tells a story that the earth was a man who lived so routine and the applause died away and the public recognition, however helped millions of people could live in peace.
not know what his last name. He was known as "John, the fool of the flowers." Some say that was an only child and was orphaned at a young age. They say that's what he gave to his eyes a deep melancholy, which gave his big brown eyes very special dye.
He served as an employee of the State. Their task was routine, stifling in some cases. Every day long lines of complaints attended seemed traced. Provide for a vibrational so dense was a tortuous ritual dehumanizing. However, John knew that at least that way I could pay their bills at the end of the month, and that encouraged him to gather courage to get out of bed and return to work each morning.
often wondered what was the meaning of life, as everything seemed to pass within a circle leading to more and more of the same, but could not find the answer. His neighborhood was gray, full of smog and incessant noise. Living in the downtown area of \u200b\u200ba large city had its benefits when carried, but quality of life remained. Almost did not cross words with their neighbors because they were all chasing rush your wishes. Among the many buildings
modern, his modest house seemed even smaller. For its old style, it was like at that point in the big city, the last memory of what had once been a picturesque neighborhood resist being killed by the indifference of the modern wild.
John had a passion: he loved flowers. Not sure why, but felt that they were the reason for their existence. Never before was a man who had such grace and sensitivity when caring for plants. His garden was unique, special. Everything there was bright. If someone were to illustrate how paradise would undoubtedly show that garden. Natural beauty was carried its best. It seemed a real tableau, where color, harmony and flavors came together to dance in unity. View inspired life. But nobody had time for pressing of attention because those who went there were involved in endless thoughts that made them move mechanized.
If it was not because he had to meet their monthly commitments, John had never been separated from their flowers. Each day, getting on the bus taking him to his work, he was dying. His body was hunched. Like someone walking trails. Internally refused to go every day to listen to the protests of those who pass and unload their frustrations advantage daily with the excuse of poor service. Only saved the vivid memory of his dazzling flowers.
As your ears are packed complaint, John looked earnestly at his watch. Counted every second. Could not wait to return to your garden. I needed to breathe again, needed to feel alive. Office co-workers made fun of his strange way of behaving, as half a minute before the end of the day, the coat was always on hand to make a card waiting to accredit their work.
As soon set foot on the street, his body stood, his muscles toned and his walk took on a force never seen before. Even the best magician could have done such a transformation. He could feel. It was another man, even smiling. His energetic attitude aroused suspicion among his colleagues, to the point that one day decided to follow him to see where it went, as they could not believe his strange behavior.
"Do you go to see her beloved?" One said sarcastically, knowing it was a man who had trouble relating. Such a huge surprise they took the view that quickly appeared in his garden overlooking the street with a brown jumpsuit. As he arrives at a sacred place, slowly took off his shoes and bowed to her flowers and kissed one by one. Then he told them how much they had missed and began to sing, while gently stroking. These minutes were enough to make from then on, John was called "the madman of the flowers."
His life was so involved in the routine to pay their debts and being reborn every time the workday ended. In the eyes of many, his time in the world was inconsequential. Anyone could say that, having had it, John did not fulfill its mission of life, because, apparently, had not done anything significant.
The day after his death in the high political level of the city had a secret meeting to determine if the country going to war. Amid much discussion, the President asked to make a break, needing to clear your mind before making a final decision.
But others knew it, he asked his driver to take him for a ride in their armored car. Needed to reflect a soldier. As fate would have on their way to pass the president facing the garden of John. As one who gets caught in a spell, the president could not take your eyes off the flowers. In a split second, when he saw such beauty and harmony became aware that the war was the right decision, it would only bring more chaos and destruction.
has chronicled for taking the time to non-war position, the president received the Nobel Peace Prize, and his name appeared in media around the world. He was the owner of all the applause and recognition.
What nobody knew was that the real manager of the Peace was John, who thanks to his deep love for flowers saved the lives of millions and millions of people who otherwise would have perished in the war. Centered
your heart and ignoring all mockery, John made it possible for a piece of heaven touched earth. The distinction was not harvested nor applause. Loved flowers and honored life. Without knowing it, fulfilled his mission. He was one of so many unsung heroes that daily help co-create a world full of peace and harmony.
Our life sometimes is a bit like that, like John, seems meaningless. However, if we hear the voice of our hearts, though not enough, in one way or another we are always doing our job.
Do not lower your arms. I kept hoping. You're also John.
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