Foreword
The last time I saw the Messiah's Pocket Guide was the day I threw it away.
I used it the way Donald taught me in Illusions: ask a question in your mind, close your eyes, open the book at random, choose the right or left page, open your eyes, read the answer.
For a long time it worked flawlessly: fear was drowned in a smile, doubts fled away from an unexpected bright insight. I have always been moved and amused by everything these pages have to say.
And on that rainy day, I once again trustfully opened the Directory. “Why did my friend Donald Shimoda, who really had something to say and whose lessons we needed so much, why, why did he have to die such a senseless death?”
I open my eyes, I read the answer:
Everything in this book can be wrong.
I remember it as a flash of darkness - a sudden rage that seized me. I turn to the Handbook for help - and this is the answer?!
I launched the little book over the nameless field with such force that its pages began to chatter in fright, shuddering and turning over. She glided softly into the tall grass - I didn't even look in that direction.
Soon I flew away and never again visited that field, lost somewhere in the state of Iowa. The Heartless Handbook, a source of unnecessary pain, is gone.
Twenty years have passed, and now comes to me by mail - through the publisher - a parcel with a book and an enclosed letter:
Dear Richard Bach, I found it while plowing my father's soybean field. On the fourth part of the field, we usually only grow grass for hay, and my father told me how you once landed there with a guy whom the locals then killed, thinking that he was a sorcerer. Subsequently, this place was plowed up, and the book was covered with earth. Although the field has been plowed and harrowed many times, no one has somehow noticed it until now. Despite everything, she was almost unharmed. And I thought that this is your property, and if you are still alive, it should belong to you.
There is no return address. The pages bore the prints of my fingers, smeared with the engine oil of the old Fleet, and when I fanned the book, a handful of dust and a few dried blades of grass fell out of it.
No malice. I sat for a long time over the book, surrendering to the memories.
Everything in this book can be wrong. Of course it can. But it may not be. A mistake or not a mistake - this is not the book decides. Only I can say that for me it is not a mistake. Responsibility is mine.
With a strange feeling, I slowly turned the pages. Has the same book returned to me that I once, long ago, threw into the grass? Did she lie there all this time, motionless, sprinkled with earth, OR did she change and become in the end something that a future reader needs to see?
And so, closing my eyes, I once again took the book in my hands and asked:
– Dear strange mysterious volume, why did you come back to me?
I flipped through the pages for a while, and then I opened my eyes and read:
All people, all events in your life arise because you called them there.
What you do with them is up to you.
I smiled and decided. This time, instead of throwing the book in the trash, I decided to keep it. And I also decided not to put it in a bag and not hide it away, but to give the reader the opportunity to open and leaf through it all at any convenient time. And listen to the whisper of her wisdom.
Some of the ideas found in this handbook have been expressed in other books. You will find here the words that you read in Illusions, the only, Seagull Jonathan Livingston, beyond the mind and in Chronicles of ferrets. The life of a writer, like a reader, is made up of fiction and facts, of what almost happened, half remembered, once dreamed ... The smallest grain of our existence is a story that someone else can check.
Yet fiction and reality are true friends; the only means of conveying some truths is the language of a fairy tale.
For example, Donald Shimoda, my unyielding Messiah, is a very real person. Although, as far as I know, he never had a mortal body or a voice that anyone but me could hear. And Stormy the Ferret is also real and flies her miniature vehicle into the worst storm because she believes in her mission. And the Harley Ferret in the darkness of the night rushes into the depths of the sea, because he saves his friend. All these heroes are real - and they give life to me.
Enough explanation. But before you take this handbook home, check it out right now to make sure it works.
Ask a question in your mind, please. Now close your eyes, open the book at random and choose the left or right page...
Richard Bach
–
Clouds are not afraid
fall into the sea
because they
(a) cannot fall; and (b) cannot drown.
However, no one
doesn't bother them
believe that with them
this can happen.
And they may be afraid
as much as they want.
The happiest,
the luckiest people
once
thought about suicide.
And they rejected him.
your most
harsh reality -
it's only a dream
and your most
fantastic dreams -
reality.
Every thing
there is exactly
what she is
for some reason.
