Crept

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Crept: (v) to move slowly or with great stealth

Lying quietly on my bed in the darkened room, I allowed fear to enter my heart.

It was all so foolish.

I was suddenly overtaken by an exaggerated sense of my mortality. It reminded me of the time I was a nine-year-old boy and overheard someone say that a patient in a hospital had died from swallowing his tongue.

I didn’t know you could swallow your tongue

But all that night I kept waking up, heart pounding, convinced that my tongue had crept down my throat and was trying to enter my stomach.

Although awareness of pending difficulties or threatening illnesses is common, it is not good for us to allow the apprehensions that have crept into our hearts to sneak into our thoughts and manipulate our actions.

Lying there on the bed, I tried to rebuke myself, but still found that when I closed my eyes, visions of my own demise persisted. And even when I dozed, my dreams were determined to become nightmares.

We are silly. I am Chief of Silly.

But once evil has crept into our lives, there has to be a ceremony—a exorcism—from all such darkness.

 


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Clause

Clause: (n) a stipulation

Recently, I had a new grandson born. Everyone was so excited. After all, it’s a new life.

The proclamation was, “Welcome to Earth, little Julius!”

But Julius, my dear little friend, you need to read the accompanying clause. The actuary tables tell us the average person lives about seventy-seven years. Let’s
break that down:

The first eighteen of those seventy years are spent living in a house under rules and regulations, taking orders from everyone over twenty-one years of age, dabbling with all sorts of shit you shouldn’t, and confused because the front part of your brain literally has not grown in.

The next twelve years leading up to the age of thirty, you find yourself on the hunt for education, occupation and romantic elevation. There is too much experimentation, frustration and degradation involved in that process. You will often be bewildered because your original elation over obtaining your freedom has been deflated by reality.

Then you reach your thirtieth birthday–a whirlwind of messy nastiness, some of which you’re already trying to pay off in installments.

Now it’s time to have some kids of your own. You decide on two, and end up with three because someone forgot something. These three children begin the life process, impudently resenting all authority figures over the age of twenty-one, primarily you and your mate. They possess more opinions than intelligence.

You feel love but also occasionally diminished–because what you planned to do with your life has been hijacked by others telling you that you’re already old, decrepit and dead, and it’s their turn.

This takes you to about age fifty. At this point, you are greeted by doctors. They tell you that everything you’ve done in the first five decades has created some unhealthy results in your body. Probes, operations and sometimes diseases kick in to remind you of your mortality.

You suddenly find yourself carrying a pill case. You try to make it unobtrusive or even decorative, but you are now hooked on meds for the rest of your life.

This takes you to seventy. Of course, in the meantime you’ve become a full-fledged grandpa or grandma–with more little children who have found even meaner, egregious ways to ignore you. They are instructed to hug you, kiss you and send you thank-you notes including unidentifiable pictures which they’ve drawn. You learn to acquiesce and call three lines scrawled on a piece of paper “great art.”

This leaves you seven years.

You can’t walk as well anymore. You have to stop to recall your password for your Facebook account. And when you look in the mirror there seems to be the face of a troll emerging from your countenance.

The purpose of this essay is to remind us all that life comes with a clause. It’s a simple one. It’s not even in fine print.

Welcome to Earth (where you better make sure you enjoy what you do, or else what you do will take away all your joy–and that’s for sure).

 

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Body Clock

Body clock: (n) a person’s or animal’s biological clock.

Dictionary B

I try not to think about it very often for fear of becoming a whack job.

For you see, considering one’s own mortality is a drippy, sappy journey into sentimentality which often leaves tears in one’s eyes, considering how miserable the world will be without us.

Still, we’re all dealing with a body clock.

The little girl who dies of cancer when she’s eight years old should have had an opportunity to know that she was going through middle age at four.

Yet how weird would we become if we had any inkling of the actual time of our demise? In other words, if death did not surprise us, how much life could we muster before dissolving into a heap of self-pity?

Fortunately for us, there are certain points of awareness when we realize we have lost a step, can’t move so well or think that most street signs are now written in Mandarin.

We get that little nudge from life that we have less time remaining than what we’ve already used.

It is a merciful motivator to muster the magic.

Because if we don’t start the magic soon … we will run out of opportunities to show off our tricks.

