Decrease

Decrease: (v) to diminish or lessen

I was a god.

A ruler by passion, muscle and erection.

Nothing seemed to matter other than me.

I forced myself to be humble.

I pretended to have brief spurts of weakness so as not to frustrate those who were trying to keep up.

I tried to run my life by my emotional and spiritual sensibility, but my energies far surpassed my willingness to be cooperative.

I was a man, a husband, a lover—a domineering force who tenderized my efforts through a studied understanding.

People called me dad. I was their father—and able to father more.

I was the one who lifted things.

I was the one who solved problems that involved movement and pounds.

I was strong.

And then one day—and it seemed like just one day—it changed.

The young men born into my house were suddenly surging.

  • I was present but not omnipresent.
  • I was potent but not omnipotent.

I saw them growing—each finding his place.

I spied them bringing intelligent people into their lives.

I was becoming a symbol, a memory—a standard.

It was time for me to decrease in my importance and allow the world around me and those I loved to increase in their decision-making will.

At first, I resisted—and when I did, the young ones were compelled by the natural order to pull away from me, to make their mark.

But when I realized that my decreasing gave license to their increasing, it brought me joy to know that somewhere in the vast unfolding, I still offered value.

I am no longer a god.

I had sons.

They brought daughters who birthed children.

I had to decrease so they could increase.

But in doing so, I found my better place.

Dazed

Dazed: (adj) to be stunned or stupefied

Perhaps the worst piece of advice I’ve ever received is, “Keep your cool.”

The words would be unnecessary to share if I weren’t in an environment where I had been dazed by a predicament or circumstance that left me reeling.

We Americans are very big on “cool.”

Often we even avoid apologizing because it doesn’t seem cool.

We certainly shirk our duties because we’re afraid it will be made obvious that we aren’t cool.

But as human beings, the chances of us being cool—especially when we want to be—are slim.

We’re just not cool.

Some people would take offense over this. I understand that.

It might even seem uncool to admit that you’re not cool.

But there is so much going on in the world today—twists, turns, tragedies, disasters and sometimes just a spirit of meanness—that if you have an ounce of sensitivity, it will pound on you.

You will feel dazed.

Often the word “confused” follows.

There is the unnecessary step.

I don’t know if I can pull off “dazed and cool,” but I certainly don’t need to be “dazed and confused.”

There is no plot against me.

There are no hellish demons chasing me, trying to destroy my life.

But there is a very specific natural order—and a scientific kingdom that needs to be honored to survive the pathway of Earth journey.

Mingled into all of it is a little word called “chaos.”

And even though chaos makes everything balanced (because it truly does rain on the just and the unjust) it can unfortunately leave us so dazed that we’re confused.

There is a maneuver I’ve learned.

When I’m going along with my plan and it begins to fall apart, I sit down.

If there’s a chair nearby, that’s fine.

If not, any piece of ground will do.

Because the worst thing to do when you’re dazed is to pretend like everything’s fine. That’s not cool—it’s dangerous.

And when you’re sitting, you’re much less likely to have your head whirl in confusion.

I may never be cool, but I don’t have to be confused.

When I become dazed, I’ll just find a place and sit for a spell—until the brain clears and sense returns.

Das Kapital

Das Kapital: (n) a work (1867) by Karl Marx, dealing with social strata and containing the tenets on which modern communism is based.

Some people view history as an exercise in deciding where to put the hats. I’m talking about choosing which characters get black hats, which get white ones and then, leaving some individuals hatless.

It is over-simplistic.

Das Kapital is a book written by a frustrated man who was tired of the inequity of capitalism.

If he were living today—maybe in his late twenties—he might just be running around wearing a Bernie Sanders t-shirt.

He might be objecting to the treatment of young black men in the urban communities.

And he certainly would be demanding equal pay for women, more respect for aliens entering the country and medical treatment to honor humanity rather than bowing to bank accounts.

Karl Marx basically believed that capitalism was a failed experiment which left too few wealthy, and way too many impoverished.

It is a sympathetic point when viewed solely in the pursuit of all things in life being even.

But as we learned from our friend, Charles Darwin, the universe is not balanced. It operates under “the survival of the fittest,” with creatures crawling over one another to gain predominance.

It’s rather humorous that these two men lived at the same time and their works were being passed around the intellectual community as if they were in agreement.

They were not.

Darwin insisted that the strongest survived.

Karl Marx contended that equality was essential to make society moral.

So which one is it?

Are we supposed to develop a world where everyone is taken care of in some balanced format?

Or does the natural order itself rebel against that idea and applaud the fittest, the strongest and in some ways, the most ruthless?

This is why I have always believed in faith.

For suggesting that generosity, sharing and balancing of goods can be established through the government or the people is a total farce.