A crumb on your table
this is not a mystical reminder
about morning cookies;
she lies there because
that your choice is
don't clean it up.
There are no exceptions.
Don't think that the one
who fell on you
from another dimension
in anything
wiser than you.
Or will he do something better
than you could yourself.
Is a person incorporeal or mortal,
one thing is important in people:
what they know.
Everyone comes here
with tool box
and a set
project documentation
to build
Own Future.
That's just
not everyone remembers
Where did he put it all?
Life tells you nothing, it shows everything.
You learned something
that someone somewhere
needs to be remembered.
How will you communicate your knowledge to them?
Accept your fears
let them create
the worst -
and cut them off when they
will try to use it.
If you don't -
they start cloning themselves
like mushrooms
will surround you from all sides
and close the road to that life,
which you want to choose.
Every turn you fear
just emptiness
who pretends
irresistible hell.
Again and again you
you will meet
new theology,
and check it every time:
- If I want to,
for this belief to come into my life?
If God
looked at you
right in the eye
and said:
- I command that you
happy in this world
how long is alive.
What would you do?
This is called "taking on faith";
when you agree to the rules
before you think about them
or when you take action
because they are expected of you.
If you're not careful
it will happen thousands and thousands of times
throughout your life.
What if everything
these are your inner levels -
actually your friends
knowing immeasurably more,
what do you know?
What if your teachers
are here right now?
And than to speak without stopping,
don't you feel better
- for variety -
listen?
Life doesn't require you to be
consistent, cruel, patient,
attentive, angry, rational,
thoughtless, loving, impetuous,
receptive, nervous, caring,
callous, tolerant, wasteful,
Richard Bach
Messiah's Pocket Guide
The book lost in "Illusions"
(Reminder for the advanced soul)
Foreword
The last time I saw the Messiah's Pocket Guide was the day I threw it away.
I used it the way Donald taught me in Illusions: ask a question in your mind, close your eyes, open the book at random, choose the right or left page, open your eyes, read the answer.
For a long time it worked flawlessly: fear was drowned in a smile, doubts fled away from an unexpected bright insight. I have always been moved and amused by everything these pages have to say.
And on that rainy day, I once again trustfully opened the Directory. “Why did my friend Donald Shimoda, who really had something to say and whose lessons we needed so much, why, why did he have to die such a senseless death?”
I open my eyes, I read the answer:
Everything in this book can be wrong.
I remember it as a flash of darkness - a sudden rage that seized me. I turn to the Handbook for help - and this is the answer?!
I launched the little book over the nameless field with such force that its pages began to chatter in fright, shuddering and turning over. She glided softly into the tall grass - I didn't even look in that direction.
Soon I flew away and never again visited that field, lost somewhere in the state of Iowa. The Heartless Handbook, a source of unnecessary pain, is gone.
Twenty years have passed, and now comes to me by mail - through the publisher - a parcel with a book and an enclosed letter:
Dear Richard Bach, I found it while plowing my father's soybean field. On the fourth part of the field, we usually only grow grass for hay, and my father told me how you once landed there with a guy whom the locals then killed, thinking that he was a sorcerer. Subsequently, this place was plowed up, and the book was covered with earth. Although the field has been plowed and harrowed many times, no one has somehow noticed it until now. Despite everything, she was almost unharmed. And I thought that this is your property, and if you are still alive, it should belong to you.
There is no return address. The pages bore the prints of my fingers, smeared with the engine oil of the old Fleet, and when I fanned the book, a handful of dust and a few dried blades of grass fell out of it.
No malice. I sat for a long time over the book, surrendering to the memories.
Everything in this book can be wrong. Of course it can. But it may not be. A mistake or not a mistake - this is not the book decides. Only I can say that for me it is not a mistake. Responsibility is mine.
With a strange feeling, I slowly turned the pages. Has the same book returned to me that I once, long ago, threw into the grass? Did she lie there all this time, motionless, sprinkled with earth, OR did she change and become in the end something that a future reader needs to see?
And so, closing my eyes, I once again took the book in my hands and asked:
– Dear strange mysterious volume, why did you come back to me?
I flipped through the pages for a while, and then I opened my eyes and read:
All people, all events in your life arise because you called them there.
