Of course we all know the usual meaning of the words "Making Love". The marital bed or the coming together of two humans being to enjoy sensations of the flesh, either way in and of itself is a beautiful thing. Of course we all seem to think sex or "Making Love" is important, however, the aforementioned is only a miniscule part of the whole…a micro of the macro.
Every minute of every wakened hour is a time for “Making Love”.
Offering a smile from the heart to a stranger or blessing the one that took your parking place is “Making Love”.
How many times while driving has someone pulled out in front of you only to be cursed or saluted? How many times have you done the same thing because you were not conscious or alert because your mind was somewhere else and not focused on the moment…driving. “Making Love”, once again in this situation, would be to leave judgment out, to understand that the act was not against you, that it was a reflection of you giving yourself the opportunity to forgive.
Where there is no judgment there is no need for forgiveness. That is “Making Love”
Calling up an old friend you have not talked to in a long while, walking through the fields, the woods, sitting quietly on a beech and being totally focused on “Now”. Being one with the presence of “Now”. Watching the bees and butterflies carry out their task in the spring of cross pollinating the flowers. Watching the leaves dance to the tune of a soft breeze blowing through the trees. Being the observer in the present moment and not the thinker. Simply observing nature and “Not Doing” anything else is “Making Love”.
Helping someone in need, lending an ear to someone's story, transforming a frown to a smile, sharing good news and positive information with others or helping dry a tear with an understanding hug and a whispered, “I Love You”.
Realizing that you are no lesser a human being than anyone else, accepting the way you are without judgment to self is “Making Love”.
You can “Make Love” all day long (even in public) with anyone you choose and I promise you, it will not be considered obscene. ~ Jerry Stolaski
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
One Thousand Marbles
Jeffrey Davis
I'm a Ham radio operator and spend some time working with radios and electronics. So when I heard this story it really made me think! I hope that you will find some application in your own life as well...
A few weeks ago, I was shuffling toward the basement shack with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and the morning paper in the other. What began as a typical Saturday morning, turned into one of those lessons that life seems to hand you from time to time. Let me tell you about it.
I turned the dial up into the phone portion of the band on my ham radio in order to listen to a Saturday morning swap net. Along the way, I came across an older sounding chap, with a tremendous signal and a golden voice. You know, the kind, he sounded like he should be in the broadcasting business. He was telling whomever he was talking with something about "a thousand marbles".
I was intrigued and stopped to listen to what he had to say. "Well, Tom, it sure sounds like you're busy with your job. I'm sure they pay you well but it's a shame you have to be away from home and your family so much. Hard to believe a young fellow should have to work sixty or seventy hours a week to make ends meet. Too bad you missed your daughter's dance recital."
He continued, "Let me tell you something, Tom, something that has helped me keep a good perspective on my own priorities." And that's when he began to explain his theory of "a thousand marbles."
"You see, I sat down one day and did a little arithmetic. The average person lives about seventy-five years. I know, some live more and some live less, but on average, folks live about seventy-five years."
"Now then, I multiplied 75 times 52 and I came up with 3,900, which is the number of Saturdays that the average person has in their entire lifetime. Now stick with me Tom, I'm getting to the important part."
"It took me until I was fifty-five years old to think about all this in any detail," he went on, "and by that time I had lived through over twenty-eight hundred Saturdays. I got to thinking that if I lived to be seventy-five, I only had about a thousand of them left to enjoy."
"So I went to a toy store and bought every single marble they had. I ended up having to visit three toy stores to round-up 1,000 marbles. I took them home and put them inside of a large, clear plastic container right here in the shack next to my gear. Every Saturday since then, I have taken one marble out and thrown it away."
"I found that by watching the marbles diminish, I focused more on the really important things in life. There is nothing like watching your time here on this earth run out to help get your priorities straight."
"Now let me tell you one last thing before I sign-off with you and take my lovely wife out for breakfast. This morning, I took the very last marble out of the container. I figure if I make it until next Saturday then I have been given a little extra time. And the one thing we can all use is a little more time."
"It was nice to meet you Tom, I hope you spend more time with your family, and I hope to meet you again."
