Artillery

Artillery: (n) large-caliber guns used in warfare on land.dictionary with letter A

Lobbing huge shells through the air often countless miles, to land to Earth, to wreak havoc and create destruction.

The purpose for such a weapon is to grant the consolation that we can believe we are fighting a war without actually having to behold the devastation.

It’s really quite ingenious in a devious way.

After all, what could be more intense and ferocious than hand-to-hand combat, where we place our lives in jeopardy, hoping that we’re strong enough to overcome our opponent, or even sitting in a foxhole, shooting our rifles across the no-man’s land, hoping to hit some man?

I’m not going to write either a rebuke of war or a promotion of it in order to preserve freedom.

But I will tell you that the way we lob artillery shells of words, emotions and anger across our cultures in today’s battlefield of human communication is nasty.

It used to be that people had names. Then, for a while, they had titles. And now we identify each other by clan and culture.

So it’s Republicans against Democrats. No decent Republican will step out of the pack, be an individual and vote on a specific issue separate from the party plans.

Likewise, no Democrat will have a kind word for a Republican because in so doing, he or she might accidentally promote their pernicious cause.

In today’s world, we are black and we are white. We are Hispanic and Native American.

Trying to gain individuality in a season when individuality is supposedly extolled is virtually impossible because we need to summarize all of our problems in an eight-minute segment on CNN or Fox News.

So we lob shells at each other.

We refuse to stand as individuals–a person who is given a name, possessing one beautiful brain and be our own person, but instead, we want to conduct a wicked war of words from a distance, never completely comprehending the damage we do to one another.

There is no such thing as a black culture. There are people who have black skin.

There is no such thing as a white Native American, Hispanic, Asian, French, English, German or even NASCAR culture.

God gave us the personal space to make free-will choices, which if we sacrifice to be part of an artillery line of banging and clanging guns of words, is just another atrocity in an unrighteous war.

  • I am not white, I am human.
  • I am not of German descent, I am a person.

And if I’m going to do war with you, I’m going to have to face you eyeball-to-eyeball and express myself in a way that will communicate my conviction. I can’t sit in a roomful of white people and lob shells at the perceived enemy

It’s up to us:

The introduction of artillery gave us the ability to kill at a distance.

The introduction of “culture” has done the same.

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Thank you for enjoying Words from Dic(tionary) —  J.R. Practix

Adjunct

Words from Dic(tionary)

dictionary with letter A

Adjunct (n): a thing added to something else as a supplement rather than an essential part

I think it’s misspelled. It would be so much easier to understand if the word was “addjunk.”

Really, that’s what we all do. We add a bunch of junk to our lives as we journey, convincing ourselves that it’s priceless, only to spend most of our time shuffling it around from place to place, even though it is inconvenient and infrequently used.

About ten years ago I came to the realization that the only power in getting older was in being smart enough to travel lighter. I had so much unusable, often unrecognizable material hanging around me, like unwanted relatives stopping in for a loan, that I was often baffled as to whether there was enough space for me to live and breathe.

It was stupid. I had added so much junk to my human trailer that I was beginning to resemble white trash on my way to NASCAR. (This is not to say that ALL people who go to NASCAR are white trash. I speak by permission, putting into practice comedy, and quite bluntly, the law of averages.)

So what did I do? I started giving away everything I had not used in the previous sixty days. It was astounding–because things that I did not view as worthy of a two-month connection were valuable to others around me–sometimes even a life saver. I looked generous.

Now, I wasn’t really generous. It was a practical move to make sure there was enough oxygen in the room for me and my necessaries. In no time at all, I had grown lean and mean, and at my fingertips were all the goodies that I preferred, which by the way, were much easier to locate since they weren’t hiding under the freeloaders.

The second thing I did was I decided to live. Now I’m not talking about sucking in air or planning a shaving and bathing schedule.

If I wanted to do it, if it was practical, fruitful and in the spectrum of my abilities–I just did it.

Is there anything worse than people who are aging, who both lament getting older and also constantly offer regrets about their lack of accomplishment?

Shut up. It’s addjunk.

It seems that many people over fifty have only used their time and energy to practice becoming professional complainers. Here’s the key: give and live.

Give away everything you don’t need and live out what you want to do, and in the process find out if it was worth tackling.

I realize that to some degree this essay has nothing to do with the definition, but you can take that up with my boss.

(Ha, ha. I don’t HAVE a boss. I gave him away … so I could live.)