Tag Archives: Creator

Darwin, Charles

Darwin, Charles: (n) a British naturalist of the nineteenth century, he developed the theory of evolution.

Did he?

I mean—did he develop the theory of evolution?

Undoubtedly, he did extensive study, which confirmed that such a transition happened in the formation of Earth.

Many of his precepts filled in gaps and enlightened us regarding the periods and pinnacles in the timeline of the birthing of the planet.

But amazingly enough, thousands of years ago, a shepherd sat and wrote his rendition of how the world began—and though it is not as specific and articulate as Charles’s discoveries, it certainly lands within the forum of an emerging Universe.

The Book of Genesis describes an Earth that appears without form, covered in darkness.

Then is the introduction of light, water and fish. A picture unfolds of all life coming from water, gradually gaining size and complexity, ending up with the revelation of man and woman.

Is it any different to divide this process among seven days—or seven ages?

I know we want to have a war between science and religion, but really, no conflict exists.

Whether you choose to believe that evolution was tipped off by the Big Bang or pushed forward by a Creator, it is foolishness to ignore the beauty of a possible benefactor just to extol the mastery of science.

I think Charles Darwin and Moses of Midian could sit down and enjoy a dinner of mutton and tea and find much in common.

Because if religion is true, then it must be filled with science.

And if science is to be completely believed, it just might be enhanced by a Creator.

 

Damned if I Do, Damned if I Don’t

Damned if I do, damned if I don’t: (n) a situation which one can’t win.

I have become convinced that self-pity is the greatest deterrent to human progress.

If you spend five minutes with any person, he or she will explain both what he or she wanted to accomplish and also why it became impossible.

I suppose this comes about because we think life is a puzzle put together by some Eternal Being and presented to us—and then we patiently but joyfully are to discover how all the portions are meant to fit together.

How could we have free will if we already have a puzzle made for us?

Is the premise that only certain free-will creatures even try to put the puzzle together? Or is it that the puzzle is so difficult that few have the time to pursue it or complete it?

I, on the other hand, happen to believe that life is a shoe box full of rocks, handed to each and every one of us.

The losers in life spend most of their breath-time either lamenting the meaninglessness of the rocks or attempting to put them together in some bizarre configuration.

They are the ones who begin to believe that you’re “damned if you do and damned if you don’t.”

In other words, “Since everything is stacked against me, and my box of rocks doesn’t make any sense, what’s the point in wearing myself out—chasing rainbows with my saddled unicorn?”

Here’s a tip:

The box of rocks is a diversion. It creates equality.

It makes us all the same—none preferred—and offers a common paradox.

For once you look at your box of rocks and surmise that there’s nothing to be done with it, then dump your rocks—but keep your box. Then go out and start gathering what you’re going to need to construct what you really envision.

You might think it’s cruel for the Creator to ask us to use our brains to surmise that the rocks are meaningless. But by no means do we want every fool to figure out the puzzle, lest figuring it out becomes droll.

Creator

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Creator: (n) a person or thing that creates.

The top four things, in order, that wear out my soul in order, beginning with Number Four:

  1. Serious discussions that end up with people pouting.
  2. Feeling sorry for myself because I’m stuck in traffic.
  3. My own intolerance showing up, exposing me for the fallible son-of-a-bitch I sometimes am.

And now, Number One:

Incessant barking, preaching, complaining, questioning and postulating on the subject of God.

Is there a Creator?

Let me be blunt—I only have one reason that I want a Creator. It’s because it makes me feel more valuable.

Without a Creator, I have to envision that I am a stop on the evolutionary chain, somewhere between protoplasm and infinity.

Yuk. I don’t want to feel that way.

It makes the other three things I mentioned even more aggravating. Traffic seems more congested, my intolerance tends to have some deeper meaning, and for some unrealistic reason, getting serious about ludicrous matters makes me feel grown-up.

I need a Creator because I need to feel created, so that I will want to be creative.

Did you get that?

Creator, created, creative.

When I don’t feel created, I have no desire whatsoever to change my circumstance when bitching about it seems to adequately fill the time.

I do not find that believing in a Creator makes people better, and that disbelieving makes them worse. But sometimes, cuddling up to the idea that we are purposely constructed by a divine order does make the journey seem a little sweeter.

Otherwise, we begin to look around the room, the nation and the world, rolling our eyes, thinking internally: Hell, is that all there is?

