Tag Archives: hell

Butch

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Butch (adj.): with masculine characteristics

One of the unseen drawbacks to prejudice is often the contortions that the oppressed have to go through in an attempt to prove their equality.

Because they feel defensive, their actions often take on a bratty and selfish edge as a means of shielding themselves from the onslaught of damnable bigotry.

I understand that we cannot talk about an ideal world while we are living in the toilet bowl of misunderstanding. I get that.

But I do not know what progress we make by becoming angry, touchy and fussy with the world around us, attempting to communicate our individuality.

I personally have no problem with people who are gay, lesbian, transgender or whatever the latest discovery might be. I have plenty of problems with people who think they can fight their way out of the prism society has built for those who choose not to line up in single file.

Dr. King was right–the only way the black community will ever be able to overcome the insane assertions of the ignorant is to climb over the top of them with grace, intelligence, class and certainly, perseverance.

Basically, let us never forget, ignorant people are stuck with each other–their own work product–and therefore, salary limitations.

If you happen to be what they refer to as a “butch” female, you will not gain credibility by flaunting the extremes of your mannerisms, but rather, by establishing the commonality you have with all humans.

What can we do?

Stop fighting the hell and start living like heaven.

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Busy

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Busy: (adj) having a great deal to do.

“Busy as a bee.”

Are bees really busy? We attribute this to them because they fly, buzz and appear to be accomplished.

But if you think about the normal day of a bee, it’s more the life of a hippie at a commune.

They fly off, check out the flowers, and while there, they pick up some nectar–and then they fly back to their hive, buzzing and maybe taking the long way home.

They contribute their nectar to the general well-being–the ongoing project, the commune’s goal. They spend a little while enjoying their time with the other drones, dreaming of a day when they might have their moment with the queen.

And then they’re off again, at a respectable, but not break-neck pace, to enjoy more flowers, bring back more nectar and come into the hive with that age-old joke that most bees hate: what’s the buzz?

After this procedure is repeated a number of times at an enjoyable clip, the bee can proudly step back and say, “I made honey. I made the world a sweeter place. I have taken something that was in the flowers and created a substance that transfers that glorious juice into the tastebuds of human beings.”

Most of the people I see who say they’re busy are just frantic.

They don’t visit the flowers.

They don’t take the long way home.

And they sure as hell don’t make honey.

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Bunsen Burner

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Bunsen burner: (n) a small adjustable gas burner used in laboratories.

I certainly hope we’re not going to be evaluated, judged or memorialized on our hidden fears. They’re hidden, right? Just where they should be.

It happened to me this morning when I read the words “Bunsen burner.” I found myself suddenly terrified, with a little tingling in my bowels.

I did not realize I had this memory of a Bunsen burner which is–pardon the expression–seared into my consciousness.

I was a sophomore in high school and arrived late to chemistry class on a day when Bunsen burners were going to be used for some experiment. I think we were going to take a beaker of fluid and warm it under the Bunsen burner to see what happened to the consistency–yet the exact purpose is beyond my recollection.

But because I arrived late, I ended up with the Bunsen burner due for retirement. The teacher warned, “Be careful. That one’s a bit tricky.”

Since I had never used a Bunsen burner before, I didn’t know what would make one temperamental. So I got it all hooked up, released the nozzle or whatever you do to get it to light–and it didn’t. I turned it off and tried again. No luck.

I looked to my teacher for help, but he purposely averted his eyes as if he did not want to deal with this particular apparatus.

I was about to try a third time, reaching over, and suddenly the Bunsen burner decided to come alive.

I burned my hand.

I was pretty sure it was third degree, but was later told by my doctor that it was just a scorch. But it hurt like hell, though I’m not sure why hell would hurt–or maybe I am.

After all, it’s a place of fire.

Like a Bunsen burner.

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Brimstone

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Brimstone: (n) sulphur

It’s rare to find brimstone without its friend, fire.

They travel as a duet.Dictionary B

Over the years, they have become the universal threat to mankind for sinful doings and disobedience to deity.

There are churches which spend all their time talking about a hell filled with fire and brimstone. The premise is that we should take our seventy-two years of life and continue to be so frightened by the prospect of burning up and reeking of sulphur that we muster a nervous righteousness.

Of course, Earth has so many temptations and delicacies to offer that sometimes the searing of fire and the sniff of sulphur are not enough to keep the pilgrim progressing.

There has to be more.

