléchir encore et encore sur le sens de la solitude pour ne plus la craindre. »
Il se plongea alors dans les livres et, au bout d'une semaine de méditation, il se sentit prêt pour le désert.

Le troisième moine, un jeune homme discret et perspicace
qui avait su interpréter les paroles du vieux sage et lire entre les lignes des textes qu'on lui donnait à étudier, se prépara d'une toute autre manière.
Il annonça son départ bien avant les autres mais, avant même de rejoindre le désert, il s'habitua à la solitude en restant dans sa cellule et en refusant les visites.
Il apprit à ne pas prononcer un mot de la journée et à se débrouiller seul, sans compter sur le secours d'autrui.
Enfin, il partit pour le désert.

Au bout de 100 jours, le vieux sage sortit de sa retraite et scruta l'horizon.
Il vit apparaître un seul moine. Le dernier à être parti.

Et le dernier à être rentré car les deux premiers avaient échoué bien avant la fin de l'épreuve.
Il accueillit son élève avec ces paroles:

« C'est bien. Tu es le seul à avoir regardé la solitude en face et à être entré en communion avec elle.
Tu as compris ce qu'elle était en l'éprouvant et non en la traitant de haut comme si elle n'était qu'un mot ou une idée.
Tu es désormais un sage, car tu sais que:

pour affronter nos peurs il nous faut non seulement affronter l'opinion que nous avons de la chose, mais surtout la chose directement. »

HIDDEN REWARDS

Once when there was a famine, a kind, rich baker sent for twenty of the poorest children in the town, and said to them:
"In this basket there is a loaf for each of you. Take it, and come back to me every day at this hour till God sends us better times."

The hungry children gathered eagerly about the basket, and most quarreled over the bread, because each wished to have the largest loaf.
At last they went away without even thanking the good gentleman.

But Gretchen, a poorly dressed little girl, did not quarrel or struggle with the rest, but remained standing quietly to the side.
When the ill-behaved children had left, she took the smallest loaf, which alone was left in the basket, kissed the gentleman's hand, and went home.

The next day the children were as ill-behaved as before, and poor, timid Gretchen received a loaf scarcely half the size of the one she got the first day.
When she went home, and her mother cut the loaf open, many new shining pieces of silver fell out of it.

Her mother was very much alarmed, and said: "Take the money back to the good gentleman at once, for it must have gotten into the dough by accident. Be quick, Gretchen! Be quick!"
But when the little girl gave the rich man her mother's message, he said:
"No, no, my child, it was no mistake. I had the silver pieces put into the smallest loaf to reward you. Always be as contented, kind, and thankful as you now are. Go home now, and tell your mother that the money is your own."

If we give to others, yield to them to make them happy, or put their wishes above our own, we can sometimes feel like we're losing out. But we're not really. God sees such unselfishness, and He will reward it. We never lose by giving.

 Birds and animals have love in them, but they have no desires. They are contented when their hunger is satiated. But man is not like that. He wants everything. Even if he owns five buildings, he wants ten more... Today man’s desires are excessive. He has to reduce his desires. Less luggage more comfort make travel a pleasure... Once you control your desires, you can live in peace.

THE SANDPIPER

I drive to this beach, a distance of three or four miles, whenever the world begins to close in on me.

She was six years old when I first met her on the beach near where I live.
She was building a sandcastle or something and looked up, her eyes as blue as the sea.
'Hello!' she said.
I answered with a nod, not really in the mood to bother with a small child.
'I'm building,' she said.

'I see that. What is it?' I asked, not really caring.
'Oh, I don't know, I just like the feel of sand.'
That sounds good, I thought, and slipped off my shoes. A sandpiper glided by.
'That's a joy,' the child said.

'It's a what?'
'It's a joy. My mama says sandpipers come to bring us joy.'
The bird went gliding down the beach. Goodbye joy, I muttered to myself, hello pain, and turned to walk on. I was depressed and my life was completely out of balance.

'What's your name?' She wouldn't give up.
'Robert,' I answered. 'I'm Robert Peterson.'
'Mine's Wendy... I'm six.'
'Hi! Wendy.'
She giggled. 'You're funny,' she said.
In spite of my gloom, I laughed too and walked on. Her musical giggle followed me.

'Come again, Mr. P,' she called.
'We'll have another happy day.'
After a few days of a group of unruly Boy Scouts, PTA meetings, and an kiling mother.

The sun was shining one morning as I took my hands out of the dishwater. I need a sandpiper, I said to myself, gathering up my coat.
The ever changing balm of the seashore awaited me. The breeze was chilly but I strode along, trying to recapture the serenity I needed.
'Hello, Mr. P,' she said. 'Do you want to play?'
'What did you have in mind?' I asked, with a twinge of annoyance.
'I don't know, you say.'
'How about charades?' I asked sarcastically.

