Consensus

Consensus: (n) general agreement

Consensus is a general agreement to handle major issues in a way that causes us to become captains of our fate.

It is escaping private opinions.

To say we are desperately in need of consensus on many of the issues of Earth-life might be the greatest understatement ever spoken–next to “Do you think thatfunny wisdom on words that begin with a C
iceberg is going to give the Titanic any problems?”

There are six categories, and I am going to venture, nobly but humbly, to give my consensus on six of these common Earth circumstances:

  1. Earth

The Earth is not yours, it is not mine. It runs on a system. It rewards those who diligently learn the technique and the nurturing of Mother.

  1. God

No one knows. Stop pretending you do. Certainly stop pretending you don’t. God is an unknown quantity which will end up being of great benefit to us if we want to continue the energy of our existence after death–and always points us to the beauty of His Earth and how it works if we’ll respect Father’s opinion about Mother.

  1. People

They are neither a hazard nor a blessing, but rather, a necessity. You will be completely incapable of getting your Big Mac at three o’clock in the morning if there are no people. Our best consensus on dealing with people is to cease looking at them by color, religion, culture or sexual orientation and begin to embrace them as the cousins they are.

  1. Work

Human beings are at their most harmonious when they put labor and effort of twenty-five hours into each week. That’s five hours–Monday through Friday. If we became accustomed to that work schedule we would not only be happier, but also most efficient.

  1. Love

Love is neither an emotion nor is it a sentiment. It is the atmosphere that fosters the cooperation necessary for work, people, God and the Earth to hum. It is a committed affection.

And finally:

  1. Romance

Although there are many barriers that come to play with venereal diseases and unwanted pregnancies, those who attempt to deter romance, boxing it up into neat little units of propriety, historically end up looking like supreme assholes.

A little romance does a lot of good. Often a lot of romance does very little good.

I present my consensus on these issues. Of course, yours is just as good as mine.

And where they overlap, may we join together in hilarious fellowship.

 

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Congratulations

Congratulations: (n) words expressing praise for an achievement or good wishes on a special occasion

Congratulations are in order:

To anyone who is not pissing on others because he or she is pissed off

To people of either gender who realize equality is never achieved through separation, but rather, mingling similaritiesfunny wisdom on words that begin with a C

To the pilgrims who understand that culture has become the new Jim Crow, to separate us without making it look painful

Congratulations are also in order to those who believe in America to such a degree that they are prepared to question a voting system and electoral college which is not only antiquated, but preventing us from electing excellent leadership.

Congratulations to the people who are not afraid to speak their minds without apology.

Congratulations are in order to the human beings who understand we are not really spiritual, but are able to learn how to have enough spirit to keep from hating and destroying one another.

Congratulations are in order to the businesses which realize it is a damnable offense to make huge profits off the sickness of other travelers.

Congratulations are in order to anyone, anywhere, at any time, who can maintain a civil tongue, and salt their conversation with some humor.

Congratulations are in order to a faith that demands works–otherwise appearing dead.

Congratulations are in order to those who appreciate and utilize science without worshipping it, but instead, challenge the educational system to continue its evolution.

Congratulations are in order to you, if you resist accepting the meager offerings presented to you, but instead believe that somewhere in the pasture is a four-leaf clover, and in the clouds, a silver lining.

 

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Concubine

Concubine: (n) a mistress.

Although we’re often critical of our ancestors and former times which seemed to be plagued by ignorance, you occasionally have to stop and give props to our forefathers, who were able to come up with very intriguing words to describe their iniquity.

Finding “whore, prostitute” and even “mistress” to be somewhat distasteful, one of them decided to start inserting the word “concubine” to funny wisdom on words that begin with a C
describe an extra-marital relationship. It conjures in the mind an image of a porcupine and a large shell from the beach.

How could that be anything but fascinating?

Matter of fact, they may be onto something. I’m musing over some possible words or phrases that could be inserted to cover a multitude of sins.

Stealing, for instance. It could be changed to “undeclared investment supply.”

Sloth: a sabbatical (Someone beat me to that one.)

Lust: romanticizing (Sounds like what a novelist does.)

Murder: population control

Bigotry: culture discovery

Arrogance: patriotism

As you can see, the possibilities are nearly endless for creating rational words to disguise our often-irrational behavior.

 

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Common Ground

Common ground: (n) a basis of mutual interest or agreement.

I do believe the quote is attributed to Sting, lead singer of “The Police.”

When explaining his tour into the Soviet Union, in one of his lyrics he offered the conclusion that “Russians love their children, too.”

It is so easy to sit on the precipice of destruction and discuss, like naughty brats, how much more our destructive weapons could kill your people than yours could destroy ours.

But in the long run, or in the short time it takes for a bomb to explode, people are dead–and most all of them look somewhat like us.

Anything that comes along to encourage the destruction of the planet, the deception of racism, the alienation of the genders or the false pride of a culture is the feeding frenzy for us pursuing the insanity of gobbling one another up in our social cannibalism.

