Do you realize that the only time in our lives when we like to get old is when we’re kids? If you’re less than 10 years old, you’re so excited about aging that you think in fractions.

‘How old are you?’ ’I'm four and a half!’ You’re never thirty-six and a half. You’re four and a half, going on five! That’s the key.

You get into your teens, now they can’t hold you back. You jump to the next number, or even a few ahead.

‘How old are you?’ ‘I’m gonna be 16!’ You could be 13, but hey, you’re gonna be 16! And then the greatest day of your life! You become 21. Even the words sound like a ceremony. YOU BECOME 21….  YESSSS!!!

But then you turn 30.  Oooohh, what happened there? Makes you sound like bad milk! He TURNED; we had to throw him out. There’s no fun now, you’re just a sour-dumpling. What’s wrong? What’s changed?

You BECOME 21, you TURN 30, then you’re PUSHING 40. Whoa! Put on the brakes, it’s all slipping away. Before you know it, you REACH 50, and your dreams are gone…

But! Wait!! ! You MAKE it to 60. You didn’t think you would!

So you BECOME 21, TURN 30, PUSH 40, REACH 50, and make it to 60.

You’ve built up so much speed that you HIT 70! After that, it’s a day-by-day thing; you HIT Wednesday!

You get into your 80′s, and every day is a complete cycle; you HIT lunch; you TURN 4:30; you REACH bedtime. And it doesn’t end there. Into the 90s, you start going backwards; ‘I Was JUST 92.’

Then a strange thing happens. If you make it over 100, you become a little kid again. ‘I’m 100 and a half!’

May you all make it to a healthy 100 and a half!!

HOW TO STAY YOUNG

1. Throw out nonessential numbers. This includes age, weight and height. Let the doctors worry about them. That is why you pay them.

2. Keep only cheerful friends. The grouches pull you down.

3. Keep learning.  Learn more about the computer, crafts, gardening, whatever, even ham radio. Never let the brain idle. ‘An idle mind is the devil’s workshop.’ And the devil’s family name is Alzheimer’s.

4. Enjoy the simple things.

5. Laugh often, long and loud. Laugh until you gasp for breath.

6. The tears happen. Endure, grieve, and move on. The only person who is with us our entire life, is ourselves. Be ALIVE while you ARE alive.

7. Surround yourself with what you love, whether it’s family, pets, keepsakes, music, plants, hobbies, whatever. Your home is your refuge.

8. Cherish your health: If it is good, preserve it. If it is unstable, improve it. If it is beyond what you can improve, get help.

9. Don’t take guilt trips. Take a trip to the mall, even to the next county; to a foreign country, but NOT to where the guilt is.

10. Tell the people you love that you love them, at every opportunity.

AND, ALWAYS REMEMBER: Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.

Life’s journey is not to arrive at the grave safely in a well-preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, totally used up and worn out, shouting

“MAN, WHAT A RIDE!”

In The Words Of Boris Britt:

“As I sit here with you and think of the wonderful and magnificent things that my eyes have seen and my ears have heard, I am humbled but nothing can compare with this very moment with God and my true nature, Spirit. I sit in awe and amazement that God is Love and so am I. God is Peace and so am I. God is All Power and I am one with that Power. I cannot hide from this Presence for when my physical body sleeps… I AM. When breath no longer flows through my lungs…I AM. When others seem to be separate from me in illusion…I AM. When nothing seems to make sense…. I AM. From this place of… I AM emerges a creative power and energy that is in every one of us. It waits to be expressed in all of its glory and light. From this place of Peace, Power, Love, and Perfect Substance explodes these words in song than can only point to the reality of all that God is and who we truly are, however, these words, thoughts, and expressions could never perfectly reveal this divine beauty in all of us. I write and sing from this place of Presence and Being, knowing that my worth and identity is not defined by my voice, talents, or words but by Divine Spirit. For so long I have sought the approval, praise, acceptance, and love of those whom I thought could give worth and a feeling of belonging. Now…today, I am accepted in God’s beloved arms and approved, cherished, and celebrated in ways that no human can fathom. I rest in this peace and share my heart with the world in this form of musical expression. I propel forward where there is no time, no lack, no limits, and no shame. Listen now in this place of Spirit that is within you…the Heaven that is within you now and embrace with me THE I AM THAT I AM… (YOU).”

Nuff said…

Be on the lookout for the full release of the “I AM” project by Boris LB and please support him when he appears at a venue in your neck of the woods!

You can download the first single right now right here:Let It Be

And here on iTunes

Boris LB stole the show with this rendition of “Feeling Good.” He plans to include a more urban flavored version of this song on his upcoming “I Am” CD.

“Feeling Good” is a song that Boris Britt may cover on his upcoming CD project due out later this year.

