Merry Christmas Kyokushin Karate Binus

Merry Christmas...!!

 

OSU..!

Happy Mother's Day

Percakapan bayi dengan Tuhan..

Seuatu pagi seorang bayi siap untuk di lahirkan ke dunia. Dia bertanya kepada Tuhan,
Bayi: "Para malaikat di sini mengatakan bahwa besok Engkau akan mengirimku ke dunia, tetapi bagaimana cara ku hidup di sana? aku begitu kecil dan lemah."

Tuhan: "Aku sudah memilih 1 malaikat untuk mu. Ia akan menjagamu dan mengasihimu."

Bayi: " Tetapi di dalam sini, di dalam surga apa yang pernah ku lakukan hanyalahbernyanyi dan tertawa. Ini sudah cukup bagiku."

Tuhan: "Malaikatmu akan bernyanyi dan tersenyum untukmu setiap hari dan kamu akan merasakan kehangatan cintanya dan menjadi lebih berbahagia."

Bayi: "Dan bagaimana saya bisa mengerti saat orang-orang berbicara kepadaku jika aku tidak mengerti bahasa mereka?"

Tuhan: "Malaikatmu akan berbicara kepadame dengan bahasa yang paling indah yang pernah kamu dengar dan dengan penuh kesabaran dan perhatian dia akan mengajarkan mubagaimana cara berbicara."

Bayi: "Apa yang akan aku lakukan saat aku ingin berbicara kepadamu?"

Tuhan: "Malaikatmu akan mengajarkanmu bagaimana cara berdoa."

Bayi: "Aku dengar bahwa di bumi banyak orang jahat, siapakah yang nanti akan melindungi ku?"

Tuhan: "Malaikatmu akan melindungimu walaupun hal itu akan mengancam nyawanya."

Bayi: "Tapi aku pasti akan sedih karena tidak melihatMu lagi."

Tuhan: "Malaikatmu akan memceritakan kepadamu tentangKu dan akan mengajarkanmu bagaimana agar kamu bisa kembali kepadaKu, walaupun sesungguhnya Aku akan selalu erada di sisimu."

Saat itu surga begitu tenangnya sehingga dari bumi dapat terdengar dan sang bayi pun bertanya perlahan,
"Tuhan, jika aku harus pergi sekarang, bisakah Engkau memberitahukanku nama malaikat tersebut?"
Jawab Tuhan ......
"Kamu akan memanggil malaikatmu itu dengan "IBU".

Happy Mother's day for all mother in the world, and especially for my beloved Mom.. I love you, always and forever.. =)

Merry Christmas Everyone =)

Gasuku Kyokushin Karate Binus on December 16-18, 2011 @Carita-Anyer

Nothing Is, but What Is Evident By Arnolt Schlick

Nothing is, but what is evident.
In truth, the truth appears but to the eye.
Could one but understand what might be meant,
Opening one's heart to pure intent,
Love the answer to one's what or why,
Angels would towards Bethlehem be bent:
So one might believe, though gingerly.

Christmas Market by Mike Harding

Tall, White-haired in her widows black
My Nana took me, balaclavad from the cold,
To where stalls shimmered in a splash of gold,
Buttery light from wind-twitched lamps and all
The Christmas hoards, were heaped above my eyes,
A shrill cascade of tinsel set to fall
In a sea of shivering colours on the frosty
Foot packed earth. I smelt the roasted nuts,
drank syrupy sarsaparilla in thick glasses far
Too hot to hold and chewed a liquorice root
That turned into a soggy yellow brush. The man
Who wound the barrel organ let me turn
The handle and I jangled out a tune -
And 'Lily of Laguna' spangled out into the still night air
And would go on spinning through the turning years.

Then we walked home, I clutching a bright tin car
With half men painted on the windows, chewed a sweet
And held her hand as she warmed mine,
One glove lost turning the chattering music.
And I looked up at the circus of the stars
That spread across the city and our street
Coated now with a Christmas cake layer of frost
And nobody under the stars I thought
Was half of a half of a half as happy as me.

The First Christmas - Love Was There

When neither kings nor kin were there,
it mattered little, Mary Love,
just who was there or anywhere,
for Love Itself, for Love was there.

Full many were dismayed a King
could not afford more royal wear,
have nobles by, and glittering spears,
and a crown of gold for His hair.

No senates came with tribute due,
the most of men seemed not to care,
It mattered little, Mary Love,
for Love Itself, and you, were there.

A Visit from St. Nicholas By Clement Clarke Moore

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds;

While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;

And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,

Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap,

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,

Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,

Gave a lustre of midday to objects below,

When what to my wondering eyes did appear,

But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny rein-deer,

With a little old driver so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment he must be St. Nick.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:

"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now Prancer and Vixen!