So you can feel free to join in the debate about the existence of a hell with fire and brimstone, or whether ultimately, a loving God gives universal passes to everyone at the great amusement park in the sky–but in the meantime, a tremendous amount of life is going on around you which screams for your participation.

I found out a long time ago that there’s no government or religion that has anything against kindness, gentleness, good cheer and humility.

Might these four be the key to life on Earth and eternity post-Earth?

I find it difficult to have much concern about brimstone.

I am, on the other hand, seeking a comfortable and joyous way … to keep my nose to the grindstone.

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Boo

Boo: (exclam) said suddenly to surprise someone.

Halloween–many years ago in Central Ohio, driving around with one of my buddies and three cheerleaders from the high school who came with us because we Dictionary Btold them that we knew where there was a ghost.

We had no idea what we were talking about.

But we realized the only way we could pull this off and get the lovely young ladies so scared that they would grab us around the neck and hug us for comfort was to come up with an unbelievably creative story and weave it in such a way that terror would fill the interior of my Chevy Impala.

There was an old house outside our town which had been abandoned for a long time–so long that moss was growing up the exterior walls, and also bats flying in and out of broken windows. We decided this was the best place to go to establish the foundation for our tale.

When we arrived in the pitch-black surroundings, we noticed in the upper left-hand corner window, there was a faint glow, as if someone had placed a candle. It was so eerie that I knew the god of story-telling, wherever he or she may be, had prepared it just for us.

I began my fable.

“In this house an old man killed himself up in that very left corner window, by hanging from a nearby rafter, swinging in the breeze.”

As I pointed to the window, there was suddenly a shadow that swept across the faint glow, floating back and forth.

It was damn spooky–so much so that the girls went absolutely stark-raving nuts, screaming–and I nearly eked out one myself. We huddled together in the car, staring up at the mysterious phantom illumination.

After a few minutes I got so freaked out that I started the car and took off, much to the chagrin of my friend, who still wanted to continue the fear-mongering (perhaps to the point of turning it into a make-out session.)

But you see, even though I made up the lie, and knew it was not true, I had convinced myself of its validity, to the point that I was thoroughly prepared for that old ghost, at any moment, to descend upon us with a big, old-fashioned “boo!”

Let me see: I generated a lie which I began to believe and because I was convinced of it, acted as if it was the truth.

Hell … I became a politician.

 

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Bondage

Bondage: (n) the state of being a slave.

Dribbling sweat and spitting out angry consonants, the preacher forewarns his timid congregation of the dangerDictionary B of the bondage of sin. Here’s the real essence of bondage:

Bondage is the loss of free will.

Whether it’s taken from you due to addiction, removed by the authorities because of your criminal activity, or snatched from you by religious fervor which insists on stringent practices to please a pissed-off God.

Bondage is when human beings can’t decide for themselves.

Presently, we are in bondage to the delusion of destiny–the ridiculous notion that our lives are pre-determined by some ethereal force which has programmed us for purposes beyond our control.

Actually, the most frightening thing about human life is that we choose to do both the evil and the good that spew from our nature. We are not prodded by the heavens nor are we drug to the depths of hell by demons.

The only true bondage is when we revoke our free will to something, someone, or some place and find ourselves dissatisfied, without a vote.

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Bluster

Bluster: (n) loud, aggressive, or indignant talk with little effect.

Dictionary B

I believe the goal is to acquire interest.

Whether you’re trying to sell a new car, preach the gospel, gain the attention of the opposite sex or get someone’s vote, the possibility is impaired if you cannot acquire interest.

How do you get people interested?

Amazingly, after everything is boiled down, you’re left with the remainder of the expressions in human life. You end up with fear and love.

They do not get along with each other. Love chases away fear, and fear, likewise, scares the hell out of love.

Therefore, since we are insecure about the notion of creating devotion through emotion, we often resort to the tactic of frightening those around us into submitting to our will.

We bluster.

We find obscure statistics, isolated incidents and horrific anomalies, and advertise them as if they are the norm.

In the process, the car dealer has to convince you that your vehicle is ready to explode. The preacher talks about the heat and humidity in hell, the dating service on the Internet tries to present you as a loser if you’re spending a Saturday night alone, and of course, every candidate wants to discuss “a planet ablaze,” which he or she alone can save.

Although bluster has become acceptable, it is damnable because it pushes fear to the forefront, terrifying our love.

 

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Bash

Bash: (n) a heavy blow.Dictionary B

I have given it much consideration.

I have finally come to the conclusion that my level of contentment, joy and satisfaction is exactly paralleled by my amount of criticism, frustration and jealousy towards others.