 

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Bereave

Bereave: (v) to be deprived of a loved oneDictionary B 

I’m a silly goose (even though I’m not quite sure why that bird got crippled with such a characterization).

I’m a little embarrassed to admit it, but often I will be sitting alone and suddenly be overwhelmed with the remorse that will be felt by those around me at my passing.

I don’t know why I feel the right to project on them such a breakdown–but tears come to my eyes as I imagine them weeping over my demise.

Honestly, I cannot say that I get nearly as worked up about considering the death of another.

No, it is the absence of me on the planet that bereaves me.

I can’t imagine an Earth without my charming personality.

I’m reluctant to write this article, but having a certain anonymity due to the expansiveness of the Internet and my own obscurity … I assume I am fairly safe in maintaining this secret devotion to my own mortality.

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Bawl

Bawl: (v) to weep or cry noisily.Dictionary B

While I’m waiting for the good rendition of myself to arrive, I’ve decided to work with what is available.

Honestly, it’s the only way to keep from becoming defensive or offensive.

Because if you contend that you’re good, there are folks who will be glad to point out your over-estimation.

And if you walk around all the time looking for an altar of repentance, you will become an obnoxious victim.

I understand the importance of laughing, but I also must tell you the value of crying.

The difficulty I’ve encountered in the process of sprouting tears is that I generally do so in self-pity.

I cry, but more often than not, it’s for me.

So when it comes to forms of remorse like mourning and bawling, I must admit that I don’t even come close to these rather precious emotions unless I’m considering my own demise, how badly I’ve been cheated by others or the fact that traffic on the freeway dared to back up and inconvenience me.

Rather than purge myself of this inadequacy, I choose to treasure the moments when concern, compassion and gentleness towards others touched my heart.

I have probably bawled five times in my life.

Two of those times would have been over some lady who decided I was no longer needed.

Another time would have been the death of my son.

On another occasion, it would have been over-thinking my own mortality.

But there was that one time–that one amazing moment–when the heart of God entered my chest and made me feel what He feels when He sees his suffering children.

I will never forget it.

I yearn for it to happen again.

But it was a transcendent passage … when I stepped out of myself and saw the real need.

 

 

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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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Anatomy

dictionary with letter A

Anatomy: (n) — the branch of science concerned with the bodily structure of humans, animals and other living creatures, especially as revealed by dissection.

“To thine own self be true.”

I think the quote is attributed to Shakespeare.

Pursuing that path of candor, let me tell you that I often do a terrible job keeping up with my own anatomy.

For a season in my life, I went to the doctor regularly, as good Americans should do. It is also the only passage of time when I went to the hospital, took tons of medication and became overly concerned about my mortality.

It is also my understanding that normal people go to the dentist every six months for a good check-up. Fearing your condemnation, I must honestly inform you that I go to the dentist if I have a toothache.

It’s not that I fail to respect the complexity or fragile nature of my human anatomy. I am fully aware that disease, conditions and difficulties can arise without my knowing it from merely peering in the mirror. Cancer can even be growing in my body at this moment without me having placed an order or granting permission.

It’s just that I’ve reached a certain age … where I’ve reached a certain age.

What I mean is that in some ways I have exceeded my expectation for longevity, believing at one time that by now I certainly would have taken the “Great Leap” into the abyss.

But I haven’t.

And I do know that I don’t want to spend the rest of my life discussing medications, consulting with my doctor or going onto web sites to track my symptoms.

What do I want from my anatomy? What do I desire my body to do for me?

1. Respond to my actions.

If I eat a double pepperoni pizza, my body is allowed to have revulsion over the concept. But if I eat well, I certainly anticipate quid pro quo.

2. Help me to exercise sufficiently for a man my age without believing that a shot of testosterone will turn me into a twenty-five-year-old male stud.

3. Be so kind as to warn me before killing me.

Yes, if my body would just send an eviction notice, giving me thirty days to “raise the rent,” I would greatly appreciate that.

4. Help me learn how to do “me” better.

I’m not telling you I will never go to a doctor. But case in point: upon arriving at a car dealership, it is very difficult to leave with your old vehicle without somebody trying to either replace it or update it.

The same is true with medicine. They are good at what they do, so they find things wrong with us.

It’s just that if it isn’t a “sickness unto death,” well … maybe I don’t need to know.

 

 

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