No one gives up their turf unless their spirit initiates it. Why? Because we are creatures of Darwin’s drama, trying to find a way to still appear equitable, as in Karl Marx’s Das Kapital.

There you have it.

This is why things are so messy and dishonest.

Any Christian sitting in a sanctuary would find some of the teachings of Jesus of Nazareth on point with Das Kapital by Karl Marx.

But that same believer would also find the opinions of Jesus of Nazareth to coincide with Darwin’s Origin of the Species.

For the overwhelming message of Earth is very simple:

The system of the Natural Order is cruel.

So how do we overcome the cruelty?

  • Learn the Earth.
  • Get good at it.

And when you’re successful, strong, in position, share with those you meet who have been left out or overwhelmed by it.

 

Conservative

Conservative: (adj) a person who is averse to change

I have never and will never jump off a cliff with a bungee cord.

Unless the airplane is going to crash, I have no intention of sky diving.

I don’t think it’s a good idea to take my monthly rent and gamble it in Las Vegas.

I have noticed that having sex with too many different partners opens the door to veneral disease.

I find it unwise to run red lights in heavy traffic.

Eating jalapenos seems to be an interesting idea until a couple of days pass and you find out why you shouldn’t eat so many of them.

Even though I am desperately against judging people, I would like to distance myself from certain folks who are about to be judged by the Natural Order.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Some daredevils would read this list and say, “Aha! A conservative!”

I also believe in loving my neighbor as myself.

I think we are the caretakers of the Earth and should be careful how we use it, lest we lose it.

I do not see anything wrong whatsoever with racial mixing, and for us to become unified in the human race.

I am curious about whether solar energy could be useful for us, so we don’t have to burn the juices of dead dinosaurs or steam up coal chunks with smoke destroying the atmosphere.

I don’t believe there’s a great difference between men and women, but instead, promote the idea of equality.

I think religion is fine as long as it’s not religious, making people feel less, thinking that God will love them more.

I don’t evaluate people based upon their bedroom habits–since it is not my intention to share a bedroom with them.

A politician from Mississippi would read my list and say, “Aha! A Yankee liberal!”

And you wonder why I have grown weary and exhausted with categories and titles.

 

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Consequence

Consequence: (n) a result or effect of an action or condition

It is astounding that the Creator, along with Mother Nature, allows infirmity for those who have become wiser, and grants energy to the stupid.

When I was much younger, I had a “F.A.T. Me” philosophy. To put it in common, everyday, street lingo, it stands for: “Fucking Adjust To Me.”

I recognized that people did matter, traditions were in place, and even, to some extent, that the natural order of the Earth cycled in with purpose.

Yet if any of that contradicted my immediate desire, my attitude was “F.A.T. Me.”

It took many years of consequences–which refused to adjust to me–to finally conclude that pain was certainly worse than me evolving toward reason.

Now, what makes this interesting is that the transition I’m speaking of is not determined by age. God knows there are people in their seventies, even eighties, who funny wisdom on words that begin with a C
still think that everyone should “fucking adjust to them.”

They start out with a frown, then heave a deep sigh, hoping to scare you away from your objection, and then, if you persist, come with a full onslaught of incessant complaining.

If you give in, you are subject to the height and breadth of their insight.

If you decide you don’t want to battle the entire Earth, but instead, stand against their predilection, you will have to endure some really nasty attitude.

There are consequences that have been in place for so long that they are not impressed with the F.A.T. ME.

The sooner you realize that the Earth has been doing the Earth for so long that it pretty well knows what is “Earth-like,” then you can grow up–and be a successful Earthling.

 

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Common Sense

Common sense: (n) good sense and sound judgment in practical matters

Many years ago I wrote a book called “The Gospel According to Common Sense.”

I was very young.

I did a radio talk show, and the fellow asked me, “How would you define common sense?”

Now, one would think I would be prepared for that question, since I wrote a book with “common sense” in the title. But I think I was expecting “what is your favorite color?” much more than a legitimate question that had meaning.

But fortunately for me, I did not freak out.

I paused. Then I said, “To me, common sense is where Father God and Mother Nature sit down and agree.”

God might be a little idealistic, and the Natural Order does tend to be gruff and unforgiving.

But common sense is where mercy and Mother Earth embrace one another, and come up with ways to make things function–ways that don’t hurt anyone, have a bit of genius to them, and are so simple that everybody can do them.

We don’t talk much about common sense nowadays because we like to alienate ourselves off from others by proving our superiority–be it intellectually, spiritually or racially.

Common sense is looking for a logical solution that also happens to be common to us all.

If you’re determined to be better than the people around you, you might find common sense insulting.

