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The Power of Love

The Power of Love 2400 1350 Jason Stadtlander

I have written many poems and stories on love within this blog. Just look at the keywords to the left of this article to read some of them or use the search box.

I attempted to define love as best I could in “Love Is…“, and although I get a LOT of hits on the article, I still find it doesn’t do the word ‘love’ justice.

In a word – Love

Arabic: حُب
Bulgarian: любов
Chinese: 喜爱
Czech: láska
Danish: kærlighed
Dutch: liefde
Estonian: armastus
Finnish: rakkaus
French: amour
German: die Liebe
Greek: αγάπη
Hungarian: szeretet
Icelandic: ást
Indonesian: sayang
Italian: amore
Japanese: 愛
Korean:애정
Latvian: mīlestība
Lithuanian: meilė
Norwegian: kjærlighet
Polish: zamiłowanie
Portuguese: amor
Romanian: dragoste
Russian: любовь
Slovak: láska
Slovenian: ljubezen
Spanish: amor
Swedish: kärlek
Turkish: aşk

Those are just twenty nine of the roughly 6,500 spoken languages in our world. Every single language has a word for love. Some languages have multiple expressions of love within a single word. So the concept of love itself is far from alien to our species, but the ability to completely understand it is as complex as the ability to understand faith.

The Force of Love

When Obi-Wan Kenobi told Luke Skywalker to “trust in the force”, he spoke of a power that surrounds us. This power can also be compared to love and hate. Love, being the good side of the “force” and Hate being the “dark” side of the force. Love can consume us, support us and tear us apart.

~

A man sees a young woman in Grant Park in Chicago, finds her attractive and sits down at the bench next to her as she is feeding some pigeons and reading a book. He tries not to stare but admires how her long hair cascades over her shoulders and over her light jacket. Then his eyes trace down her arm to her delicate hands that hold the book. Sensing someone looking at her, she lowers her book and sees the dark-haired man with a five o’clock shadow, trying not to look at her but their eyes lock. It’s love at first sight.

As the days progress into weeks the two get to know each other and find multiple common the-power-of-love-jason-stadtlanderbonds. They grow closer and closer, and love becomes a comfort, a blanket that keeps them warm and carries them through each day. It’s the comfortable love of daily life.

One day, the woman gets a job that requires her to move back to France where she was raised. He goes with her temporarily to help her get established, intending to, and wanting to come join her when his own job will allow. They spend four beautiful weeks in France and she shows him sights that only the locals know, such as the markets of Marché St. Quentin and the historic movie theater of La Pagode. Then the day comes that he must go back to Chicago. His heart wrenches as he hugs and kisses her goodbye, never knowing when he will see her physically again and he walks through security at Charles de Gaulle Airport. The man forces himself to board the plane and talks with her on the phone until the flight attendant requests him to turn off the phone. He sits, staring out the window as the plane pulls away from the gate and for the first ten minutes, it feels as though someone has attached a cable to his heart and tethered it to the tarmac. For he breaks down, silently crying to himself as his heart is ripped from his chest. It’s the pain of love.

Love That Heals

Love has been shown to have healing properties. Holistic medicine firmly follows the idea that love has strong healing powers. In hospitals, it is now routine to use therapy animals. These are animals that are very good-natured and trained to be with the ill or injured patients and give them love such as the Comfort Dogs of Boston.

Sitting next to a loved one that is in a coma and talking to them is regular practice. Not only because it keeps the loved one in the lives of those that are conscious, but it has also been shown to help the patients heal.

Studies have shown that people who have someone to love or have someone who loves them, live longer than those who do not.

Love of a Child

To hold a brand new human in your arms, one that (ideally) has been created with someone you love, is overwhelming. The flood of undefinable emotions and the incredible reality that there is a new life in your world that will always be a part of you is a consuming love. As the days go on and you get to know this small life, this child, it knows how to do only four things; Eat, sleep, poop and love you (you like how I ordered those?). The love that a child shows for a parent is unconditional and conversely, the love that a parent has for the child is nurturing and encompassing.