On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blixen!

To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!

Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;

So up to the housetop the coursers they flew

With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too—

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,

Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;

A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack.

His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath;

He had a broad face and a little round belly

That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,

And laying his finger aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight—

“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”

A Christmas Carol by Christina Rossetti

In the bleak mid-winter
   Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
   Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
   Snow on snow,
In the bleak mid-winter 
   Long ago.

Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him
   Nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away
   When He comes to reign:
In the bleak midwinter
   A stable-place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty
   Jesus Christ.

Enough for Him, whom cherubim
   Worship night and day,
A breastful of milk
   And a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him, whom angels
   Fall down before,
The ox and ass and camel
   Which adore.

Angels and archangels
   May have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim
   Thronged the air;
But only His mother
   In her maiden bliss
Worshipped the Beloved
   With a kiss.

What can I give Him,
   Poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd
   I would bring a lamb,
If I were a Wise Man
   I would do my part,—
Yet what I can I give Him,
   Give my heart.

Noël by Anne Porter

When snow is shaken
From the balsam trees
And they're cut down 
And brought into our houses 

When clustered sparks 
Of many-colored fire
Appear at night 
In ordinary windows 

We hear and sing
The customary carols 

They bring us ragged miracles
And hay and candles 
And flowering weeds of poetry
That are loved all the more
Because they are so common 

But there are carols
That carry phrases 
Of the haunting music
Of the other world 
A music wild and dangerous
As a prophet's message 

Or the fresh truth of children
Who though they come to us
From our own bodies 
Are altogether new
With their small limbs
And birdlike voices 

They look at us
With their clear eyes 
And ask the piercing questions 
God alone can answer.

Christmas at Sea by Robert Louis Stevenson

The sheets were frozen hard, and they cut the naked hand;
The decks were like a slide, where a seamen scarce could stand;
The wind was a nor'wester, blowing squally off the sea;
And cliffs and spouting breakers were the only things a-lee.

They heard the surf a-roaring before the break of day;
But 'twas only with the peep of light we saw how ill we lay.
We tumbled every hand on deck instanter, with a shout,
And we gave her the maintops'l, and stood by to go about.

All day we tacked and tacked between the South Head and the North;
All day we hauled the frozen sheets, and got no further forth;
All day as cold as charity, in bitter pain and dread,
For very life and nature we tacked from head to head.

We gave the South a wider berth, for there the tide-race roared;
But every tack we made we brought the North Head close aboard:
So's we saw the cliffs and houses, and the breakers running high,
And the coastguard in his garden, with his glass against his eye.

The frost was on the village roofs as white as ocean foam;
The good red fires were burning bright in every 'long-shore home;
The windows sparkled clear, and the chimneys volleyed out;
And I vow we sniffed the victuals as the vessel went about.

The bells upon the church were rung with a mighty jovial cheer;
For it's just that I should tell you how (of all days in the year)
This day of our adversity was blessed Christmas morn,
And the house above the coastguard's was the house where I was born.

O well I saw the pleasant room, the pleasant faces there,
My mother's silver spectacles, my father's silver hair;
And well I saw the firelight, like a flight of homely elves,
Go dancing round the china-plates that stand upon the shelves.

And well I knew the talk they had, the talk that was of me,
Of the shadow on the household and the son that went to sea;
And O the wicked fool I seemed, in every kind of way,
To be here and hauling frozen ropes on blessed Christmas Day.

They lit the high sea-light, and the dark began to fall.
"All hands to loose topgallant sails," I heard the captain call.
"By the Lord, she'll never stand it," our first mate Jackson, cried.
..."It's the one way or the other, Mr. Jackson," he replied.

She staggered to her bearings, but the sails were new and good,
And the ship smelt up to windward just as though she understood.
As the winter's day was ending, in the entry of the night,
We cleared the weary headland, and passed below the light.

And they heaved a mighty breath, every soul on board but me,
As they saw her nose again pointing handsome out to sea;
But all that I could think of, in the darkness and the cold,
Was just that I was leaving home and my folks were growing old.

Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes by William Shakespeare

Marcellus to Horatio and Bernardo, after seeing the Ghost,
Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes
Where in our Saviour's birth is celebrated,
This bird of dawning singeth all night long;
And then, they say, no spirit dare stir abroad,
The nights are wholesome, then no planets strike,
No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,
So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.

