Dangerous

Dangerous: (adj) full of risk, perilous

You shouldn’t call something dangerous unless you really give a shit about people.

You shouldn’t declare some activity potentially lethal just to establish some sort of superiority over your fellow-travelers.

But every once in a while, there are dangerous things—maybe better phrased, dangerous tendencies or unhealthy trends.

I feel unqualified to speak on the subject (which I feel compelled to address) mainly because I don’t want anybody to think I’m drawing a moral equivalency or being judgmental about the issue.

I don’t drink. (I’ve established that before.)

I don’t think this does anything for me except eliminate a liquor bill from my budget and spare me a few morning headaches.

Yet I must be honest and say that there’s a dangerous complicity from entertainment all the way through religion and everything in between.

We have just made it too cool to drink.

Alcohol is too common.

It seems to have morphed from being an adult beverage into an elixir for depression, stimulation for fatigue and a truth serum to get friends and neighbors to open up.

It has also become the favored confidante of young females who portray that coming home to a glass or two of wine is the ecstasy of the day.

Unfortunately, alcohol is a drug.

Alcohol has a very bad history with humans—not that dissimilar from the Nazi Party. In the case of both, alcohol and Nazis, there is a great rally that builds up a wave of confidence, leading to faltering returns and ending up with self-destruction in a bunker of solitude.

Let me tell you what is dangerous:

  • Alcohol is an intoxicant. As long as it’s presented in that fashion, it is completely permissible and even acceptable.
  • Alcohol is not fun—that’s dangerous.
  • Alcohol is not necessary. Once again, dangerous.
  • Alcohol is not a cure for anything, but rather, the symptom of many devastating sorrows. Dangerous to the fourth power.

If I felt that young men and young women were partaking of alcohol for the purpose of social interaction, I really would have no case to make.

But alcohol is the only “spirit” I see being promoted in a faithless society.

We are heading toward forty- and fifty-year-old alcoholics, who thought they were socially drinking in their twenties and thirties until the realization of getting older drove them deeper into counseling with Jack Daniels—on a horrible cruise with Captain Morgan.

 

Anti

dictionary with letter A

 

Anti (prep): opposed to; against

 

I usually don’t date my material by speaking on contemporary issues, but rather, addressing broader subjects to have lasting appeal which salves the ego of this writer, who believes his material might survive his own mortality.

But I do wake up this morning feeling the need to share my heart on the death of Robin Williams.

I am certainly against it.

You could say that I’m anti-Robin Williams’ suicide.

Matter of fact, I had a chilling thought go through my mind as I rose from my bed this day: less than twenty-four hours ago, Robin was still alive, though conflicted in the process of determining to cease his journey.

What could have been done?

You see, there’s the problem. Because the news cycle feels the need to make a lot of money, movies desire sensationalism and religion works feverishly to frighten converts and potential clients into salvation, we have so negatively charged this planet with an anti-contentment of despair that it is very difficult for some people to pull out of the nosedive of depression before they crash to earth.

Am I saying we are all to blame for the death of Robin Williams?

No. He alone is the perpetrator of his own disaster.

But I am saying that God has given us many sensitive souls who are fragile in nature, and are susceptible to fits of fretting, in order to warn us when the temperature of hope has plummeted to the point where we begin to freeze out the possibility for true joy.

When someone has the gift to make people laugh, but he, himself, is so despondent over the conditions that surround him that he takes a deadly journey through drugs and anguish to finally end his own life, we must realize that a fragile soul like Robin is here to warn us of our own tendency to be dark, depraved and faithless.

  • Somewhere there has to be a light. Otherwise the darkness is no longer considered to be bleak.
  • Somewhere there has to be a pro to every con or we become convinced that life is a perpetual misery waiting for a terminal conclusion.

I wake up this morning praying for my brother Robin, because I still believe that a merciful God will show kindness to such a loving soul who just wasn’t well-suited for the “anti-everything” climate which permeates our society.

I refuse to be against anything right now because it’s too damn easy.

 

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