Love Defined by a Child

In researching what love means, I came across a very amusing article that discusses how children define love. Here are five of my favorite children’s definitions of love:

  • “Love is what makes you smile when you’re tired.” Terri – age 4
  • “Love is when a girl puts on perfume and a boy puts on shaving cologne and they go out and smell each other.” Karl – age 5
  • “When my grandmother got arthritis, she couldn’t bend over and paint her toenails anymore.  So my grandfather does it for her all the time, even when his hands got arthritis too.  That’s love.” Rebecca – age 8
  • “If you want to learn to love better, you should start with a friend who you hate,” Nikka – age 6
  • “Love is what’s in the room with you at Christmas if you stop opening presents and listen,” Bobby – age 7

What does the power of  love mean to you?

Living in the Past & Resisting Change

Living in the Past & Resisting Change

Living in the Past & Resisting Change 1920 1080 Jason Stadtlander

I feel stressed and I retract my thoughts to a specific memory in my childhood;

I am seven years old, sitting in my father’s green 1970 Chevy pickup on the grey bench seat, more specifically it’s a grey seat cover that covers the original green seat. The aroma of the hot chocolate I’m holding in my gloved hands is strong. Dad had ordered it for me as I was finishing my breakfast at the Howard Johnson’s restaurant in Wooster we visited on the way to the job site. It was our regular ritual for us, having breakfast at Howard Johnson’s during our weekend drives from our home in Canal Fulton to the farm in Loudonville.

The grey floorboard has some scattered dirt and dust on it and it’s lightly raining outside. The old windshield wipers are slowly swishing back and forth, “I love a rainy night” by Eddie Rabbitt is playing on the AM radio and I can feel the warm heat blowing on my feet. I’m wearing a red hooded high-school sweatshirt with a faded eagle on it that my father used to wear his senior year of high school, jeans and a pair of over-sized work gloves ready to help my dad do some landscaping. I’m waiting on him to come back to the truck as he’s talking to the customer. I get bored and lean over to change the dial on the radio, sweeping the little red needle back and forth. I move it down to the 500 kHz range and I hear the dot-dash beeping of Morse code. I have no idea what they are spelling out, but it intrigues me.

My dad then gets into the truck and stops, looks at the radio and then at me. “What is it, dad?” I ask, referring to the beeping on the radio.

“Aliens,” he replies back matter-of-factly. My eyes grew wide.

“I’m kidding. It’s just someone sending a message by Morse code. Probably a HAM radio operator nearby.”

It’s just a memory, one of many from my childhood that brings me peace. A memory of a simpler time (for me) when money, responsibilities, and life didn’t stress me out. There was no internet, no cell phones and no need for anyone to get anything instantly.

It’s not exactly a news flash that our world feels like it is moving and changing faster than ever in recorded history. The reality is of course that it is changing at pretty much the same speed it has for the last hundred and twenty to hundred and forty years.

A little over a hundred years ago, adults (fifty and over) at the time were grappling to understand why on earth anyone would want to get from place to place so fast using a mechanical vehicle when for thousands of years horses and carriages had served just fine. Seventy years ago adults in the same age bracket were resisting the change of getting a television when a radio worked just fine for the family.

Today it befuddles many adults why technology is changing so often and why they are constantly being forced to learn the new innovative technologies. Many of the changes are beneficial, making life easier. Although the constant need to adapt to newer hardware or applications roughly every five years may not be difficult for someone in their twenties and thirties, by the time a person reaches their fifties and beyond, the ability to learn these new innovations becomes profoundly difficult.

It’s only natural to want to return to the simplicity of your youth and fifty years from now, no doubt our children will want to return to the simplicity of a hand-held mobile phone and being able to text one another to keep in touch.

It is this stress of needing to constantly change that forces many of us to reminisce about those times that were perceptively easier in our own lives. But is it healthy to do so? Retreating to those memories is a stress reliever for most people, including myself. There is, however, a difference between thinking about the past and living in it. The past is familiar, we know what happened and we know what the outcomes are of how the past played out. However, pick a memory, at that exact moment in the past your life was changing. You didn’t know what to expect or where your world would go. It stands to reason that at that moment – you thought about your past beyond then to cope with stress.