Christmas Trees by Robert Frost

A Christmas Circular Letter
  
  
The city had withdrawn into itself  
And left at last the country to the country;  
When between whirls of snow not come to lie  
And whirls of foliage not yet laid, there drove  
A stranger to our yard, who looked the city,   
Yet did in country fashion in that there  
He sat and waited till he drew us out  
A-buttoning coats to ask him who he was.  
He proved to be the city come again  
To look for something it had left behind   
And could not do without and keep its Christmas.  
He asked if I would sell my Christmas trees;  
My woods—the young fir balsams like a place  
Where houses all are churches and have spires.  
I hadn't thought of them as Christmas Trees.    
I doubt if I was tempted for a moment  
To sell them off their feet to go in cars  
And leave the slope behind the house all bare,  
Where the sun shines now no warmer than the moon.  
I'd hate to have them know it if I was.      
Yet more I'd hate to hold my trees except  
As others hold theirs or refuse for them,  
Beyond the time of profitable growth,  
The trial by market everything must come to.  
I dallied so much with the thought of selling.      
Then whether from mistaken courtesy  
And fear of seeming short of speech, or whether  
From hope of hearing good of what was mine,  
I said, "There aren't enough to be worth while."
  
"I could soon tell how many they would cut,     
You let me look them over."  
 
                                    "You could look.  
But don't expect I'm going to let you have them."  
Pasture they spring in, some in clumps too close  
That lop each other of boughs, but not a few     
Quite solitary and having equal boughs  
All round and round. The latter he nodded "Yes" to,  
Or paused to say beneath some lovelier one,  
With a buyer's moderation, "That would do."  
I thought so too, but wasn't there to say so.   
We climbed the pasture on the south, crossed over,  
And came down on the north. 
 
                                    He said, "A thousand."  
  
"A thousand Christmas trees!—at what apiece?"  
  
He felt some need of softening that to me:       
"A thousand trees would come to thirty dollars."  
  
Then I was certain I had never meant  
To let him have them. Never show surprise!  
But thirty dollars seemed so small beside  
The extent of pasture I should strip, three cents    
(For that was all they figured out apiece),  
Three cents so small beside the dollar friends  
I should be writing to within the hour  
Would pay in cities for good trees like those,  
Regular vestry-trees whole Sunday Schools     
Could hang enough on to pick off enough.  
A thousand Christmas trees I didn't know I had!  
Worth three cents more to give away than sell,  
As may be shown by a simple calculation.  
Too bad I couldn't lay one in a letter.       
I can't help wishing I could send you one,  
In wishing you herewith a Merry Christmas.

“Christmas Bells” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I heard the bells on Christmas Day Their old, familiar carols play,  
And wild and sweet  The words repeat  Of peace on earth, good-will to men!   
And thought how, as the day had come,  
The belfries of all Christendom 

Had rolled along 

The unbroken song  
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!   
Till ringing, singing on its way,  
The world revolved from night to day,  
A voice, a chime,  
A chant sublime  
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!   
Then from each black, accursed mouth  
The cannon thundered in the South,  
And with the sound 

The carols drowned  
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!   
It was as if an earthquake rent  
The hearth-stones of a continent, 

And made forlorn 

The households born  
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!   
And in despair 
I bowed my head;  "There is no peace on earth," 
I said; "For hate is strong,

And mocks the song  
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!"   
Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: 

"God is not dead, nor doth He sleep; 

The Wrong shall fail, 

The Right prevail, 

With peace on earth, good-will to men."

The Savior must have been a docile Gentleman (1487) by Emily Dickinson

The Savior must have been
A docile Gentleman—
To come so far so cold a Day
For little Fellowmen—

The Road to Bethlehem
Since He and I were Boys
Was leveled, but for that 'twould be
A rugged Billion Miles—

8 Good Christmas Poems

“The Savior must have been a docile Gentleman” by Emily Dickinson;

“Christmas Bells” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow;

“Christmas Trees: A Christmas Circular Letter” by Robert Frost;

“Some say that ever ’gainst that season comes” by William Shakespeare;

“Christmas at Sea” by Robert Louis Stevenson; 

“Noël” by Anne Porter;

“A Christmas Carol” by Christina Rossetti;

“A Visit From St. Nicholas” (“Twas the Night Before Christmas”), attributed to Clement Clarke Moore.

Meaning Has No Meaning Without Love By Dimitri Shostakovich

Meaning has no meaning without love,
Elevating sentience to desire.
Reason has no reason to approve
Revelation unsustained by fire.
Yearn, then, with the recklessness of burning,
Coming hungry to the Christmas table,
Holding tight the objects of your yearning,
Ready to find kings within the stable.
In you there is a love that brings to being
Such beauty as you cannot hope to see,
Too simple and too glorious for seeing,
Making it a sacrament to be.
As love gives wings their will and words their song,
So may it give you faith your whole life long.