Here is some information from Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia on the song:

“Feeling Good” (aka Feelin’ Good) is a song written by Anthony Newley and Leslie Bricusse for the 1965 musical The Roar of the Greasepaint—the Smell of the Crowd and since covered by many artists, including Muse, Nina Simone, Sammy Davis Jr., Bobby Darin,Traffic, Eels, Michael Bublé, The Pussycat Dolls, My Brightest Diamond, George Michael, Joe Bonamassa, John Barrowman, Adam Lambert, John Coltrane, Aṣa, David Hasselhoff, Toše Proeski and Martin Chodúr.

Of course, Boris plans on putting an urban twist on this song (strong bass, beats, and syncopation). Personally, I think it will be a blast, but what do you think? Please leave me a comment!

The Muses  in Greek mythology, poetry, and literature are the goddesses or spirits who inspire the creation of literature and the arts. They were considered the source of the knowledge, related orally for centuries in the ancient culture, that was contained in poetic lyrics and myths.

Muse |myoōz| noun

• (in Greek and Roman mythology) each of nine goddesses, the daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne, who preside over the arts and sciences.

• ( muse) a woman, or a force personified as a woman, who is the source of inspiration for a creative artist.

The Muses are generally listed as:

Calliope (epic poetry),

Clio (history),

Euterpe (flute playing and lyric poetry),

Terpsichore (choral dancing and song),

Erato (lyre playing and lyric poetry),

Melpomene (tragedy),

Thalia (comedy and light verse),

Polyhymnia (hymns, and later mime), and

Urania (astronomy).
ORIGIN late Middle English : from Old French, or from Latin musa, from Greek mousa.

Eartastic newest artist, Boris LB is on the way.  He is currently in the studio putting together some outstanding inspirational music for your listening pleasure.  Stay tuned right here for more Boris developments!

~Eartastic

There are many possible translations of the book’s title:

* Dào/Tao 道 literally means “way”, or one of its synonyms, but was extended to mean “the Way”. This term, which was variously used by other Chinese philosophers (including Confucius, Mencius, Mozi, and Hanfeizi), has special meaning within the context of Taoism, where it implies the essential, unnamable process of the universe.

* Dé/Te 德 basically means “virtue” in the sense of “personal character”, “inner strength”, or “integrity.” The semantics of this Chinese word resemble English virtue, which developed from a (now archaic) sense of “inner potency” or “divine power” (as in “healing virtue of a drug”) to the modern meaning of “moral excellence” or “goodness”. Compare the compound word dàodé (道德 “ethics”, “ethical principles”, “morals,” or “morality”).

* Jīng/Ching 經 as it is used here means “canon”, “great book”, or “classic”.

Thus, Tao Te Ching can be translated as “The Classic/Canon of the Way/Path and the Power/Virtue”, etc.

The title Tao Te Ching is an honorific given by posterity, other titles include the amalgam Lǎozǐ Dàodé Jīng (老子道德經), the honorific Daode Zhen Jing (道德真經 “True Classic of the Way and the Power”), and the Wuqian wen (五千文 “Five thousand character [classic]“; see next).

When I was a very young man, just beginning to make my way, I was invited to dine at the home of a distinguished New York philanthropist. After dinner our hostess led us to an enormous drawing room. Other guests were pouring in, and my eyes beheld two unnerving sights: servants were arranging small gilt chairs in long, neat rows; and up front, leaning against the wall, were musical instruments. Apparently I was in for an evening of Chamber music.

I use the phrase “in for” because music meant nothing to me. I am almost tone deaf. Only with great effort can I carry the simplest tune, and serious music was to me no more than an arrangement of noises. So I did what I always did when trapped: I sat down and when the music started I fixed my face in what I hoped was an expression of intelligent appreciation, closed my ears from the inside and submerged myself in my own completely irrelevant thoughts.

After a while, becoming aware that the people around me were applauding, I concluded it was safe to unplug my ears. At once I heard a gentle but surprisingly penetrating voice on my right.

“You are fond of Bach?” the voice said.

I knew as much about Bach as I know about nuclear fission. But I did know one of the most famous faces in the world, with the renowned shock of untidy white hair and the ever-present pipe between the teeth. I was sitting next to Albert Einstein.

“Well,” I said uncomfortably, and hesitated. I had been asked a casual question. All I had to do was be I equally casual in my reply. But I could see from the look in my neighbor’s extraordinary eyes that their owner was not merely going through the perfunctory duties of elementary politeness. Regardless of what value I placed on my part in the verbal exchange, to this man his part in it mattered very much. Above all, I could feel that this was a man to whom you did not tell a lie, however small.

“I don’t know anything about Bach,” I said awkwardly. “I’ve never heard any of his music.”

A look of perplexed astonishment washed across Einstein’s mobile face.

“You have never heard Bach?”

He made it sound as though I had said I’d never taken a bath.

“It isn’t that I don’t want to like Bach,” I replied hastily. “It’s just that I’m tone deaf, or almost tone deaf, and I’ve never really heard anybody’s music.”

A look of concern came into the old man’s face. “Please,” he said abruptly, “You will come with me?”

He stood up and took my arm. I stood up. As he led me across that crowded room I kept my embarrassed glance fixed on the carpet. A rising murmur of puzzled speculation followed us out into the hall. Einstein paid no attention to it.