We as a civilization move on. The world moves forward and we have no choice but to move along with the flow. We may be able to divert the waters of change here and there, but ultimately there is nothing we can do to stop the fact that it changes. We will never “make things great again” and most likely things were not as ‘great’ as we remember them. The truth is, fifty years from now you will look back and remember how great things were in this time. So, as I continue to tell myself every day – enjoy your memories and hold on to them, but embrace the change of the future and work to make a difference in controlling how that change plays out.

PFP (Ode) Ode to Kitty

PFP (Ode) Ode to Kitty 1024 713 Jason Stadtlander

“Ode to Kitty”

Oh my kitty, how you fascinate the mind
Your quiet moments in time do rewind
The gentle touch as you knead me to pet
For if I do not, you may get upset
In the flash of a moment you change to the red
As eyes flash with anger and hatred instead
Then the next second, you switch to love and are kind
Tearing me through this emotional grind
There are many a moment you make me feel awed
And many a more that I know I am flawed
But you handle each day living in present
Focusing on the good, not the unpleasant
As mad as you make me, our bond is so true
Holding you close, there’s nothing like you
Keep your claws in or I’ll use my profanity
I do love you however, despite your insanity

About This Poetry Form

Name: Ode
Description:“Ode” comes from the Greek aeidein, meaning to sing or chant, and belongs to the long and varied tradition of lyric poetry. Originally accompanied by music and dance, and later reserved by the Romantic poets to convey their strongest sentiments, the ode can be generalized as a formal address to an event, a person, or a thing not present.

This particular poem is about someone very dear to me.

About This Series

Read more about this series here.

Father and Son

PFP (Sonnet) The Benevolent Son

PFP (Sonnet) The Benevolent Son 1024 681 Jason Stadtlander

“The Benevolent Son”

Tho new upon this world you came in love
You showed me that the white clouds were parted
As new breath came in your lungs it started
If touched by you, a person holds the dove

You show us truth and ways to see above
Kindly, your conduct incites bighearted
Showing those around you, love restarted
Bereft of anger, your soft words speak of

As a youth, you guided with your actions
Showing me how to give to those in need
Stating “Daddy, give her a dollar please?”
I was surprised by your benefactions 
Proud to call you my son, through each good deed
United, father and son, friends in ease

About This Poetry Form

Name: Sonnet (Italian)
Description: A Sonnet is a poem of an expressive thought or idea made up of 14 lines, each being 10 syllables long. Its rhymes are arranged according to one of the schemes – Italian, where eight lines called an octave consisting of two quatrains which normally open the poem as the question are followed by six lines called a “sestet” that are the answer, or the more common English which is three quatrains followed by a rhyming couplet.

This particular poem is about my youngest son and is an Italian Sonnet which follows the form abbaabbacdecde (each letter representing a line). Each of the corresponding lines will rhyme with the last word with each line being 10 syllables long.

About This Series

Read more about this series here.

Loneliness is…

Loneliness is… 609 419 Jason Stadtlander

Loneliness is something that many of us cope with on a daily basis. Sometimes we can be more lonely in a crowded room that we are standing next to a single person.

Webster’s Dictionary defines loneliness as:

1a : being without company : lone
b : cut off from others : solitary

not frequented by human beings : desolate

sad from being alone : lonesome

producing a feeling of bleakness or desolation

lone·li·ness \ˈlōn-lē-nəs\noun

However, rarely does a definition convey what loneliness or any other emotion really is.

The reality is.. loneliness is a chasm deeper than the eye can see.
Loneliness can take you from the highest perch and cast you into the deepest hell.
Loneliness is a cold metal table in a dark room.
Loneliness is a yearning for human touch, even a hug.
Loneliness is an empty bench where you used to sit next to your mother and talk.
Loneliness is a need to tell your deceased loved one how much you miss them.
Loneliness is a fresh snowfall without children to play in it.
Loneliness is a photograph in your hand that you can’t let go of.
Loneliness is feeling cold on a warm summer day as the waves crash on the beach.
Loneliness is rain, so cold it seeps through to your bones.
Loneliness is… a singular soul among billions.