What you do with them is up to you.
I smiled and decided. This time, instead of throwing the book in the trash, I decided to keep it. And I also decided not to put it in a bag and not hide it away, but to give the reader the opportunity to open and leaf through it all at any convenient time. And listen to the whisper of her wisdom.
Some of the ideas found in this handbook have been expressed in other books. You will find here the words that you read in Illusions, the only, Seagull Jonathan Livingston, beyond the mind and in Chronicles of ferrets. The life of a writer, like a reader, is made up of fiction and facts, of what almost happened, half remembered, once dreamed ... The smallest grain of our existence is a story that someone else can check.
Yet fiction and reality are true friends; the only means of conveying some truths is the language of a fairy tale.
For example, Donald Shimoda, my unyielding Messiah, is a very real person. Although, as far as I know, he never had a mortal body or a voice that anyone but me could hear. And Stormy the Ferret is also real and flies her miniature vehicle into the worst storm because she believes in her mission. And the Harley Ferret in the darkness of the night rushes into the depths of the sea, because he saves his friend. All these heroes are real - and they give life to me.
Enough explanation. But before you take this handbook home, check it out right now to make sure it works.
Ask a question in your mind, please. Now close your eyes, open the book at random and choose the left or right page...
Richard Bach
Clouds are not afraid
fall into the sea
(a) cannot fall; and (b) cannot drown.
However, no one
doesn't bother them
believe that with them
this can happen.
And they may be afraid
as much as they want.
The happiest,
the luckiest people
thought about suicide.
And they rejected him.
any past,
how do you choose
to heal and transform
own present.
your most
harsh reality -
it's only a dream
and your most
fantastic dreams -
reality.
Every thing
there is exactly
what she is
for some reason.
A crumb on your table
this is not a mystical reminder
about morning cookies;
she lies there because
that your choice is
don't clean it up.
There are no exceptions.
Don't think that the one
who fell on you
from another dimension
in anything
wiser than you.
Or will he do something better
than you could yourself.
Is a person incorporeal or mortal,
one thing is important in people:
what they know.
Everyone comes here
with toolbox
and a set
project documentation
to build
Own Future.
That's just
not everyone remembers
Where did he put it all?
Life tells you nothing, it shows everything.
You learned something
that someone somewhere
needs to be remembered.
How will you communicate your knowledge to them?
Accept your fears
let them create
the worst -
and cut them off when they
will try to use it.
If you don't -
they start cloning themselves
like mushrooms
will surround you from all sides
and close the road to that life,
which you want to choose.
Every turn you fear
just emptiness
who pretends
irresistible hell.
Again and again you
you will meet
new theology,
and check it every time:
- If I want to,
for this belief to come into my life?
If God
looked at you
right in the eye
and said:
- I command that you
happy in this world
how long is alive.
What would you do?
This is called "taking on faith";
when you agree to the rules
before you think about them
or when you take action
because they are expected of you.
If you're not careful
it will happen thousands and thousands of times
throughout your life.
Richard Bach
or the adventures of the Messiah, who did not want to be the Messiah
After The Seagull Named Jonathan Livingston came out, I was asked more than once: "Richard, what are you going to write next? After Jonathan, what?"
I answered then that there was no need for me to write further, not a single word, and that my books had already said everything that I wanted to say with them. At one time I had to go hungry and sell my car and all that, so it was pretty interesting that I no longer had to work until midnight.
However, almost every summer, I took my venerable biplane sailing over the emerald seas of the grasslands of the American Midwest, giving passengers a ride, and I began to feel the old tension again - there was still something that I did not have time to say.
I don't like writing books at all. If I can only turn my back on some idea, leave it there, in the darkness, beyond the threshold, then I won't even pick up a pen.
But from time to time, the front wall suddenly falls apart with a roar, showering everything around with a waterfall of glass splashes and brick chips, and someone, stepping over this debris, grabs my throat and gently says: “I will not let you go until you express me in words. and you can't write them down on paper." That's how I got to know Illusions.
