Buckteeth

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Buckteeth: (n) upper teeth that project over the lower lip.

In pursuit of truth and compassion, you find yourself in many a thorny patch.

Even though each one of us may insist that we want to be truthful and tender, our internal prejudices often grab us by the throat and Dictionary Bchoke out all the kindness.

This is especially true when it comes to teeth.

I don’t know what it is about teeth. I could say I never consider anyone’s teeth–but if they have missing ones, or buck teeth, I will notice and attribute a lack of intelligence to them because of it.

I feel bad about it. For some reason, this was transferred into my brain at an early age, and found such a resting place that eviction seems unlikely.

Yet I run across other people who think my teeth are flawed, but choose to be merciful.

My children were especially, notoriously obsessed with their teeth. But it takes a prince’s ransom to create straight teeth in the human head. If you multiply that times three or four kids, you may find yourself needing to go into piracy to procure the desired pearls in their mouths.

Buck teeth are tough.

It’s a simple protrusion, yet it connotes so much negativity that it almost has to be corrected to secure acceptance for the victim.

And victims they will be–because we have not yet reached the point where we can consider the intelligence, the spirit and the passion of other human beings without first contemplating their “dentality.”

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BS

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BS: (n) Bull shit

I think it’s wrong to blame bulls.

They eat and they secrete.

For us to tie all of our human foibles, inconsistencies and hypocrisies to their dung is flat-out insulting.Dictionary B

I’m not a lawyer and do not represent any bulls in particular, but I will tell you–the atrocities, stupidities and half-truths produced in our society are human shit.

It’s not like bull shit. It doesn’t come out in perfectly formed turds.

It’s dumped in varieties of personalized, steamy piles, often expressed with diarrhea of the mouth.

It is unique to our species because it is individualized by our diet of morality, spirituality and compassion.

Bulls have never done anything to us.

What I experience every day is human shit: the thought people have that they might be able to get by with what they say and do because everyone around them … is stupider than they are.

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Brace

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Brace: (v) to get ready for something difficult or unpleasant

“I’m not alone.”

This statement is the essence of human sanity.

Being alone makes us lonely.

Lonely causes us to think we’re insignificant.Dictionary B

A feeling of insignificance makes us believe our contribution is meaningless.

I am not meaningless.

But I must understand that common sense, compassion, tenderness, fellowship and faith are often isolated on islands, separated from the mainland by cynical thinking.

Brace yourself.

  • You need to be prepared to be considered an outsider if you’re going to bring anything of value inside.

Brace yourself.

  • People are not going to naturally be kind, but instead, are motivated in a mob mentality, to pursue such wisdom.

Brace yourself.

  • What is passed off as logic is often, within a few short months, considered to be harmful and rejected for its ridiculous premise.

Brace yourself.

  • Look for things that are everlasting, and pursue them with vigor.

Brace yourself.

  • If you aren’t considered a little weird, then there’s no reason for you to be in the game.

Brace yourself.

  • Loving your neighbor may be considered to be unnecessary, irrelevant and unrealistic.

It is time for people who do not view themselves as good, but who desire to pursue good … to do good things.

 

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Bawl

Bawl: (v) to weep or cry noisily.Dictionary B

While I’m waiting for the good rendition of myself to arrive, I’ve decided to work with what is available.

Honestly, it’s the only way to keep from becoming defensive or offensive.

Because if you contend that you’re good, there are folks who will be glad to point out your over-estimation.

And if you walk around all the time looking for an altar of repentance, you will become an obnoxious victim.

I understand the importance of laughing, but I also must tell you the value of crying.

The difficulty I’ve encountered in the process of sprouting tears is that I generally do so in self-pity.

I cry, but more often than not, it’s for me.

So when it comes to forms of remorse like mourning and bawling, I must admit that I don’t even come close to these rather precious emotions unless I’m considering my own demise, how badly I’ve been cheated by others or the fact that traffic on the freeway dared to back up and inconvenience me.

Rather than purge myself of this inadequacy, I choose to treasure the moments when concern, compassion and gentleness towards others touched my heart.

I have probably bawled five times in my life.

Two of those times would have been over some lady who decided I was no longer needed.

Another time would have been the death of my son.

On another occasion, it would have been over-thinking my own mortality.

But there was that one time–that one amazing moment–when the heart of God entered my chest and made me feel what He feels when He sees his suffering children.

I will never forget it.

I yearn for it to happen again.

But it was a transcendent passage … when I stepped out of myself and saw the real need.

 

 

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Battalion

Battalion: (n) a large body of troops ready for battleDictionary B

Every once in a while I think about my own death.

It makes me cry.

You know why? I start thinking about all the people I know and how devastated they will be with my absence.