 

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Cowrite

Cowrite: (v) to co-author

Inspired.

Divinely inspired.

I don’t have a problem with either of these thoughts.

I’ve been inspired. I will even be so bold as to claim having been divinely inspired (if by divinity you include science, life, nature, humanity and breathing.)

Yet, I have a problem believing that something ever written by a mortal hand is minus all the twitches and nervous energy associated with that being.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Therefore, when you tell me that God wrote something, I become skeptical. My understanding of our Creator is that He is much more involved in the visual media of sunrises, sunsets, stars, planets, galaxies—and the universe, for that matter.

For any writer will tell you that the most dangerous thing to do is try to place truth in stone when your own mortality limits the comprehension of truth.

I fully understand that all those who ever wrote a “holy book” believed, in the moment, that their hand was overtaken by a divine spirit which urged them to convey the ideas.

But time marches on. What we believed to be true yesterday is not quite the same today.

And the search for “universal truth” really does not take us through volumes and volumes of thoughts and reflections, but rather, to the doorstep of a single emotion: love.

Maybe this is why a fisherman and cowriter once scrawled, “God is love.”


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Country

Country: (n) a state or nation

I just downright don’t like the premise.

For you see, a quick look at the map of the world certainly does not distinguish insurmountable barriers that would dictate as many funny wisdom on words that begin with a Ccountries as we have conjured through our typography.

After all, most rivers don’t forbid people from crossing.

Mountains have been known to be climbed.

And nowadays, oceans are crossed with barely enough time on the airplane to serve soft drinks and peanuts.

Why do we need a country?

Why is it necessary to isolate this land mass as having this particular group of people, which follows a predetermined philosophy or form of government, and declare their sovereignty to such a degree that they are willing to go to war over violations of air space?

Perhaps it’s wise that the only way to truly cure insanity is to voraciously point it out whenever you encounter it. Otherwise, pretty soon it starts making sense to you—and by that time, you’ve hopelessly lost your ability to change the world.

I love my country.

But not because it’s located in the continental United States.

Not because I think Americans are exceptional and better than other people in the world.

No, I love my country because we espouse the principles of equality and freedom, which were hatched in the mind of the Creator when He first sat down and considered His opening line:

“Let there be light.”


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Co-pilot

Co-pilot: (n) a pilot who is second in command of an aircraft.

It used to be a very, very popular bumper sticker: “God is my co-pilot.”

Years passed.

Somebody decided that God was not a co-pilot, but rather, the pilot. The joke became, “If God is your co-pilot, then you’re in the wrong seat.”funny wisdom on words that begin with a C
Ha, ha, ha.

It seems like a rather innocent exchange—a meaningless disagreement, but at the root is probably one of the greater problems facing individuals who want to believe in a Creator yet have not found a common-sense way of discovering exactly what role this Divinity should play.

Is God flying the plane, and I’m along for the ride?

Am I privy to the flight plan?

Am I granted free will until He decides I’m not?

Is He in charge of the journey, but I get to pick whether we’re having fish or chicken for the in-flight meal?

Or am I behind the steering, and God is standing nearby, enjoying the trip?

I don’t really think it’s either one. I don’t think God’s in my plane at all.

I think He’s waiting for me at the next airport, to give me a lift—so I don’t have to take an Uber.


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Coordinate

Coordinate: (v) to place or arrange in proper order or position.

“Where am I?”

I find that many people spend too much time trying to figure out, “Who am I?”

There is some childish notion that we can be separate from the rest of humankind without any regard for the flow of the times, and be able to maintain our autonomy without finding ourselves lonely and out of step.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

It is not 1955. We do not have television shows where men and women who are married have to sleep in separate beds. We are allowed to say the word “pregnant.” Chauvinism is no longer an acceptable behavior, or even one that can be winked at as just part of “human tribe banter.”

It is not 1974. We are no longer going to tolerate a President who breaks the law and tries to cover it up. (At least I hope not.)

It is not 1985. We are no longer promoting greed and believing that the AIDS virus is a punishment from God against the gay community.

“Where am I?” is a very important question. If I am not able to coordinate what I believe in some sort of harmony with the world around me, I will not only be ineffective, but can quickly gain the reputation for being bigoted and notorious.

While I am sure some people are frightened that we’re losing the moral fiber of our society, a decision was made millions and millions of years ago by a Creator—to imbue His creation with free will.

