Chaste

Chaste: (adj) abstaining from extramarital, or from all, sexual intercourse.

“To love, pure and chaste, from afar…”

‘Tis a lyric from the song, “Impossible Dream,” from The Man of La Mancha. Every time I see or hear it, I ask myself, why would anyone
want to do that?

I seem to be caught between two stubborn forces, possessing arrogant piety. Shall we refer to them as the Playboy and the Playgod crowds?

The Playgod crowd is convinced that sex is really a nasty thing and should not be implemented unless absolutely necessary for the procreation of children. Oh, every once in a while on a birthday or a holiday, you may wish to indulge. But overall, it’s a taboo subject, and certainly those who stand afar and chaste are admired for their grit.

Then there’s the Playboy philosophy, which is, “If it feels good, do it.” And if it doesn’t feel good, I have a book you may wish to purchase which may help you augment your experience.

The Playboy people mock the Playgod people as being sticks and prudes. The Playgod people have already envisioned and reserved a place in hell for those who find pleasure with genitalia.

Is there a time to be chaste?

We always need to remember that since sexuality involves two people, it is complicated by the emotions of the pair.

Maybe that’s the power of masturbation. Unless you have a predilection to argue with yourself or feel that part of you mistreated the other part during the experience, it’s pretty well over in just a few minutes.

I do not think that either the Playgod or the Playboy camps have figured out the best way to toast the marshmallows. They just have a bunch of rules dictated by individuals who are trying to be better than one another.

If I am to be chaste, it must be my decision, based upon a desire rather than intimidation or being rallied to open-mindedness.

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Chasm

Chasm: (n) a deep fissure in the earth, rock, or another surface

The three-step process is as follows:

  1. It’s a problem.
  2. It seems unfixable.
  3. Therefore it’s normal.

This is the present way our society handles difficulties. In doing this, we’ve opened the door of our home to many a stray racoon, thinking the creature is not that
different from our domesticated pets. When the racoon ends up being wild, untamed and unwilling to accept human domination of the household, we have to make a decision.

Do we shoo it out the door? Do we kill it? Or do we find a way to live in the home with a racoon, pretending we’re equals?

I know it sounds silly. Thus the point.

Nearly fifty years ago, our country was concerned about a generation gap–a chasm that existed between parents and teenagers, causing conflict and a lack of communication.

Move ahead fifty years and the same chasm still exists. We have just decided it’s normal. In deciding it’s normal, the racoon of rebellion wanders the hallways, throwing its attitude and therefore dominating the climate of our American Dream.

We defend the racoon by saying it has a right to free speech.

Or to own a gun.

Or to be anything it wants to be.

Or to interfere in the lives of others as long as it doesn’t totally destroy.

We’re afraid of chasms, but instead of admitting there’s a gap in understanding, we pretend it’s a cultural difference, an ethnic preference, a doctrinal dispute or a political stumping point.

Somewhere along the line we will have to agree on the three things that will allow the human race to survive:

  • Creativity
  • Tolerance
  • A challenge

We will have to stop being afraid of the chasm, and instead, be prepared to make some giant leaps for mankind.

 

 

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Chase

Chase: (v) to pursue in order to catch or catch up with.

What am I chasing?

It’s pretty important. It not only determines the direction I’m going, but also the energy I’m expending–and to a large degree, the location of
my destination.

So what should be our profile on “the chase?”

Do we chase like cats, distracted by a simple strand of string?

Do we chase like rabbits, running hither, thither and yon, until danger frightens us back into our hole?

Do we chase like the cheetah, convinced that nothing can ever outrun us?

Life is never pleasant if, in the process of gaining what we desire, we exhaust our passion. There’s a truth. How we chase may be more important than what we chase.

I have a tendency to chase things ala turtle.

In other words, in my mind I see what I want, but because I have placed “slow down” into my mentality, I have ample opportunity to change my GPS on my way to the prize.

I’ve just never been convinced that getting there first is the best profile. Life is too fickle. People are too unpredictable. And circumstances–too changeable for me to be confident that acquiring the present shiny object is the ideal pursuit.

That’s why those who make I-phone 9 are already ready to bring out I-phone 10. They are quire sure that “the chasers” will pay more money just to prove they’ve got the new thing–and then justify it by amplifying a few subtle perks.

What am I chasing? What will make me don the boots of the quest? Not much.

I’ve never found that an up-close look at a piece of junk is any better than seeing it at a distance, and I’ve never discovered that seeking a worthless emotion feels better if you get there early.

Slow down, you move too fast.

Paul Simon said that. Paul Simon is still around. Paul Simon is still making music. Paul Simon is getting to be an old man, but he’s still pickin’–because he avoided the chase … and made “the morning last.”

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Chary

Chary: (adj) cautiously or suspiciously reluctant to do something

Just for the record (since there is a record) I will tell you that I had no idea what this word meant. I am not going to don the personna of the instructor, speaking to you students in need of education.