It’s very silly.

But you see, the only life that completely matters in my thinking is mine.

I try to be equally as concerned about others. Sometimes I muster some real mourning for their well-being, but nothing on the level of the compassion and care I have for myself.

I suppose I should feel bad about that–but since it’s not going away, and I am certainly not alone, I will choose to guide it by understanding the value of all human life.

When I was sixteen years old, hundreds of young American men were dying in Vietnam every week. We had a death toll number. It wasn’t like the numbers tallied nowadays over mass shootings, earthquakes or explosions. Many of these young fellows had just been in our classrooms, churches and bagging groceries in our supermarkets three months earlier, and now they were returning home draped in flags.

It seemed surreal but became our reality.

We were experiencing battalions of young American males going off to fight in a jungle and coming home dead.

There was a sensitivity that swept the young generation.

It was reflected in the music.

It was being released from our pores as we stood side-by-side, wondering what in the hell could all this mean.

So gradually, we joined together and became battalions of protestors. We went off to a different kind of war. It was a war waged against war, because the war being executed was killing us.

We had a greater awareness. We asked questions like, “Where have all the flowers gone?”–waiting for an intelligent answer.

Nowadays we speak of war in a clinical Ethernet third person. It is something we launch rather than something that strikes back at us, filling up coffins and alarming us to its viciousness.

We have a professional army with people who have made a profession out of arming themselves and going off to wars that have been created by old men who miss John Wayne.

Nowadays our grocery baggers get to go to college without ever feeling the loss of life.

I would not wish the agony of Vietnam and the deaths of friends and loved ones on anyone, but it would be terrific to have battalions of young people who are socially, spiritually and emotionally conscious of our aching world … instead of battalions of soldiers chasing the errors of misguided politicians.

 

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Barley

Barley: (n) a hardy cereal that has coarse bristles extending from the ears. It is widely cultivated, chiefly for use in brewing and stockfeed.Dictionary B

Barley is the slum of grains.

It’s plentiful, cheap and normally gets fed to pigs and other creatures who grunt.

That’s a very important thing to understand.

Religious people who read the Good Book usually do it as an exercise in their faith–exercise in the sense that they believe that in turning the pages and mouthing the words, they have done something spiritual. They often feel no compunction to understand what they read nor dig deeper to get the context of the script of the scriptures.

So the average religious Christian will tell you that Jesus fed the 5,000 with loaves and fishes, and never understand that the bread happened to be barley.

What’s the significance?

Well, the five little barley loaves–which were probably each no bigger than a baseball–were part of a lunch for a little boy who obviously lived in poverty. Everything about his provision was small: tiny loaves, made of cheap barley, with two small fishes. (I don’t know how miniscule these fishes were, but somebody felt it was important to point out that they were dwarfed.)

Even though the Good Book tells us a miracle happened, and 5,000 men ended up munching on the expansion of this little boy’s lunch, at no time were the barley loaves changed into more expensive grain.

Everybody ate the same poor boy’s lunch.

But they ate their fill–and because the lunch was provided and people had compassion, the need was met.

Sometimes it’s difficult to figure out if people will be happy when their needs are met, or if they’re only happy if their needs are met in a specific, prosperous way.

Jesus multiplied the cheap lunch for everybody to eat. He did not improve the quality … and everybody ended up having a plentiful poor man’s supper.

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Augment

Augment (v): to make something greater by adding to it; to increase.

dictionary with letter A

I must warn you that this particular essay may be a bit blunt and graphic.

I am not choosing this profile because I desire controversy, but rather, to explain how powerful ideas can be supplanted by mediocrity.

From time to time when I check the inbox for my emails, I am inundated by offers to “augment” my penis.

They are basically working under the concept that I am dissatisfied with the little fellow. Or maybe it’s the insecurity they wish to play off–that I fear my lover is unfulfilled with my girth or length. It could be just the classic misconception that “big is always better.”

I quickly delete these advertisements, and sure enough, after a few weeks they disappear for a season, only to once again pilfer through, trying to convince me of the dwindling possibility below my belly line.

Yet there are many things I would like to augment. My penis is not one of them.

  • I would like to augment my generosity.
  • I would like to augment my perseverance.
  • I would like to augment my discipline in eating fewer calories.
  • I would like to augment my compassion.
  • I would certainly like to augment my patience.

I could go on and on about what I wish to augment–but I never receive offers on these points of interest, only a proliferation of opportunities to extend my cartilage.

I am not a prude. But I’m also not obsessed with my own sexuality.

I want to live in a world that becomes concerned about augmenting common sense–so that I don’t have to be known by what “Jane thinks about my Dick.”

 

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