You could have heard a pin drop on the radio when this fellow signed off. I guess he gave us all a lot to think about. I had planned to work on the antenna that morning, and then I was going to meet up with a few hams to work on the next club newsletter. Instead, I went upstairs and woke my wife up with a kiss.
"C'mon honey, I'm taking you and the kids to breakfast."
"What brought this on?" she asked with a smile.
"Oh, nothing special, it's just been a long time since we spent a Saturday together with the kids. Hey, can we stop at a toy store while we're out? I need to buy some marbles."
I'm a Ham radio operator and spend some time working with radios and electronics. So when I heard this story it really made me think! I hope that you will find some application in your own life as well...
A few weeks ago, I was shuffling toward the basement shack with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and the morning paper in the other. What began as a typical Saturday morning, turned into one of those lessons that life seems to hand you from time to time. Let me tell you about it.
I turned the dial up into the phone portion of the band on my ham radio in order to listen to a Saturday morning swap net. Along the way, I came across an older sounding chap, with a tremendous signal and a golden voice. You know, the kind, he sounded like he should be in the broadcasting business. He was telling whomever he was talking with something about "a thousand marbles".
I was intrigued and stopped to listen to what he had to say. "Well, Tom, it sure sounds like you're busy with your job. I'm sure they pay you well but it's a shame you have to be away from home and your family so much. Hard to believe a young fellow should have to work sixty or seventy hours a week to make ends meet. Too bad you missed your daughter's dance recital."
He continued, "Let me tell you something, Tom, something that has helped me keep a good perspective on my own priorities." And that's when he began to explain his theory of "a thousand marbles."
"You see, I sat down one day and did a little arithmetic. The average person lives about seventy-five years. I know, some live more and some live less, but on average, folks live about seventy-five years."
"Now then, I multiplied 75 times 52 and I came up with 3,900, which is the number of Saturdays that the average person has in their entire lifetime. Now stick with me Tom, I'm getting to the important part."
"It took me until I was fifty-five years old to think about all this in any detail," he went on, "and by that time I had lived through over twenty-eight hundred Saturdays. I got to thinking that if I lived to be seventy-five, I only had about a thousand of them left to enjoy."
"So I went to a toy store and bought every single marble they had. I ended up having to visit three toy stores to round-up 1,000 marbles. I took them home and put them inside of a large, clear plastic container right here in the shack next to my gear. Every Saturday since then, I have taken one marble out and thrown it away."
"I found that by watching the marbles diminish, I focused more on the really important things in life. There is nothing like watching your time here on this earth run out to help get your priorities straight."
"Now let me tell you one last thing before I sign-off with you and take my lovely wife out for breakfast. This morning, I took the very last marble out of the container. I figure if I make it until next Saturday then I have been given a little extra time. And the one thing we can all use is a little more time."
"It was nice to meet you Tom, I hope you spend more time with your family, and I hope to meet you again."
You could have heard a pin drop on the radio when this fellow signed off. I guess he gave us all a lot to think about. I had planned to work on the antenna that morning, and then I was going to meet up with a few hams to work on the next club newsletter. Instead, I went upstairs and woke my wife up with a kiss.
"C'mon honey, I'm taking you and the kids to breakfast."
"What brought this on?" she asked with a smile.
"Oh, nothing special, it's just been a long time since we spent a Saturday together with the kids. Hey, can we stop at a toy store while we're out? I need to buy some marbles."
Saturday, February 5, 2011
A "Dedication" to a "Beautiful" Friend - Lou Gross
Back in my teen years was a woman I adored, unbeknownst to her. She was kind, understanding, encouraging and an inspiration in my love for singing. Like a paper sailboat in a stream slowly fading out of sight she faded into my past. Not forgotten but no longer in the forefront of my mind. I, like everyone does, became busy in my personal affairs of becoming an adult and the responsibilities that would entail.
Many years has since passed and life has gone on.
Then one day I get a friends request from a lady I don’t know.
To me, it did not matter if I knew her or not, she had a wonderful smile that said, "Friend". I thought, why not honor the request, I will go with the flow, we can ride the train together as friends on Facebook and if I don't like her, I'm in control. I have the power of the "Delete" button.