Pain is…

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PainPain is a tempest.

It is a raging storm that can carry us or drown us as we drift among the seas.

It comes in physical, emotional and psychological forms.

Some of us may never feel true pain. May never know true loss of one’s sanity, one’s loved one, one’s limb, or of stress that can induce tremendous pain that can deadlock the psyche.

For others they are trapped in the pain, trapped in the hurricane, just wading in and out of the eye of the hurricane as the waves increase to a crescendo that crushes the human soul.

The question is, the ever lasting question… Can we as humans cope with the pain with which we are dealt? Is it of the heart, the soul, God, or some other underlying strength that enable us to deal with the pain with which we are trapped within. And if we find this strength, what is it that can pull us from it’s grasp? What is it that can breach our tempest and quite literally save our lives?

 

Hope is…

Hope is… 150 150 Jason Stadtlander

Hope is a singular word, almost as enigmatic as the word “love”.  It is a truth that binds us, a thread that connects us and when shattered, a dust that chokes us. Hope restores our faith in those around us and in high powers and for some gives us a reason to go on with life in the most dire circumstances.

It is almost impossible to truly define in words what hope is and how it can drastically affect someone’s life.

I will be the first to admit that there have been times when things truly seemed hopeless in my life. Sitting in the gutter, uncertain of what reason there was for living – I was utterly and completely without hope. But yet, there must have been an ember of hope, a smoldering ash, otherwise why would I be here to write to you now?

So, the question arises; what was it that got me back up again? What was it that allowed me to pick myself up from where I was in those darkest times? I would like to say it was my faith. But that would be a lie. Until recently I have never had much faith in God, or any other higher power. I would like to say it was my family, but in this particular time I had no family within 500 miles. I had two friends who at the time were kind enough to let me shower at their home while I tried to get my life going again.

Hope is...No, although my views on this are changing I do believe that there must have been a splinter, a sliver of hope, somewhere buried inside me. The truth is, I had two choices. I could kill myself and end it all or I could go on trying… and what would killing myself have done? It would have shattered the life of my father, mother, brother and sister, despite the fact that they lived hundreds or thousands of miles away. That was a consequence I couldn’t live with. So, no matter how little hope I had, I had no choice but to remain alive and see where life took me.

Fortunately it took me in the right direction, to a better life. It took me to a group of loving friends and most importantly, to fatherhood.

So, where does hope come from? Perhaps it comes from the desire not to cause pain on others – to make your life better through your actions or inactions? Perhaps it has nothing to do with anyone else, but more to do with the core of what you are?  Hope is… personal. Hope is… life. Hope is… strength, even if it is the smallest – most unmeasurable amount of strength there is. Hope is a light… when all else has gone dark.

Tiny Treasures, Red Leaves and Lucky Pennies

Tiny Treasures, Red Leaves and Lucky Pennies 2560 1440 Jason Stadtlander

Arriving at my children’s school, I get out of my car and my children follow suit, grab their backpacks and we walk toward the door. Along the way my youngest sees a few autumn leaves on the ground, despite the fact that it’s only one day after labor day.

He reaches down and finds the two most red, beautiful leaves and hands one to me. This is a very common practice with him. I smile at him and he trots off toward the door, holding my cell phone that he is talking to his grandfather 800 miles away on. Another common practice, our morning call to my father and something that brings a smile to their face and gets my father’s day off to a wonderful start.

We go into the school and I check them in for early drop-off, give them each a hug and as I’m leaving, my son walks over and hands me his red leaf.

“Why did you give that to me? You already gave me the other red leaf.” I say

To which he replies, “Two red leaves are better than one.” and he runs over to the Lego bin.

I suppose one can’t argue with that logic. So, I take my extra leaf and go to the car, sit down and place the two red leaves next to the four other leaves he’s given me over the past few weeks and the three lucky pennies he has given me. I take a moment to examine them. All six leaves and three pennies, one of which is a hay penny. My other son doesn’t tend to find ‘trash to treasure gifts’, he usually colors me creative pictures or makes me a sculpture, but these bits from either boy are more valuable than all the money in the world. Little treasures for a child, big treasures for a parent (at least this parent).