The tinkling laughter burst forth again. 'I don't know what that is.'
'Then let's just walk.'
Looking at her, I noticed the delicate fairness of her face. 'Where do
you live?' I asked.
'Over there.' She pointed toward a row of summer cottages. Strange, I thought, in winter.
'Where do you go to school?' 'I don't go to school. Mommy says we're on vacation.'

She chattered little girl talk as we strolled up the beach, but my mind was on other things.
When I left for home, Wendy said it had been a happy day.  Feeling
surprisingly better, I smiled at her and agreed.
Three weeks later, I rushed to my beach in a state of near panic. I was in no mood to even greet Wendy. I thought I saw her mother on the porch and felt like demanding she keep her child at home.
'Look, if you don't mind,' I said crossly when Wendy caught up with me, 'I'd rather be alone today.'
She seemed unusually pale and out of breath. 'Why?' she asked.

I turned to her and shouted, 'Because my mother died!' and thought, my God....why was I saying this to a child!
'Oh,' she said quietly, 'then this is a bad day.'
'Yes,' I said, 'and yesterday and the day before and  oh, go away!'
'Did it hurt?' she inquired.
'Did what hurt?' I was exasperated with her, with myself.  'When she died?'
'Of course it hurt!' I snapped, misunderstanding, wrapped up in myself. I strode off.

A month or so after that, when I next went to the beach, she wasn't there.
Feeling guilty, ashamed and admitting to myself I missed her, I went up to the cottage after my walk and knocked at the door. A drawn looking young woman with honey colored hair opened the door.
'Hello,' I said, 'I'm Robert Peterson. I missed your little girl today and wondered where she was.'
'Oh yes, Mr. Peterson, please come in. Wendy spoke of you so much. I'm afraid I allowed her to bother you. If she was a nuisance, please, accept my apologies.'

'Not at all she's a delightful child.' I said, suddenly realising that I meant what I had just said.
'Wendy died last week, Mr. Peterson. She had leukemia. Maybe she didn't tell you.'
Struck dumb, I groped for a chair. I had to catch my breath.

'She loved this beach so she seemed so much better here and had a lot of what she called happy days. But the last few weeks, she declined rapidly...
Her voice faltered, "She left something for you... if I can find it. Could you wait a moment while I look?"

I nodded stupidly, my mind racing for something to say to this lovely young woman. She handed me a smeared envelope with "MR . P." printed in bold childish letters. Inside was a drawing in bright crayon hues a yellow beach, a blue sea, and a brown bird. Underneath was carefully printed:

A SANDPIPER TO BRING YOU JOY.

Tears welled up in my eyes and a heart that had almost forgotten to love opened wide.
I took Wendy's mother in my arms. 'I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, ' I muttered over and over, and we wept together. The precious little picture is framed now and hangs in my study.
Six words, one for each year of her life, that speak to me of harmony, courage and undemanding love.
A gift from a child with sea blue eyes and hair the color of sand who taught me the gift of love.

NOTE:
This is a true story sent out by Robert Peterson. It happened over 20 years ago and the incident changed his life forever.
It serves as a reminder to all of us that we need to take time to enjoy living and life and each other.
The price of hating other human beings is loving oneself less.
Life is so complicated, the hustle and bustle of everyday traumas can make us lose focus about what is truly important or what is only a momentary setback or crisis.
This week, be sure to give your loved ones an extra hug, and by all means, take a moment, even if it is only ten seconds, to stop and smell the roses.

Remember... there are NO coincidences!

For everyone reading this......

I wish for you, a Sandpiper !!

Puisque nous existons et que nos parents et leurs parents ont existé, nous devons croire à l’existence du Parent de toute la création. Car s’Il n’est pas, nous ne sommes pas non plus.

Mahatma Gandhi

Kiki Bigoudi a perdu sa chaussette

(Texte adapté de « Qui a volé la chaussette de Mico – Claire Clément – Actes Sud Junior 1996)

Ce matin Kiki Bigoudi se réveille en pleine forme.
Vite ! Il saute de son lit, cherche les belles chaussettes à rayures que sa grand-mère lui a offertes.

-Tiens, bizarre ! Y’en a plus qu’une. Encore une qui s’est envolée !
Kiki est bien embêté. C’est étrange car ce n’est pas la première fois que ses chaussettes disparaissent. Il cherche partout, dans les tiroirs de sa commode, dans son placard, dans son coffre à jouets. On ne sait jamais des fois qu’elle se soit ennuyée toute seule cette nuit ?