After a few days of corresponding with this lady, I was hit in the face with a ton of bricks (that's a Texas technical term). This lady was one from my past. I did not recognize her because she had changed her hair color.
Still as pretty as back in the day, loving, kind, considerate...well there's just not enough words to express what I think of this lady.
For reasons unknown our paths cross again.
I dedicate the photo (a violin with only three strings) and the story below to this lady, my choir/band teacher.
Thank you Miss Green/Lou Gross
Many blessings, Jerry Stolarski
Namaste
Inspiration - Inspired - Inspired
*****************************
A Violin With Three Strings
Jack Riemer
On Nov. 18, 1995, Itzhak Perlman, the violinist, came on stage to give a concert at Avery Fisher Hall at Lincoln Center in New York City.
If you have ever been to a Perlman concert, you know that getting on stage is no small achievement for him. He was stricken with polio as a child, and so he has braces on both legs and walks with the aid of two crutches. To see him walk across the stage one step at a time, painfully and slowly, is an awesome sight.
He walks painfully, yet majestically, until he reaches his chair. Then he sits down, slowly, puts his crutches on the floor, undoes the clasps on his legs, tucks one foot back and extends the other foot forward. Then he bends down and picks up the violin, puts it under his chin, nods to the conductor and proceeds to play.
By now, the audience is used to this ritual. They sit quietly while he makes his way across the stage to his chair. They remain reverently silent while he undoes the clasps on his legs. They wait until he is ready to play.
But this time, something went wrong. Just as he finished the first few bars, one of the strings on his violin broke. You could hear it snap - it went off like gunfire across the room. There was no mistaking what that sound meant. There was no mistaking what he had to do.
We figured that he would have to get up, put on the clasps again, pick up the crutches and limp his way off stage - to either find another violin or else find another string for this one. But he didn't. Instead, he waited a moment, closed his eyes and then signaled the conductor to begin again.
The orchestra began, and he played from where he had left off. And he played with such passion and such power and such purity as they had never heard before.
Of course, anyone knows that it is impossible to play a symphonic work with just three strings. I know that, and you know that, but that night Itzhak Perlman refused toknow that.
You could see him modulating, changing, re-composing the piece in his head. At one point, it sounded like he was de-tuning the strings to get new sounds from them that they had never made before.
When he finished, there was an awesome silence in the room. And then people rose and cheered.
There was an extraordinary outburst of applause from every corner of the auditorium. We were all on our feet, screaming and cheering, doing everything we could to show how much we appreciated what he had done.
He smiled, wiped the sweat from this brow, raised his bow to quiet us, and then he said - not boastfully, but in a quiet, pensive, reverent tone - "You know, sometimes it is the artist's task to find out how much music you can still make with what you have left."
What a powerful line that is. It has stayed in my mind ever since I heard it. And who knows.
Perhaps that is the definition of life - not just for artists but for all of us.
Here is a man who has prepared all his life to make music on a violin of four strings, who, all of a sudden, in the middle of a concert, finds himself with only three strings; so he makes music with three strings, and the music he made that night with just three strings was more beautiful, more sacred, more memorable, than any that he had ever made before, when he had four strings.
So, perhaps our task in this shaky, fast-changing, bewildering world in which we live is to make music, at first with all that we have, and then, when that is no longer possible, to make music with what we have left.
Many years has since passed and life has gone on.
Then one day I get a friends request from a lady I don’t know.
To me, it did not matter if I knew her or not, she had a wonderful smile that said, "Friend". I thought, why not honor the request, I will go with the flow, we can ride the train together as friends on Facebook and if I don't like her, I'm in control. I have the power of the "Delete" button.
After a few days of corresponding with this lady, I was hit in the face with a ton of bricks (that's a Texas technical term). This lady was one from my past. I did not recognize her because she had changed her hair color.
Still as pretty as back in the day, loving, kind, considerate...well there's just not enough words to express what I think of this lady.
For reasons unknown our paths cross again.
I dedicate the photo (a violin with only three strings) and the story below to this lady, my choir/band teacher.
