Court

Court: (n) a tribunal presided over by a judge

I’ve only been in a courtroom twice. In both cases, I was innocent. In both cases, I walked in innocent and walked out innocent.

But not really.

Contrary to popular opinion from television shows, once you are summoned to the high court, the low court—or even a medium court, you will always be considered suspect.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Matter of fact, I have never spoken on the subject before. Why? Because I would not want to deal with what you would think.

Even though I committed no crime, discussing being accused of misbehavior only makes people believe that I found a slick way to weasel out of it—or there just wasn’t enough evidence to produce the desired verdict.

Just as we have faith in our doctors, we also have an unrighteous allegiance to the legal profession—and also the police force.

I do not think it’s good to be critical of those who serve us, but I think it is foolish to contend that their decisions are free of error, and even might occasionally be marked by folly.

Once you find yourself in a court, you must never refer to it again, and you must be fully aware that if anyone finds out about it, they will assume that “where there’s smoke there must be fire.”

It’s very interesting to me that a burning fire produces less smoke than a fire that has been extinguished. That seems to escape us when we’re trying to evaluate, judge and even condemn other people.

So the best thing to do is stay out of court unless you make your living as a lawyer, stenographer, judge or baliff. They are the only ones who seem to escape being tainted by the spirit of the room.

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Center

Center: (v) to place in the middle

It’s an old joke, but since there are so many young folks around, I will venture to share it, with the aspiration that it might fall on fresh ears.

The story is that a gentleman from Kentucky found himself in a quandary when the Civil War broke out. He did not want to choose sides. He
discovered that the Union Army was clad in blue and those from Dixie had selected gray. Thinking himself a genius and desiring to place himself in the center, free of conflict, he put on blue pants for the Union, and a gray jacket as a tribute to the South.

When the two armies converged at his doorstep to determine his allegiance, the Union Army shot him in the shoulder and the Confederates shot him in the leg.

There is a belief that a center–a compromise or moderation–can be found in everything. It is an interesting theory which over the years has proven to be flawed.

There are some issues that cannot be mollified. They’re just too important.

  • There can be no “Great Compromise” when it comes to slavery.
  • There cannot be a “don’t ask, don’t tell” in the military for the gay servicemen and women.

Sometimes we have to come down on one side or another.

Because sometimes a center is not a solution, but rather, an attempt to avoid one.

 

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Cahoots

Cahoots: (n) colluding or conspiring together secretly.

By cracky, it’s just not groovy to use the word “cahoots” even if it does sound boss.

What a bummer.

Once again, it’s kind of unfortunate–because private unions and secretive agreements have become the favored way of doing business in
America, which leaves the common man–and woman, for that matter–wondering if they can trust anyone, yet feeling mighty nasty for being suspicious of everyone.

I think it’s important to establish your allegiances in life.

I don’t know if I pledge allegiance to the flag or not, but I certainly honor those who have given their lives and continue to sacrifice for the cause it represents.

I have an allegiance to my brothers and sisters who are presently on Earth. It is not more than I feel for my family, but it is not less.

I have a tremendous allegiance to the faith that has proven to be effective in my everyday life.

I don’t want you to wonder who I’m “in cahoots” with.

I don’t want you to read my material and try to guess whether I’m a conservative, a liberal or whether I post on Fox News or Huffington.

I want to be clear.

I don’t want any silent arrangements on anything in my life. If I know it, I want you to know it.

Unless for some reason it’s none of your damn business.

 

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Brotherhood

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Brotherhood: (n) a community of people linked by a common interest, religion, or trade

She crinkled her twenty-four-year-old nose, frowning, and said to me, “I don’t know about that. It was before I was born.”Dictionary B

Somewhere along the line, people have decided to trace the history of our race beginning with the date of their birth. Nothing before–or, I assume, after–really matters at all.

So in the process of pursuing this arrogant practice, we discarded a lot of powerful ideas.

One of them is the concept of brotherhood.

When I was a boy, there were many songs that talked about brotherhood, the human family and the common spirit of mankind.

They have disappeared.

Matter of fact, if you sang one of these songs, people would think it was maudlin.

Because in the process of establishing individuality, we have eliminated similarity. Also, while trying to convince ourselves that we are unique “snowflakes,” we have allowed an avalanche to sweep away much of our commonality.

We’ve replaced the entire Earth tribe with allegiance to our own domestic family. We are convinced that if we love our kin, we need do nothing more–even though a great teacher once warned us that if we only love those who love us, we’re stinking slobs.

What am I looking for?

Reasons to love everyone I meet.

If I don’t, I will eventually notice that their particular birth certificate frees me of the responsibility to give a shit.

 

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Began

Dictionary BBegan: past tense of begin

If you acknowledge the source, you can avoid remorse.

Even though it’s very popular to talk about how to begin, the celebration is much more powerful if we first commemorate how we got to where we are now.

Yes, our “begin” is much more efficient if we laud our “began.” May I explain?

I began several years ago to stop being so fussy about trying to get my personal avenue in life. Yes, I have preferences. No one cares. Lamenting their apathy only makes me aggravated and grouchy. So I began to take care of myself and not require that others do it for me.

A decade ago, I began to be self-critical about my projects instead of waiting for the criticism of others. I would much rather be overly analytical of my personal affairs rather than having to recoil from critique.

I began to realize that financial responsibility is not optional.

I began to give independence to my children, so they could have a life separate from their allegiance to my fatherhood.

I began to talk less and think more.

I began to celebrate that intervention by problems is the only way to coax innovation.

I began to begin.

And in beginning … I can now celebrate what I began.

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Androgynous

dictionary with letter A

Androgynous: (adj) Partly male and partly female in appearance; of indeterminate sex.

It’s just one of those issues.

Yes–a contentious idea that causes the liberals and conservatives to hide in the weeds, giggling, waiting to see what stance you might take, so they can proclaim you either friend or enemy.

Such is the term androgynous.

Will I appease the conservatives by acting like I have a semi-sympathetic heart about those who “choose” to have such an appearance, while secretly I’m laughing at them with my friends behind their backs?

Or will I make the liberals rejoice by making a blanket statement of acceptance, while going off with friends and desperately trying not to bring it up again for fear of being judgmental?

Sometimes I grow weary of the battle between clown philosophies–“clown” in the sense that you feel the need to don a costume and exaggerate your features so as to prove your allegiance to the cause.

Concerning this word, I need look no further than myself:

I am a fat, white man of German descent. For some inexplicable reason, I have no hair on my legs or chest. Being overweight, I have pectorals that occasionally could pass for girly, sixteen-year-old breasts. My skin is not rough and I’m not a tumbling sort. Yet I fathered five children and still prefer women instead of men.

If I were walking around a locker room with a bunch of macho individuals, I might appear, in some ways, to be a bit more “ladylike” than they are. Yet some of them would be more comfortable, welcome and visually acceptable in a gorilla cage.

What does it all mean? I don’t know.

But I am certain of one immutable fact: the more we try to identify each other visually, by outward appearance, the less we have the eyesight of God.

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