Even back in the Midwest, when I used to lie on my back and learn to disperse clouds, this story was constantly spinning in my head ... and what if someone suddenly appeared here who would really be a master of this craft, who could tell me how my world works and how to manage it? And what if I suddenly met someone so far along the path… what if a new Sidharth or Jesus appeared in our time, having power over the illusions of this world, because he knows the reality behind them? What if I could meet him, if he flew a biplane and landed in the same meadow as me? What would he say, what would he be?
Perhaps he would not have looked like the messiah who appeared on the oil-stained and grass-stained pages of my logbook, perhaps he would not have said anything in this book. However, my messiah said: we attract into our lives what we think about, and if all this is true, then there is some reason that this moment has come in my life, and in yours too. It is probably no coincidence that you are now holding this book; there is probably something about these adventures that made you come across this book. I think so. And I think that my messiah is sitting somewhere in another dimension, not at all fantastic, he sees you and me and laughs contentedly that everything is happening exactly as we planned it in advance.
Richard Bach
1. And the Messiah came to this land, and he was born on the sacred land of Indiana, and he grew up among the mysterious hills east of Fort Wayne.
2. The Messiah got acquainted with this world in an ordinary school in Indiana, and then, when he grew up, he became an auto mechanic.
3. But the Messiah had other knowledge, and he received them in other places, in other schools, in other lives that he lived. He remembered them, and this memory made him wise and strong, and others saw his strength and came to him for advice.
4. The Messiah believed that he was able to help himself and all mankind, and it was according to his faith, and others saw his power and came to him so that he would deliver them from their troubles and countless diseases.
5. The Messiah believed that everyone should consider himself a son of God, and it was according to his faith, and the workshops and garages where he worked were overflowing with those who sought his teachings and his touch, and the streets nearby with those who craved only that his shadow accidentally fell on them and changed their lives.
6. And it came to pass that, because of these crowds, the workshop owners asked the Messiah to leave his job and go his own way, for he was always so closely surrounded by crowds that neither he nor the other mechanics simply had anywhere to repair cars.
7. And he went into the open field, and the people who followed him began to call him the Messiah and the miracle worker; and it was to them according to their faith.
8. And if there was a storm while he was speaking, not a single drop fell on the heads of those who listened to him; and in the midst of the thunder and lightning raging in the heavens, he who stood farthest from him heard his words as clearly and distinctly as he who stood closest to him. And he always spoke to them in the language of parables.
9. And he said to them: "In each of us is hidden our willingness to accept health or disease, wealth or poverty, freedom or slavery. And only we ourselves, and no one else, can control this great power."
10. Then a certain miller spoke, and he said: “It is easy for you to say, Messiah, for no one from above shows us the true path, as you do, and you do not have to earn bread in the sweat of your face, as we do. In this world, so that to live - a person must work.
11. And the Messiah said to him in response: "Once upon a time, at the bottom of one large crystal river, there was a village, and certain creatures lived in it."
12. "The river silently flowed over them all - young and old, rich and poor, good and bad, flowed its own way and knew only about its own crystal "I".
13. And all these creatures, each in their own way, clung to the stones and thin stems that grew at the bottom of the river of plants, for the ability to cling was the basis of their life, and they learned to resist the flow of the river from birth.
14. But one being finally said: "I am tired of clinging. And although I do not see it with my own eyes, I believe that the current knows where it is going. Now I will let go of the stone, and let it take me with it. Otherwise, I will die boredom".
15. Other creatures laughed and said: "Fool! Just let go of your stone, and your adored current will turn you over and slam against the stones so that you will die faster from this than from boredom!"
16. But he did not listen to them and, gaining more air, unclenched his hands, and at the same moment the current overturned him and hit the stones.
17. However, the creature still did not cling to anything, and then the stream lifted it high above the bottom, and it no longer beat on the stones.
18. And the beings who lived down the river, to whom he was a stranger, cried out: "Look, a miracle! He is just like us, but he flies! Look, the Messiah has come to save us!"
19. And then the one who was carried by the current said: "I am the same Messiah as you are. The river will gladly set us free and lift us up if we only dare to unhook from the stones. Our true destiny lies in this journey, in this courageous travel".
20. But they only shouted louder: “Savior!”, Still clinging to the stones, and when they looked up again, he was gone, and they were left alone and began to compose legends about the Savior.
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