Kiki appelle :
-Chaussette, jolie chaussette ! Où te caches-tu ? Mais non, rien, rien et encore rien !
-Ah ! Zut, flûte et rataflûte ! Celle la, je veux la retrouver !

Kiki sort de la maison, et Trotti, trotta, sauti, sauta, Kiki va trouver Coco, le perroquet.
-Dis donc Coco ! Je cherche ma chaussette, ma belle chaussette rayée que m’a offert ma mémé ! l’as-tu vu ?

-Quelle idée ! Une chaussette ! Si je la trouve, je la mets sur ma tête pour aller à la fête ! Va donc voir Mr serpent, c’est mon voisin.

Trotti, trotta, sauti, sauta, Kiki s’en va voir Mr serpent.
-Hou ! Hou ! Mr serpent ! Je cherche ma chaussette, ma belle chaussette rayée que m’a offert ma mémé ! L’avez-vous vu ?

-Non, mais si je la trouve, je me glisserai dedans pour faire un bon dodo ! Va donc demander à l’écureuil qui habite dans le grand arbre.

Trotti, trotta, sauti, sauta, Kiki s’en va voir l’écureuil.
-Hou ! Hou ! Ecureuil, Ecureuil du bois joli. Je cherche ma chaussette, ma belle chaussette rayée que m’a offert ma mémé ! l’as-tu vu ?

-Ah non ! Moi, j’ai des noix, des noisettes mais pas de chaussette ! C’est dommage ! C’est plus doux que les feuilles sèches ! Va voir l’éléphant ! Il prend son bain tous les matins dans la mare.

Trotti, trotta, sauti, sauta, Kiki s’en va voir l’éléphant.
-Hou ! Hou ! Mon ami l’éléphant ! Je cherche ma chaussette, ma belle chaussette rayée que m’a offert ma mémé ! L’as-tu vu ?

-Ho ! non ! que veux-tu que je fasse d’une chaussette. Un bonnet pour ma trompe mais ça ne servirait à rien. Ho ! Ho ! Ho ! C’est trop rigolo !!! Va voir crocodile, il se fait dorer au soleil, un peu plus loin.

Trotti, trotta, sauti, sauta, Kiki s’en va voir le crocodile ;
-Hou ! Hou ! Monsieur Croco ! Je cherche ma chaussette, ma belle chaussette rayée que m’a offert ma mémé ! Ne l’auriez-vous pas croqué ?

-Quoi ! Une chaussette mais c’est dégoûtant ! Pour qui me prends-tu ? Va donc voir derrière le grand bananier.

Trotti, trotta, sauti, sauta, Kiki voit le grand bananier :
-Miam ! Miam ! les belles bananes que voilà ! Tant pis ma chaussette attendra. Mais d’où vient ce bruit ? Y a-t-il quelqu’un derrière le bananier ?

Ça alors ! Kiki n’en croit pas ses yeux !
-Voilà ma belle chaussette rayée et aussi toutes celles qui s’étaient envolées.
-Hé ! Les grenouilles, là vous exagérez ! Ce sont mes chaussettes ! Vous auriez pu me les demander, je vous les aurais prêtées. Ce sont mes chaussettes, pas des lits pour la sieste !

-Excuse nous Kiki. On ne voulait pas te réveiller. Dis Kiki ? On est toujours amis ?
-Mais oui ! dit Kiki
Et mon histoire est finie.
FI FI, NIE NIE !

 Dites la Vérité, dites ce qui est agréable et ne dites jamais ce qui est vrai mais désagréable. Si nous prenons en considération la moralité, la vie mondaine ou le progrès spirituel, la Vérité est de la plus haute importance. Du point de vue éthique, vous devez dire la Vérité. Dans le contexte de la vie mondaine, vous devez dire ce qui est agréable. Du point de vue spirituel, vous devez éviter de dire ce qui est désagréable même si c’est vrai. On ne devrait jamais prononcer de paroles qui provoquent de l’agitation, mais dire la Vérité qui est à la fois agréable et bénéfique.

The Emperor's Seed

An emperor in the Far East was growing old and knew it was time to choose his successor. Instead of choosing one of his assistants or his children, he decided something different.

He called young people in the kingdom together one day. He said, "It is time for me to step down and choose the next emperor. I have decided to choose one of you."

The kids were shocked! But the emperor continued. "I am going to give each one of you a seed today, one very special seed. I want you to plant the seed, water it and come back here one year from today with what you have grown from this one seed. I will then judge the plants that you bring, and the one I choose will be the next emperor!"