Resolutely he led me upstairs. He obviously knew the house well. On the floor above he opened the door into a book-lined study, drew me in and shut the door.

“Now,” he said with a small, troubled smile. “You will tell me, please, how long you have felt this way about music?”

“All my life,” I said, feeling awful. “I wish you would go back downstairs and listen, Dr. Einstein. The fact that I don’t enjoy it doesn’t matter.”

He shook his head and scowled, as though I had introduced an irrelevance.

“Tell me, please,” he said. “Is there any kind of music that you do like?”

“Well,” I answered, “I like songs that have words, and the kind of music where I can follow the tune.”

He smiled and nodded, obviously pleased. “You can give me an example, perhaps?”

“Well,” I ventured, “almost anything by Bing Crosby.”

He nodded again, briskly. “Good!”

He went to a corner of the room, opened a phonograph and started pulling out records. I watched him uneasily. At last he beamed. “Ah!” he said.

He put the record on and in a moment the study was filled with the relaxed, lilting strains of Bing Crosby’s “When the Blue of the Night Meets the Gold of the Day.” Einstein beamed at me and kept time with the stem of his pipe. After three or four phrases he stopped the phonograph.

“Now,” he said. “Will you tell me, please, what you have just heard?”

The simplest answer seemed to be to sing the lines. I did just that, trying desperately to stay on tune and keep my voice from cracking. The expression on Einstein’s face was like the sunrise.

“You see!” he cried with delight when I finished. “You do have an ear!”

I mumbled something about this being one of my favorite songs, something I had heard hundreds of times, so that it didn’t really prove anything.

“Nonsense!” said Einstein. “It proves everything! Do you remember your first arithmetic lesson in school? Suppose, at your very first contact with numbers, your teacher had ordered you to work out a problem in, say, long division or fractions. Could you have done so?”

“No, of course not.”

“Precisely!” Einstein made a triumphant wave with his pipestem. “It would have been impossible and you would have reacted in panic. You would have closed your mind to long division and fractions. As a result, because of that one small mistake by your teacher, it is possible your whole life you would be denied the beauty of long division and fractions.”

The pipestem went up and out in another wave.

“But on your first day no teacher would be so foolish. He would start you with elementary things – then, when you had acquired skill with the simplest problems, he would lead you up to long division and to fractions.”

“So it is with music.” Einstein picked up the Bing Crosby record. “This simple, charming little song is like simple addition or subtraction. You have mastered it. Now we go on to something more complicated.”

He found another record and set it going. The golden voice of John McCormack singing “The Trumpeter” filled the room. After a few lines Einstein stopped the record.

“So!” he said. “You will sing that back to me, please?”

I did – with a good deal of self-consciousness but with, for me, a surprising degree of accuracy. Einstein stared at me with a look on his face that I had seen only once before in my life: on the face of my father as he listened to me deliver the valedictory address at my high school graduation.

“Excellent!” Einstein remarked when I finished. “Wonderful! Now this!”

“This” proved to be Caruso in what was to me a completely unrecognizable fragment from “Cavalleria Rusticana.” Nevertheless, I managed to reproduce an approximation of the sounds the famous tenor had made. Einstein beamed his approval.

Caruso was followed by at least a dozen others. I could not shake my feeling of awe over the way this great man, into whose company I had been thrown by chance, was completely preoccupied by what we were doing, as though I were his sole concern.

We came at last to recordings of music without words, which I was instructed to reproduce by humming. When I reached for a high note, Einstein’s mouth opened and his head went back as if to help me attain what seemed unattainable. Evidently I came close enough, for he suddenly turned off the phonograph.

“Now, young man,” he said, putting his arm through mine. “We are ready for Bach!”

As we returned to our seats in the drawing room, the players were tuning up for a new selection. Einstein smiled and gave me a reassuring pat on the knee.

“Just allow yourself to listen,” he whispered. “That is all.”

It wasn’t really all, of course. Without the effort he had just poured out for a total stranger I would never have heard, as I did that night for the first time in my life, Bach’s “Sheep May Safely Graze.” I have heard it many times since. I don’t think I shall ever tire of it. Because I never listen to it alone. I am sitting beside a small, round man with a shock of untidy white hair, a dead pipe clamped between his teeth, and eyes that contain in their extraordinary warmth all the wonder of the world.

When the concert was finished I added my genuine applause to that of the others.

Suddenly our hostess confronted us. “I’m so sorry, Dr. Einstein,” she said with an icy glare at me, “that you missed so much of the performance.”

Einstein and I came hastily to our feet. “I am sorry, too,” he said. “My young friend here and I, however, were engaged in the greatest activity of which man is capable.”

She looked puzzled. “Really?” she said. “And what is that?”

Einstein smiled and put his arm across my shoulders. And he uttered ten words that – for at least one person who is in his endless debt – are his epitaph:

“Opening up yet another fragment of the frontier of beauty.”

Author – Jerome Weidman