Matter of fact, I may never use this word again. There are many other words that replace it with greater clarity.

But we certainly live in chary times.

It is now fashionable to be over-protective, overwrought, over-thoughtful, over-medicated, over-meditated, and over the moon over things that just really don’t matter.

Yet, when something of quality, value and eternal consequence comes into our presence, it is thrust into a committee meeting where we consider its value, and usually end up believing we are over-extended or that “it’s not in the direction we’re going.”

Not only do I think that we couldn’t launch a rocket to the moon in this day and age, I also think there would be some lengthy conversation on whether there actually is a moon in the first place.

We have begun to equate “cantankerous” and “knowledgeable.”

We admire those who require great thought and consideration before leaping into new possibilities.

We have developed tiny themes which we call sacred and then force everything that truly does have heavenly possibilities to fit into the confines of these little boxes.

We are reluctant. We sneer. We look askance at all nuance. We are chary.

And we make it clear that we will not be sold, intimidated or even convinced to do something unless we are in the mood.

The end result is that we never pursue anything that does not have the whiff of what we’ve already done.

So Republicans do Republican things and Democrats do Democrat things.

After accomplishing their minimal efforts, they then take the bulk of their time to criticize the competition.

 

 

 

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Chartreuse

Chartreuse: (n) a color between yellow and green

Tolerance is a good thing.

Acceptance–admirable.

Inclusion, divine.

There’s no doubt about it.

But by the same token, if you happen to be heterosexual, you don’t want to be gay. And I would assume those who are gay might be slightly offended at the notion
of being heterosexual.

Maybe it’s the remnants of prejudice–the ignorance of the masses being played out–but certain actions, choices, mannerisms and even speech patterns hint toward effeminacy.

We are still sensitive. Oh, we may march in the Gay Pride Parade, openly spouting that we don’t care if anyone thinks we’re part of the gang. But then–if someone actually does assume that we are of that persuasion, we are quick to whisper, “I’m just here to be supportive.”

With that in mind, I have been tempted from time to time to refer to something as “chartreuse.” The word nearly fell from my lips in a room filled with blue jeans, t-shirts and five o’clock shadows. Just in the nick of time, I pulled back and said, in my deepest basal tone, “You know. Kind of between yellow and green.”

In doing so, I removed any suspicion from the testosterone-driven gathering that I might be … well, gay.

You see, I don’t want to be gay. Honestly, I don’t like to think about being gay. I think it is possible to be tolerant without possessing total understanding of a situation.

So even though it may not be politically correct, I will tell you that I occasionally catch my hands on my hips and quickly remove them, am very careful at how I glance down at my fingernails, and certainly would not call a football jersey “chartreuse.”

 

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Chart

Chart: (n) a sheet of information which is a diagram

My brain sometimes pauses, not yet convinced of the validity of any particular opinion. In other words, I could argue it either way.

In my personal life, I’m very organized. At least, I think I am. Yet there is a vanity to even stating such a mercurial thought as a fact. Am I
organized? Or just more organized than the person next to me?

Yet I do get around human travelers who insist on living a totally spontaneous life, and to some degree it works for them. They’re always looking for surprises, luck, miracles and good fortune to blow their way, but there is a certain charm to their presumption.

It begs the question: can organisms be organized?

The classic line of defining futility by comparing it to herding cats is true with almost every creature. No living, breathing animal on the face of the Earth likes to be told what to do. Yet each one, in some strange way, finds a plan of action that keeps them from being cold in the winter and too hot in the summer.

So what is the power of charting our lives to such a degree that there is little awareness of the element of chaos (which certainly will arrive)?

I think it may just be as simple as realizing that a line item which appears on our “Things to Do Today” list may very well still be there next week.

 

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Charming

Charming: (adj) pleasant or attractive.

Mr. Webster, please make up your mind.

Is it pleasant, or attractive? Truthfully, the two rarely run races together.

Those who are attractive don’t necessarily feel the need to be pleasant. The absence of pimples and the presence of dimples grants them
license to be just as snooty as they deem necessary.

And those who are not attractive often don the apparel of “pleasant,” to clothe themselves in a righteousness that should be suitable for the runway of life.

So which is it?

I suppose there might be a tiny handful of humans who are attractive and pleasant–which enables them to go into a bar and get a date without buying her a drink.

So I disagree that charming has anything to do with pleasant or attractive. Charming is just damn smart. It’s the realization that not everyone will find you attractive, no matter how much you primp, and being pleasant may be suspicious rather than advantageous.

My definition for charming is finding a way to be sensitive to the moment.

Weep with those who are weeping, rejoice with those who are rejoicing. And stop thinking that God has voted you to be in charge of all moods.

If you are able to sensitize yourself to the situations around you, granting a bit of grace to the emotions that crop up, you will bear fruit in the human family.

 

 

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