Every single day, in every single way, in every single building where decisions are made about human life, three things have to be honored:

  1. Flesh may have color, but it is all basically the same.
  2. If people were created, they have one Father.
  3. We have not perfected a way to snatch life from death.

Slow down.

This is called common ground.

Everything else is just a silly argument among children about who can jump the highest, and who owns the shiniest bike.

 

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Comity

Comity: (n) courtesy and considerate behavior toward others.

In the pursuit of peace on Earth, goodwill toward men–certainly an angelic venture–we must never contend that stereotypes about race,
nationality and culture are false.

They are not.

Matter of fact, many folks who would launch into pursuing tolerance become weary in well-doing by hanging around the folks they’re trying to love, but realizing that many of the prejudices spoken end up being true.

It doesn’t make any difference whether it’s about color, culture, gender or sexual orientation–too much time spent with any one category can turn you into a cynic and a bomb-shelter-bigot.

Open-mindedness is not about facts–it is about mercy.

For instance, using the term “terrible twos” is not prejudicial against human beings who have only lived for twenty-four months. It’s actually a rather astute, but negative, assessment of children of that age. Why? Because we have to work real hard to find one who isn’t–two and terrible, that is.

Equality is not about proving that there is no foolishness within the human race. Equality is blinding yourself to the stupidities in order to elevate your brothers and sisters to the position they were granted by their Creator.

Comity is that moment when we turn our heads away when we see the village idiot sprawled on the ground, so that we can give him a moment to get to his feet…and then view him again as an equal.

 

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Clean-cut

Clean-cut: (adj) giving the appearance of neatness and respectability.

He was Mr. Wintermute.

I did not know his first name since I was a young boy and was not allowed to speak it, or for that matter, hear it. He was our village barber.
He cut hair.

I didn’t like to have my hair cut. I didn’t have any reason. Mr. Wintermute was a nice enough fellow. I suppose in today’s culture, we might accuse him of having “soft hands,” but such things were not considered when I was a young’un growing up.

He offered two possibilities in his shop. The first was called “regular,” and the second was called “butch.”

A butch haircut was one that was combed to the top and then clipped down to look like grass on a putting green.

A regular haircut was a little splash of hair left on the top and white walls on the sides.

Mr. Wintermute did not take special orders.

He had a little speech he delivered every time I went into his chair. “Yes, it’s good that you came. You’re looking a little shaggy, like the dog in the Disney movie. Let’s see what we can do to make you look clean-cut again.”

By clean-cut, Wintermute meant shaving everything in sight, leaving unattractive stubble around the ears, and a clump of what appeared to be crab grass on top. Of course, that clump needed to be clean-cut also, so he offered Brylcreem to smooth it down. And even though “a little dab’ll do you,” Mr. Wintermute was much more generous.

I would actually walk out of the barber shop feeling chilly–because suddenly my ears were on their own, to stay warm. My chubby face now just looked fat–and all the adults around me, who were advocates of clean-cut, “o-o-h-ed and a-h-h-ed” to maintain the belief that how one cut one’s hair actually had something to do with character.

Mr. Wintermute has long ago passed away. I think he would be very pleased that I wrote this essay about him, highlighting a time in American history when how we looked was the essence of who we were.

 

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City

City: (n) a large town.

The fear of the unknown is the beginning of bigotry. (I just came up with that. What do you think??)

This was clearly expressed to me growing up as a boy. (I started out as a lad and decided to stick with it.)

I lived in a Village of 1,500 people. This is the crowd size for a medium-famous rock band.

It’s small enough that you can eyeball everybody, size them up and make ridiculously quick decisions on who they are and who they aren’t. It’s not so much that everybody knows everybody–it’s the fact that nobody really knows anybody, but because we’re so close together, we draw conclusions anyway.

You had to drive ten miles to get to the Town. We hated them. They were our arch-rivals–because they had about 25,000 people. They beat our high school teams in every sport, and we were convinced they were all brats, strutting around their houses smirking at each other and sneering at our little Village.

Sometimes the boys from our Village would go down to the Dairy Queen and pick fights with the Town guys. We always lost. But at least we tried, right?

Now–another twelve miles from the Town was the City. Even though the Village was only twenty miles away, the City was the “Dark Side of the Moon.”

There were only certain reasons to go there.

Movies. There was only one theater in the Town, and it usually just showed Disney flicks. If you wanted to see a movie, you had to go to the City, which meant you had to listen to a fifteen-minute lecture from your mom and dad about the dangers lurking in the metropolis, which had several hundred thousand folks.

They also had restaurants instead of “Mom and Pop food.” When I went to the City, I always thought I was going to be robbed, raped or killed–maybe all three.

As a youngster, it caused me to believe that the smaller things are, the more pure they stay–that it was impossible to live in the Town and do good works, and certainly beyond imagination to dwell in the City and find favor with God.

The fear of big things caused the young people of our Village to pick up on the vices of the City without ever receiving the benefits of culture, convenience and camaraderie.

It took me years to overcome the little box that lived in my head, which was supposed to contain everything I needed–yes, a long time to go into the City, bringing what I had learned in the Town, while maintaining the heart and soul of my Village.

 

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