Thank you Miss Green/Lou Gross
Many blessings, Jerry Stolarski
Namaste
Inspiration - Inspired - Inspired
*****************************
A Violin With Three Strings
Jack Riemer
On Nov. 18, 1995, Itzhak Perlman, the violinist, came on stage to give a concert at Avery Fisher Hall at Lincoln Center in New York City.
If you have ever been to a Perlman concert, you know that getting on stage is no small achievement for him. He was stricken with polio as a child, and so he has braces on both legs and walks with the aid of two crutches. To see him walk across the stage one step at a time, painfully and slowly, is an awesome sight.
He walks painfully, yet majestically, until he reaches his chair. Then he sits down, slowly, puts his crutches on the floor, undoes the clasps on his legs, tucks one foot back and extends the other foot forward. Then he bends down and picks up the violin, puts it under his chin, nods to the conductor and proceeds to play.
By now, the audience is used to this ritual. They sit quietly while he makes his way across the stage to his chair. They remain reverently silent while he undoes the clasps on his legs. They wait until he is ready to play.
But this time, something went wrong. Just as he finished the first few bars, one of the strings on his violin broke. You could hear it snap - it went off like gunfire across the room. There was no mistaking what that sound meant. There was no mistaking what he had to do.
We figured that he would have to get up, put on the clasps again, pick up the crutches and limp his way off stage - to either find another violin or else find another string for this one. But he didn't. Instead, he waited a moment, closed his eyes and then signaled the conductor to begin again.
The orchestra began, and he played from where he had left off. And he played with such passion and such power and such purity as they had never heard before.
Of course, anyone knows that it is impossible to play a symphonic work with just three strings. I know that, and you know that, but that night Itzhak Perlman refused toknow that.
You could see him modulating, changing, re-composing the piece in his head. At one point, it sounded like he was de-tuning the strings to get new sounds from them that they had never made before.
When he finished, there was an awesome silence in the room. And then people rose and cheered.
There was an extraordinary outburst of applause from every corner of the auditorium. We were all on our feet, screaming and cheering, doing everything we could to show how much we appreciated what he had done.
He smiled, wiped the sweat from this brow, raised his bow to quiet us, and then he said - not boastfully, but in a quiet, pensive, reverent tone - "You know, sometimes it is the artist's task to find out how much music you can still make with what you have left."
What a powerful line that is. It has stayed in my mind ever since I heard it. And who knows.
Perhaps that is the definition of life - not just for artists but for all of us.
Here is a man who has prepared all his life to make music on a violin of four strings, who, all of a sudden, in the middle of a concert, finds himself with only three strings; so he makes music with three strings, and the music he made that night with just three strings was more beautiful, more sacred, more memorable, than any that he had ever made before, when he had four strings.
So, perhaps our task in this shaky, fast-changing, bewildering world in which we live is to make music, at first with all that we have, and then, when that is no longer possible, to make music with what we have left.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
The Unseen
The unseen and silent intelligence that moves my finger, is the same as that…
…that moves the gentle winds from a butterflies wings.
…that expresses the beauty of a bird as it sings.
…that of a new born calf as strength comes to its legs
…that of a hen as she sits on her eggs.
…that of a soft passionate kiss by the crackling fire as ambers dance.
…that same unseen and silent intelligence supplies you abundance.
The unseen and silent intelligence that moves my finger moves yours.
Transformation - A Full Circle
(Click on Photo for Larger View)
By: Jerry Stolarski Copyright 2011“I AM” the vast ocean under blue skies.
Upon my death a vapor I rise.
My time is up and I must go.
To start all over and once again grow.
“I AM” the unseen mist in the early morning hue.
Our paths cross again you know me as dew.
To plants and small creatures I sustain life.
Quenching the thirst of those who are dry.
“I AM” sparkling dew in the morning sunrise.
Upon my death a vapor I rise.
My time is up and I must go.
To start all over and once again grow.
“I AM” as storm clouds gather a drop of rain.
Now I will visit the mountains and plains.
In fields and meadows I frolic and play.
Then down a great river I float away.
“I AM” now the great river a journey I gently flow.
I have been down many paths that helped me grow.
I return to the source from which I came.
"I AM” that “I AM” home once again
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