As an adult we spend day in and day out, seeking the dollar, chasing the sun and trying find that perfect peace, that perfect moment. As a parent, I find those perfect peaceful times and perfect moments are all around me, mind you not as often as I’d like, but they are there. Even as I sit here at my desk writing this article, I see 8 photographs of my children and at least 7 pieces of artwork, sculptures, sock snowmen, rock men and pine cone people all around me. Hidden where no one can see, I keep my old leaves from years past and my lucky pennies. My “tiny treasures”.

Strangely, these items mean something to me and I’m sure my father and mother kept the same sort of things and their parents before them. I will admit to having held on to a tiny treasure or two, beyond their, um… expiration date. A berry that rotted, a walnut that may have had something in it that it shouldn’t have. It doesn’t change the fact however, that they were my tiny treasures.

What happens when these people who have these objects are no longer around? The objects get put back into world circulation, are thrown away into a landfill or are sold for some derived value.

What is interesting though, is that all of us are a part of these treasures, we are all connected to them. That penny in your pocket, very well may have been the lucky penny that a child gave to their mother. The same penny that ended up sitting on her dresser for years for no other reason than because her daughter gave it to her.

It is these tiny treasures, these small, seemingly insignificant items that make our daily treks all worthwhile.

What are your tiny treasures?

Farewell Robin Williams

Farewell Robin Williams 150 150 Jason Stadtlander

I wasn’t going to write a tribute, an article or an essay about Robin Williams. I never knew the man and I am no one of importance or notoriety. I am not an obsessed fan who showed up to see Robin shooting films and I did not hang on his every word.

Robin WilliamsI am simply one of millions of other people that were touched by Robin, which perhaps gives me as much a right to say something about him as much as anyone else.

Two weeks ago, I was walking casually through my father’s house on the tree farm where I grew up, passing through the living room on my way to the kitchen to grab a pretzel when Jody, a friend of my father and step-mother, casually called out “Robin Williams died today”. My two boys were siting on the leather couch in the living room petting my father’s golden retriever; Chester. I stopped dead in my tracks and looked at the television, transfixed by the news with the words “Robin Williams apparent suicide” emblazoned on the screen.

My youngest son looked at me and being the more empathic could tell instantly that I was affected by something. “Daddy? Who’s Robin Williams?”, having never seen Williams on film. I looked down at his innocent face gazing up at me and I said, “Just someone that I looked up to.” and I left the room.  I went out on the deck in the warm sunshine and sat down, saying nothing. The bright sunshine suddenly felt cold, devoid of it’s usual warmth.

Robin is one of those people in entertainment that is an anchor, someone that you always know is there and appears from time to time to warm your heart and make you laugh. His ability to instantly alter his personae and utterly change before your eyes (and I’m sure the eyes of everyone on set) gave him the ability to reach through the camera (or speaker in animated films) and touch you in ways that most people require physical hands and arms to. The ability to reach into your heart and massage it, whether it be through laughter or through a poignant performance such as that in Awakenings or What Dreams May Come is what set him apart beyond all others.

The fact that this beautiful man, father and husband died under the circumstances of depression or suicide is what hit me hardest, having struggled with it myself in the past. I instantly thought of What Dreams May Come and pictured Robin playing Chris Nielsen, a man that died in an accident and in turn found that his wife was in Hell because she had killed herself. Robin’s character Chris, literally fought through Hell and accepted her nightmare as his own, in turn, bringing back her memories just in time for him to be taken into her Hell. She, now remembering who he is, wanted to bring him back to heaven, thus saving herself and him from Hell.

I immediately thought of Robin there, now in her place. I’m not saying that people go to Hell when they commit suicide, I’m saying that under the interpretation of the movie, Chris did and I couldn’t help but instantly picture Robin there.

