Tag Archives: Brazil

Copper

Copper: (n) a metallic element having a characteristic reddish-brown color: used in large quantities as an electrical conductor

Truth tiptoes gingerly on a tightrope between science and mysticism.

The absence of mysticism makes us think we’re stuck dealing only with elements of the Earth without us possessing a connection to the rest of the Universe.

The absence of science turns us into superstitious, impractical idealists who put too much focus on things which are not of the Earth.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

I was talking to a man who was completely convinced that copper was a magical element which, when infused into clothing, healed the joints, bones and tendons. I wanted to listen to him with an open mind, but the claims he made were so outlandish—especially when he insisted that even cancer could be eliminated by copper-infused wearables.

You see, that’s what mysticism does. It tries to turn copper—which is a very valuable conductor of electricity and important element—into something it is not—a heal-all.

Yet science, for fear of wading into mysticism, can miss a little piece of Earth’s wonder because the idea was first touted by charlatans.

Do I believe that copper has the ability to heal my achy joints?

Do I think that some herb found in the rain forest of Brazil will make me pee better?

I don’t know.

But I am not so pessimistic as to ignore the fact that a very special type of bread mold was discovered to have healing properties, which led to the creation of penicillin, which has saved tens of thousands of lives.

So would I wear an arm band infused with copper to help my joints or drink a cup of herbal tea to calm my nerves?

I might if the arm band was stylish and the tea was tasty,

 


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Chain Reaction

Chain reaction: (n) a series of events, each caused by the previous one.

I have never found a pear on an apple tree. This seems like a trivial statement. But you see, there are many things in nature which we accept
as true, but never apply them to our personal lives.

For example:

I’ve never received respect by being mean. Fear, perhaps–but never respect.

I’ve never been productive by being timid.

I’ve never achieved good romance by being selfish.

I’ve never acquired money by sitting on my treasure chest, guarding it from thieves.

Life is filled with chain reactions. It is not limited to the elements becoming compounds. It includes the ability to look inside yourself and see the fodder that fosters failure and call out the standards that salute success.

Life is a chain reaction.

I have boarded a bus in the middle of downtown America–a vehicle full of sullen, preoccupied people–greeted the bus driver with a smile, kindly addressed one or two people nearby, and in no time at all, a chain reaction went through the bus, and conversation ensued.

I am powerful.

You are powerful.

I can view my life as a catalyst for creativity, or I can become a whiny, cautionary voice of worry and concern. The choice is mine. But either way, there will be a chain reaction.

It’s not so much that if a bear farts in the woods of Minnesota, rain falls in Brazil–but rather, if a bear farts in the woods of Minnesota, is he conscientious enough to excuse himself so the squirrels don’t get cranky and have a bad day?

 

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Baize

Baize: (n) a coarse, felt-like, woolen material that is typically green, used for covering billiard and card tables and for aprons.Dictionary B

Rich people own a lot of things.

I suppose that’s a rather obvious statement. But I would like you to stop and analyze what it really means.

It’s not that rich people own things they like or that rich people acquire things so they can enjoy them and share them with others.

No, rich people often just like to own things so they can prove they possess them, flaunt them and to establish their indifference to them.

Long ago, when I had even less integrity and brain power than today, I was invited to the home of a very rich man because he took a liking to me, saying he “thought I had great potential.”

Upon arriving at his palatial mansion, I was given the full tour, which was extremely extensive, with stop-offs along the way to reiterate to me in vivid detail how much each piece of marble in the floor cost, and how the wallpaper in this particular room was ordered from Italy from a family who were direct descendants of the Medici clan.

I produced an adequate amount of “oohs” and “aahs” necessary to let him know that I was in full groveling mode.

While dinner was being prepared, he asked me if I would like to play a game of billiards. (Yes, he called it “billiards” while I knew it as “pool.” But looking at my surroundings and smelling the fresh air of opulence, I realized that “billiards” was more appropriate.)

And the billiard table was equally as over-stated, expensive and elaborate as everything else in the house. Matter of fact, he told me it had been specially ordered from Russia, where of course, the best billiard tables are from, and that it was worth $50,000.

He handed me a pool stick which was made out of some sort of wood from the rain forest of Brazil, and said, “You break.”

I placed my hand on the table, shaking and nervous. The baize covering of the table was lush and thick, like grass. But it also felt a little bit…fragile.

Terrified, I wielded back and hit the cue ball, striking the eastern coast of it, while the tip of my cue stick slid across the table, leaving a three-inch rip.

Time stood still.

I couldn’t breathe, even though I knew it was necessary to do so.

My rich benefactor walked up, looked at the table, shook his head, and said, “That’s going to cost a pretty penny.”

My mind was racing.

Did he want me to come up with that gorgeous amount of money?

I also had this crazy thought of suggesting that some Super Glue might fix it, but caught myself before blurting.

He did not charge me for my transgression, but the dinner was tense, and I was out of there much more quickly than originally proposed… since he no longer deemed that I had potential.

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