Coroner

Coroner: (n) one who investigates deaths

Then there’s the joke.

“I went to the morgue to see the body. I asked the receptionist where I might find the corpse. She pointed to her right and replied, ‘Just around the coroner.’”

(I didn’t say it was a funny joke.)

But when you talk about things like the coroner, you have to use some humor. A little tongue-in-cheek is helpful.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

I have personally dealt with an actual coroner only once in my life. My son, who had been involved in a hit-and-run accident six years earlier, which had left him in a vegetative state, suddenly developed pneumonia and died in about a four-hour period.

We were in the state of Oregon, and according to their statues, anybody who dies that quickly has to be observed by a coroner and have an autopsy.

I probably should have looked up “coroner” and found out what was involved with the profession, but there was no Internet at that time and my encyclopedias were packed away back home, two thousand miles away. So I entered into the whole situation very ignorant.

He was a nice enough fellow—just creepy enough to fulfill the parameters of the occupation. I was emotionally disturbed from the death of my son, so I began to yammer without much awareness, trying to explain to the gentleman some of the extent of my loss. In doing so, I offered a very child-like request. “Please be gentle with him. He’s been through a lot.”

I remember the look on the chap’s face—a combination of tenderness, surprise, confusion and mercy. For after all, he had already done the autopsy and chopped my young son into many pieces.

Fortunately, I didn’t think of that in the moment. I was granted a blessed ignorance, and a bit of grace, by a man who had to deal with death every day and realized that I would not benefit from any further understanding of his plight.


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Core Gender Identity

Core gender identity: (n) a person’s inner sense of being male or female

A couple of weeks ago I woke up convinced I was handsome. It was magnificent.

It lasted until I stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom. Then I was conflicted. Should I believe what I woke up with? Or should I deal with funny wisdom on words that begin with a C
what I see? And is what I see what is really true, or rather, my perception of what I think truth should be?

After all, maybe I am handsome and my inner thinking about being handsome has been tainted by years of being deemed average.

Which notion in my brain should I follow?

Which path seems to have the most promise?

I remember when I was a young boy, just eight years old, I heard a performance by a man playing piano. After the concert hall cleared, I slipped back in, walked up onstage, sat down at the instrument and began to move my fingers the way I had seen the man perform. It didn’t sound a thing like what he produced. At first, I was angry. I wanted to be a piano player. (At least, right at that moment I did.) But it seemed that nature, or God, had favored this man over me.

I remember the first time I asked a girl out on a date. She said no. As did the next three in a row. It crossed my mind, “I wonder if they think I’m gay? Am I gay? If I can’t get a date with a girl, maybe that’s just Earth’s way of telling me that I’m gay.”

This thought quickly disappeared when the fourth girl said yes, and we went and made out like two fish swimming in the bayou.

Turns out I wasn’t gy—but maybe I was gay until I wasn’t.

I saw a man lift weights. He grunted and groaned but was very successful at it. I thought, how hard can this be? I walked over and tried to lift one end of the bar. Could not budge it. Does that mean I’m weak? That I should go out and buy protein powder to build up my muscles, or else I will be overcome by an enemy?

In the process of one day, the human brain of every person alive goes through so many contortions, so many questions, so many different ideas, that it is very difficult to land on true identity.

I don’t think we should ever deny, ignore or reject someone’s core gender identity, faith proclamation or personal belief.

But I also think if we are to be kind to one another, we will allow each other the chance to be dreaming, wondering or even confused—without holding each other to the present whim.


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Contemplative

Contemplative: (adj) expressing or involving prolonged thought

It is normally considered hazardous to tread on thin ice–due to the fact that the ice will break and you’ll find yourself plunging into frigid waters.

But what if the ice is not supposed to be there? What if it needs to be melted–done away with because a new spring has sprung and it’s timefunny wisdom on words that begin with a C to be finished with chilly weather?

This is how we came up with the term “break the ice.”

So let me step in today and break the thin ice:

Meditation is one of the most dangerous, foolish and unproductive practices that has ever been devised in an attempt to turn people into better souls.

Being contemplative is simply you, walking the aisles of your limited shopping arena in your own brain, and supposedly arrive on ingenious ideas on improving inventory.

But consider–it is your own brain. It’s not being inputted by others. It’s not sapping off of divine grace. Nor is it necessarily even willing to adjudicate the evidence available.

It’s just you–wearing a simple, subtle hat–pretending to be god.

Contemplative people often spend their time trying to soothe themselves in a harried world instead of finding ways to “be of good cheer” on a planet filled with tribulation.

When we get done running from reality and we escape the self-righteousness of thinking that seven minutes with our own brain is a vacation, we might actually be able to use the ears we have to hear what humanity, Mother Earth and even Father God is trying to tell us, instead of merely coughing up mental hairballs of confusion.