I first saw Robin Williams as many of us did, playing Mork and Mindy (Nanoo Nanoo). Gary Marshall who cast Robin once said that “Williams was the only alien who auditioned for the role”. Robin later went on to touch the lives of so many people in films like Mrs. Doubtfire, Awakenings, Dead Poets Society, Good Morning Vietnam and so many others. These roles he played, these parts he thrust himself into, they didn’t just touch those of us who had the pleasure of watch him as an entertainer, they touched people who worked with him. People like Gary Marshall, Maura WilsonLisa Jakup and David Letterman. He had three beautiful children, Zelda, Zachary and Cody and he was married not long ago to Susan Schneider.

I have no doubt that he will be missed by those closest to him as well as those of us that weren’t close to him. If Robin is in a dark place such as that portrayed in What Dreams May Come, I have no doubt that all of us will help him out of it, lift him and carry him to where he belongs.

But why, you ask… “Why did you decide to write an article about Mr. Robin Williams today?” For one reason, the emphasis on how short and precious the human life is. Robin made an impact like a meteor, striking down from the heavens and left a lasting impression that will forever remain with all of us. People will tell stories, remember him, perhaps even make up stories about him, but what will remain true is that this life, this soul, will be remembered for what it did for humanity. For making us cry, for making us love and most importantly… that which what he would want to be remembered for most, for making us laugh.

I do wish I had the honor of meeting you, but you have touched my heart regardless. Love you Robin. Rest in peace.

Frankly Friday: Chasing Faith

Frankly Friday: Chasing Faith 150 150 Jason Stadtlander

Questioning FaithI have always considered myself a Christian. I was born into a Methodist home, raised in a Methodist church and I attended Sunday school as a child. I can remember the pride that I had on becoming an acolyte as a young boy and getting a children’s bible.

Although we changed churches quite a bit throughout my childhood due to moving, I still felt a connection to the community of church whenever we would return. All that changed when my grandmother died.

I was fourteen years old and I remember being furious at God. Angry that the one woman who I felt always was my rock and guiding light would be swept out of my life. It was during her battle with breast cancer that that my mother and father divorced and any remaining faith I had went down the proverbial toilet. Now, I’m not saying that I became agnostic (those who question the belief in a higher deity) or atheist (those who don’t believe in God at all)… What I am saying is that I failed to care whether there was a God, whether God was real or whether anything else was. I was angry, I was numb to everything and I felt alone.

Fast forward almost twenty years to the birth of my first child.

My beliefs again were put through the wringer. For the first time since my grandmother had died, I was certain without a doubt that there was a God. I could not see anyway that such a precious life could be created. So complex, so incredibly and so beautiful without some higher power orchestrating things on a level that we still can’t perceive. I’m not saying I came full circle, my doubts are still very strong in many areas. However, believing that there is in fact a God (in whatever form he/she or it may be) for me is most definitely there.

This whole realization pushed me to analyze my faith and the very concept of faith, God and in some cases religion. The more I wrote, the more I discovered that there were underlying tones of faith within my stories / books (like The Lantern). People ask me all the time if I intentionally write those into the stories. The reality is, I don’t intentionally write anything. I don’t write an outline, I don’t know how a story is going to end. I simply sit down and start writing. Yes, I have a concept at times or an idea that I want to move with, but it’s never as rigid as a planned out piece. It’s my heart flowing out of my fingers and onto paper. Most of the time, I’m as surprised as everyone else where things go within the stories.

Now I face another life changing situation. One that I am uncertain of whether it’s questioning my faith, encouraging it or negating it. Only time will tell.

That being said, my whole of experiences with having children, dealing with life issues and now with writing has caused me to analyze time and again my morals, my beliefs and the blurred lines between right and wrong. What is true, and what is not? At the moment, I believe strongly that there is a higher power. The Bible, the Torah, the Qur’an and every other written text out there (as far as I’m concerned) was written by man. Do I believe that there might have been some divine influence in such writings, or that they may have been written by those strong in faith? Yes, absolutely. However, they are humanity’s interpretation of something that they do not understand; what lies before our existence and what lies after it.

What do you believe or feel? There is no right or wrong, there is only opinions and there is nothing wrong with having an opinion.

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