In other words, if I like my life, why in the hell do I care about yours?

I’m not recommending indifference to need, but certainly, if I find myself rejoicing in my pursuits, why is it necessary for me to bash yours?

I contend that most people who pursue religion are angry at the unbeliever because they fear these heretics are having more fun.

I think Democrats secretly know that Republicans make some good points, and Republicans are certainly aware of the value of ideas within the Democratic Party.

We bash because we are discontented.

We attack because we want people to be as miserable as we are, and it appears that they have sidestepped our little rendition of purity without suffering consequences.

I have found that it is much easier to be excited and encouraging to the world around me as I find my place in this time.

Bashing is an arrow pointed at the misgiving and doubt that is in our own hearts.

Since I don’t want to be a ballerina, it therefore becomes unnecessary for me to make fun of them dancing on their toes.

Since I have no desire to be gay, I also have no inclination to mock their situation.

And since my faith is based on compassion and the pursuit of regeneration, I don’t necessarily feel compelled to sarcastically mock traditions I consider to be meaningless.

Yes, the only way to stop bashing is to ask yourself one single, valuable question:

Do I really like what I’m doing, or am I faking it?

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Bandy

Bandy: (v) to pass from one to another or back and forth; give and take; to bandy wordsDictionary B

An optimist may feel ordained by the angels to bring hope to any given situation, but becomes ineffective because being in the presence of a pessimist causes him or her to be depressed.

This leaves the realist sitting on the sidelines, shaking his or her head over the foolishness of both extremes.

Thus we have the standoff on Earth which promotes more self-righteousness than progress.

  • Optimists believe they are good.
  • Pessimists contend that evil is too strong.
  • And realists are ignored because they don’t offer any tools on how to tear down the wall.

It has come time in our season on Earth to begin to bandy about ideas which are enriching to the human heart, without trying to turn our emotions into mere marshmallow cream.

What do I desire to be bandied about in the general populace?

  1. Human beings are neither good nor evil. They ascend from dust to become earth, to hopefully reach for the stars.
  2. Forgiveness is not resolution. It is the perfect way to ignore stupidity while you’re waiting for karma to expose it.
  3. Men and women are not different. As long as we insist they are, we will treat one better than the other.
  4. We are not bound by or to our culture. Rather, we are blessed with customs which are endearing but also commanded by life to find similarities with all our brothers and sisters.
  5. And finally, revenge doesn’t work because it has no end. Sooner or later someone has to scream to the surrounding chaos, “What the hell? Let’s move on.” The sooner we do this, the lower the death toll.

These are just a few ideas I present which are not optimistic, pessimistic or realistic.

I would venture to call them humanistic.

 

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Ascension

Ascension: (n) the ascent of Christ into heaven on the fortieth day after the Resurrection.dictionary with letter A

As a young father, I remember planning my first trip to take my two little sons, both under five years of age, to the zoo. Nothing went right.

  • I started out with a flat tire.
  • One of the kids woke up with a runny nose and a weepy eye.
  • I had set aside some money for the zoo trip but could only find half of it.
  • And suddenly, nobody wanted to go to the zoo.,

It was at this point that I decided that we were going to go to the zoo, and we were going to have a good time–or die trying.

I pushed through it.

I bring this up in relation to the fact that I must confess to each and every one of you that I do believe in God. Even though I have many friends who would prefer I didn’t or think it’s a sign of my mental or emotional weakness, I decided a long time ago to go with God, and even though my spiritual tires have flattened at times, my children have gotten sick, my prayers were not answered and I’ve ended up with about half the money I needed, I am still on the path to believing.

Some folks stop along the way. They want to believe in the idea of brotherhood, spirituality or kindness, but want to remove a heavenly Father from the masthead of the family business.

Other individuals believe more deeply about God but draw the line at miracles, Satan, heaven, hell and angels.

Some of them believe in Jesus but they don’t believe he rose from the dead, which would make it completely unnecessary for an ascension to heaven.

But here’s my problem: if I drove to the North Pole and found a factory made out of ice and inside was a red velvet suit with white piping, I might have to reconsider my rejection of Santa Claus.

Likewise, I see too much of God’s love, blessing, presence and concern for me to deny it in favor of surrendering to my doubts.

So I guess I’m in this for the long haul.

I guess I will be just as surprised if heaven is really neat as I will be if there is nothing but the grave.

So I have taught myself, in light of this fact, just to enjoy being surprised.

 

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