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Confusion

Confusion: (n) lack of understanding; uncertain, bewilderment.

People often get confused about confusion.

I suppose that’s because if you allow it to happen, it can be very confusing.

It occurs when we begin to believe that complicated answers are better than simple ones. We also start feeling there are questions that have no answer funny wisdom on words that begin with a C
whatsoever, and therefore the situations must be endured instead of conquered.

If you can convince someone that evil is powerful, ignorance is supreme, indifference is rampant, God is impotent and human beings are careless, then you can pretty well control the narrative and generate a climate of gloom and doom. Once you do this, it’s possible to control people simply by frightening them.

Yet, it’s difficult to scare people who have joy.

Fear is hard to promote among those involved in true love.

And terrorizing an individual who has faith is nearly impossible.

To create confusion, you must present a dilemma in which the problems seem insurmountable and the resources, limited.

Every dictator, tyrant, false teacher and unrighteous religion has maintained a following of human beings simply by convincing them that the problems are so immense that to continue to try to resolve them would only create more confusion.

If you want to save the world, simplify things.

And as you do, sprout a smile.

 

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Confer

Confer: (v) to have a discussion

I see absolutely nothing wrong with seeking the counsel of others. But candidly, it has equally gotten me in as much trouble as provided benefit.

Nevertheless, it is good to know that one has checked things out thoroughly to find the best answer.

But we must realize, it is important that we confer with our own “committee” first–and that would be our heart (emotions), our soul (the spirit of God within us), our mind (the most unique and powerful mechanism on Earth) and our body (the only one we’ve been given).

It is ridiculous to try to adhere to the words of a mentor until you take the time to find out what your emotions feel, your soul senses, your mind thinks and yourfunny wisdom on words that begin with a C
body generates.

Confer with yourself.

You may end up with confusion, but at least you know the correct diagnosis instead of stumbling along with uncertainty.

My emotions may say I’m distraught.

My soul tells me everything will be all right.

My mind steps in and offers two or three alternatives.

And my body, truthfully, admits to being able to handle only one.

When you confer with yourself and all of your beautiful intricate parts before you either proceed or stump for advice, you have a much better idea on how to hear the voices around you–because you’ve tapped the voices from within.

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Chapter

Chapter: (n) a division of a book

There are two reasons for being different–and there’s a symmetry to this.

Reason one is to make sure that you’re not the same.

Reason two is noticing that something is not as effective as it once was and deciding to evolve.

When I started writing books years ago, most of them were no more than pamphlets. They were desperately in need of editing because, like most ‘scribers,’ I overwrite. But I often did not edit them, being young, immature and contending that each word had a divine right for existence.

You see, that piece of difference was nothing but different. It wasn’t helpful, and sometimes my readers got caught up in the confusion of one of my sentences, and found themselves begging for a clause to rescue them.

But one thing I did accomplish was renaming the chapter. It had a long and storied history in literature, but it was ready for retirement. So I asked myself, what are people doing when they read a book? The answer came quickly. Normally, they’re sitting.

So I changed “Chapters” to “Sittings.”

It was a small thing, but I think folks found it endearing, and some other writers have since taken up the banner.

You see, it’s not that my new name is better than the old name.

Sometimes all that matters is that it’s new–instead of being so damn old.

 

 

 

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Bulletin Board

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Bulletin board: (n) a board for displaying notices.

I’m a little timid to make this confession–partly because it expresses a weakness that I’m not sure other people share, and also there’s always a danger that when you’re vulnerable, someone will come along and feel it’s their responsibility to “teach you something.”

But taking that risk, I will tell you that bulletin boards scare me.

Not in the sense of being terrified, but rather, a bewildering, perplexing aggravation that comes over my soul whenever I stand, facing one, and see literally hundreds of messages piled on top of each other, vying for my attention. They begin to swirl together, forming some sort of mysterious stew in mid-stir.

I try to focus on one bicycle for sale, or announcement for an upcoming meeting of the Progressive Optimists of America, but my eyes are distracted and suddenly, my mind begins to believe that all optimistic people own bicycles–and have lost a daughter. And a dog. And a red umbrella.

Immediately aware that none of it makes sense, I’m bewitched by the messaging that keeps leaping from this bulletin board into my eyes to gain attention.

Does someone in a little country church really think I am going to come to their revival just because a tiny portion of their flier peeps through underneath the announcement of a new yoga class?

I’m sorry. Bulletin boards are spawned from some dark consciousness, where obsession and oblivion merge together in printed form to attack me and make me believe that I’m stupid because I’m not voting for the candidate whose poster has been most recently pinned over the top of all other competitors.

Bulletin boards are the most inefficient way to convey any message.

I’m wondering if someone in Congress came up with the idea.

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