Buttress

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Buttress: (n) a source of defense or support.

I construct a buttress–a physical barrier to communicate that I am prepared to withstand an attack.

I suppose if it stopped there it might be fine. Certain safeguards are necessary in a violent world.

But once I physically construct a buttress, I begin to believe it’s necessary to build a mental buttress for my brain.

What is that?

Only certain information is allowed. This data must be in harmony with my present philosophy and level of understanding.

Once I’m fully protected from the possibility of errant or alien ideas attacking my mind, it becomes necessary to build a buttress for my spirit–the soul.

And how shall I construct such a protection? By developing an unwavering conviction on who God is and who the Creator is not, never allowing foreign doctrines to permeate my walls.

Even if I am granted a vision sent from the heavens, I must defend the traditions–or risk losing the certainty I have over established belief.

So now I’m protected from physical assault, mental aggression and spiritual infiltration.

I certainly must complete the isolation by erecting a buttress to guard my feelings.

The emotions need to shrink, only including certain members of my family, color, styles and predilections. I find myself getting cold but adjust to the chill by warming myself with a cloak of self-righteousness.

Now I am fully encased, each buttress in place to secure body, mind, soul and heart.

But why am I awakening in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, screaming?

What has come in?

What is troubling me?

What has breached my fortification and now disrupts my rest?

I am undefended from me.

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Brief

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Brief: (adj) of short duration

I listened as a young pundit explained how disturbed he was that people were “no longer questioning.”

He thought it was caused by a newfound smugness.

I would beg to differ.Dictionary B

Actually, we are swimming away from being inquisitive because we’re being drowned by information. Long before we can form a question, we are given so much data that we’re afraid to inquire further, lest we be bored to death.

Some of the best advice I ever gave to myself was “be brief.”

It happened shortly after I began writing blogs and discovered my average word count was over sixteen hundred. I considered this to be respectable and spurned any notion that my writings were being ignored because of verbosity.

Then one day I read a sixteen hundred-word article. Becoming weary of the process at about word 452, I persevered, to prove my point that there would be a great payoff in the end.

The only result of that exercise was me deliberating whether to stubbornly over-write or embrace the anointing of brevity.

Now my blogs average about 350 to 400 words.

Have I become more stupid–incapable of elaborating?

No. I’ve given my fellow-humans a great gift:

Briefly read what I have to share.

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