Free-will opens the door to evolution. Evolution invites change.

There is only one immutable fact: if we don’t love our neighbor as ourselves, we will always be out of step and out of time.

We must coordinate with the world around us.

To do so, we must honor where we are much more than who we are.


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Consequence

Consequence: (n) a result or effect of an action or condition

It is astounding that the Creator, along with Mother Nature, allows infirmity for those who have become wiser, and grants energy to the stupid.

When I was much younger, I had a “F.A.T. Me” philosophy. To put it in common, everyday, street lingo, it stands for: “Fucking Adjust To Me.”

I recognized that people did matter, traditions were in place, and even, to some extent, that the natural order of the Earth cycled in with purpose.

Yet if any of that contradicted my immediate desire, my attitude was “F.A.T. Me.”

It took many years of consequences–which refused to adjust to me–to finally conclude that pain was certainly worse than me evolving toward reason.

Now, what makes this interesting is that the transition I’m speaking of is not determined by age. God knows there are people in their seventies, even eighties, who funny wisdom on words that begin with a C
still think that everyone should “fucking adjust to them.”

They start out with a frown, then heave a deep sigh, hoping to scare you away from your objection, and then, if you persist, come with a full onslaught of incessant complaining.

If you give in, you are subject to the height and breadth of their insight.

If you decide you don’t want to battle the entire Earth, but instead, stand against their predilection, you will have to endure some really nasty attitude.

There are consequences that have been in place for so long that they are not impressed with the F.A.T. ME.

The sooner you realize that the Earth has been doing the Earth for so long that it pretty well knows what is “Earth-like,” then you can grow up–and be a successful Earthling.

 

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Conditional

Conditional: (adj) subject to one or more conditions or requirements being met

There are certain things you cannot do in America:

You cannot be mean to your puppy on Main Street.

You certainly cannot suggest that the red, white and blue color scheme of the flag clashes.

And you risk life and limb if you even whisper that the phrase “unconditional love” was invented in the office of a pop psychologist and immediately adopted by Hallmark Cards.

Any mortal who wears skin, pumps blood and allows that circulation to reach his or her brain, is fully aware that we need love to have some conditions.

When left to ourselves and told that we’re “fine the way we are”–that the affection offered in our direction is not contingent on some facets of our behavior–we become tyrants.

Especially comical is the notion that our Creator–God–would extend such a gift to His creation, considering that He is fully aware of both our heavenly potential funny wisdom on words that begin with a C
and our notorious naughtiness.

That is why the Good Book is full of “if and then’s.”

“If you do this, then you will get this…”

  • If you have faith, you can move mountains.
  • If you believe, you will be saved.
  • If you are generous, it will be measured back to you.
  • If you judge, it will be metered at you with the same intensity.

Though we want to convey the depth of our emotion and appreciation for one another, it is certainly devious to suggest that our human feelings are not conditional. If they were not conditional, we couldn’t be of help to one another.

After all, sometimes a certain amount of intervention is necessary to get our mate out of bed to go to work. At that point, he or she might insist that we do not love them. Nothing could be further from the truth.

We just know that if they go to work, we can go out to dinner on Friday night and actually afford an appetizer.

 

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Concentration

Concentration: (n) the action or power of focusing

Pain is insane.

Especially when it is self-induced.

It is an automatic thought that springs into our head: if things aren’t difficult, they’re not real accomplishments.

This is certainly one of the greatest pieces of human foolishness.

I’ve never heard anyone say, “I need to concentrate” without frowning. They are communicating that they are so damn mature that they must go into contortions funny wisdom on words that begin with a C
to acquire achievement.

What the hell?

If life was intended to be difficult, yet we are all universally intended to live it out, how cruel is our Creator? For we are not all suited to the same regimen.

Of course, a certain amount of concentration is necessary to alert the brain to turn off all phones, ignore other messages, and place focus on the project at hand. Undoubtedly.

Yet if that experience is not rewarding–and dare I say, joyous–we will run away from concentration in favor of erratic behavior.

So I taught all of my children, and those who ever came within my earshot, a very simple principle, which both initiates concentration and provides fulfillment through it:

Wherever you are, be there.

Don’t split your attention. Don’t be considering lilies and weeds at the same time.

Allow yourself the glorious blessing and luxury of inhaling the atmosphere which has drifted your way.

 

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