One boy named Ling was there that day and he, like the others, received a seed. He went home and excitedly told his mother the story. She helped him get a pot and planting soil, and he planted the seed and watered it carefully.
Every day he would water it and watch to see if it had grown.

After about 3 weeks, some of the other youths began to talk about their seeds and the plants that were beginning to grow.
Ling kept checking his seed, but nothing ever grew. 3 weeks, 4 weeks, 5 weeks went by.
Still nothing.

By now, others were talking about their plants but Ling didn't have a plant, and he felt like a failure. 6 months went by; still nothing in Ling's pot. He just knew he had killed his seed. Everyone else had trees and tall plants, but he had nothing.

Ling didn't say anything to his friends. He just kept waiting for his seed to grow. A year finally went by and all the youths of the kingdom brought their plants to the emperor for inspection.
Ling told his mother that he wasn't going to take an empty pot but his Mother said he must be honest about what happened.
Ling felt sick to his stomach, but he knew his Mother was right.

He took his empty pot to the palace. When Ling arrived, he was amazed at the variety of plants grown by the other youths. They were beautiful, in all shapes and sizes. Ling put his empty pot on the floor and many of the other kids laughed at him. A few felt sorry for him and just said: "Hey nice try."
When the emperor arrived, he surveyed the room and greeted the young people.

Ling just tried to hide in the back; "My great plants, trees and flowers you have grown" said the emperor. "today, one of you will be appointed the next emperor!"

All of a sudden, the emperor spotted Ling at the back of the room with his empty pot. He ordered his guards to bring him to the front.

Ling was terrified. "The emperor knows I'm a failure! Maybe he will have me killed!"
When Ling got to the front, the Emperor asked his name. "My name is Ling," he replied.
All the kids were laughing and making fun of him.

The emperor asked everyone to quiet down.
He looked at Ling, and then announced to the crowd, "Behold your new emperor! His name is Ling!"

Ling couldn't believe it.
Ling couldn't even grow his seed. How could he be the new emperor?

Then the emperor said: "One year ago today, I gave everyone here a seed. I told you to take the seed, plant it, water it, and bring it back to me today. But I gave you all boiled seeds, which would not grow. All of you, except Ling, have brought me trees and plants and flowers. When you found that the seed would not grow, you substituted another seed for the one I gave you.

Ling was the only one with the courage and honesty to bring me a pot with my seed in it. Therefore, he is the one who will be the new emperor!"

If you plant honesty, you will reap trust.
If you plant goodness, you will reap friends.
If you plant humility, you will reap greatness.
If you plant perseverance, you will reap victory.
If you plant consideration, you will reap harmony.
If you plant hard work, you will reap success.
If you plant forgiveness, you will reap reconciliation.
If you plant openness, you will reap intimacy.
If you plant patience, you will reap improvements.
If you plant faith, you will reap miracles.

But:

If you plant dishonesty, you will reap distrust.
If you plant selfishness, you will reap loneliness.
If you plant pride, you will reap destruction.
If you plant envy, you will reap trouble.
If you plant laziness, you will reap stagnation.
If you plant bitterness, you will reap isolation.
If you plant greed, you will reap loss.
If you plant gossip, you will reap enemies.
If you plant worries, you will reap wrinkles.
If you plant sin, you will reap guilt.

So be careful what you plant now, it will determine what you will reap tomorrow.
The seeds you now scatter, will make life worse or better your life or the ones who will come after. Yes, someday, you will enjoy the fruits, or you will pay for the choices you plant today.

À quoi sert-il à l'homme?

De parcourir les pays les plus lointains,
s'il ne fait que passer et ne rencontre personne?

De regarder vivre le monde à la télévision,
s'il s'en désintéresse dans la portion d'univers qu'il habite?

De posséder un bout de terrain
si c'est pour s'enfermer chez lui?

De vivre dans l'abondance,
si les objets et les choses le laissent sur sa faim?

D'augmenter ses revenus,
si c'est pour courir indéfiniment après ceux qui en ont plus que lui?

De se déplacer plus vite,
si c'est pour en perdre le souffle?

D'ajouter des heures à son temps de travail,
si c'est pour que son temps de vie s'en trouve diminué?

D'améliorer son niveau de vie,
si c'est au prix d'injustices à l'égard des producteurs du tiers-monde?

D'amasser biens et argent,
si, à cause de lui, des hommes ont juste de quoi ne pas mourir?

D'avoir les moyens de vivre,
s'il perd ses propres raisons de vivre?

De conquérir l'univers tout entier,
s'il vient à perdre sa propre vie, son âme?

(Auteur inconnu)