If you’re depressed and think the whole world is out to get you, you might avoid common sense because it robs you of your vacation into self-pity.

There is no real power in life unless you can get God and Mother Nature to work together–His will being done on Earth as it is in heaven.

Yeah. There you’ve got it.

Common sense: heavenly answers that still work on Earth.

 

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Cohabit

Cohabit: (v) to live together

Even though, like any “Frosty poet,” I enjoy a good walk in the woods, there is something that interfaces with me as I feel pine needles under my soles: all the creatures of nature are a little bit frightened of me as a human being because I’m a horrible roommate.

I don’t honor my space. Sometimes I’m late on the rent. I cook up things and leave dishes behind.

And I spread my trash everywhere, assuming that it will be taken care of by either other beings, or time and chance.

So there is a look in the eye of the racoon and a squint from the squirrel that tells me they have no intention of relinquishing their right to the ecosystem. They will fight like hell if I attack their nest or if I suggest they should be ousted from their dens.

There is a palpable defiance mingled with a pleading in their glance.

“Come on, you dumb shit. Can’t you just get along? Can’t you co-habitate with us? Do we have to growl, bite, and escape all of your plans to eliminate our species?”

Nature is kind of pissed with human beings. Why?

  • We decide to blame God, even though there’s a natural order which was put in place billions of years before any of us urped up our first mother’s milk.
  • We are so pretentious.
  • We are so easily offended.
  • We are the Mother-Earth-children of all brattiness.

Because the truth is, we aren’t satisfied with scrunching salmon and terrifying tigers. We start doing it to each other–using a color code. Sometimes it’s based upon evaluating genitalia.

But because we can’t cohabit the Earth with the turtle, we suddenly find ourselves very intolerant of those of our own race–who like to take things a little slower.

 

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Clot

Clot: (n) a thick mass of coagulated liquid, especially blood

We bleed.

If punctured–if the skin is pierced–blood comes forth.

It’s red. Some people would say maroon. I’ve heard crimson and burgundy also. It’s in the red family–as we are all in the human family–which bleeds.

Here’s the amazing part–we certainly want to stop the bleeding, and we can do so with confidence. Because if we just buy some time, the bleeding stops by
forming its own clot.

It is a study of nature–the Natural Order has its problems, but also offers solutions.

Such is the case with bleeding and clotting. It’s a reassuring thought.

Yesterday I looked down at my arm and saw that I had scratched myself. The only reason I knew was some blood had erupted to the surface. It was dried and clotted.

I took some alcohol, washed it off and finally got down to the original, tiny scratch, which then threatened to bleed again. But with a few swipes of alcohol, it was encouraged to stay home.

It is greatly comforting that even though I am a creature who bleeds–spiritually, emotionally, mentally and physically–built within me is the benefit of the clot.

I probably won’t bleed to death unless the blood comes out much too quickly. Then, if I can stop the gusher, I can set healing in motion.

In many of my relationships, I have the evidence of wounds which are scabbed over.

It’s not pretty–but it’s not bleeding.

And the memory of the scab, which is later followed by the scar, reminds me of how foolish it is to jeopardize well-being in an attempt to usurp my authority.

We bleed. We clot. It is a magnificent example of self-correction.

It’s what makes me believe in a Universal Physician, who realized how we might get wounded, so placed within us the first fruits of healing.

 

 

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Bother

Bother: (v) to take the trouble to do something.

The solution to all of our problems is wedged between “Don’t bother me” and “Why bother?”Dictionary B

For after all, our unwillingness to be bothered by “the truth that makes us free,” causes us to be cynical about anyone else.

Since I know I am not going to change, why bother changing you?

So we’re convinced we should accept our own inadequacy, and assume everyone else will be equally as inadequate.

It’s really a simple adjustment.

Life is not trying to bother us–it’s trying to teach us the pattern of the Natural Order. And the true essence of greatness is discovering how to enlighten others without feeling the need to act as their instructor.

This leads to a glorious conclusion:

I will change because change saves me.

I will help you find a similar salvation by making the change in my life seem appealing.

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Biological Clock

Biological clock: (n) an innate mechanism that controls the physiological activities

Dictionary B

Some years ago, a friend asked me to come and stay at his house. He showed me my room and when I noticed that the alarm clock sitting next to the bed had the incorrect time, he explained that I was welcome to try to change it, but that he had found that the clock always reverted to being exactly fifty-two minutes fast.

So rather than throwing it away, he had decided to adjust.

I squinted at him, a bit perturbed, but during my week-long stay, found myself becoming quite adept at time-transfer.

I bring this little story up because to a large degree, we have done this with the human race.

We have totally ignored the natural biological time schedule of human growth, and instead have inserted a social structure which has nothing to do with the reality of our personal timetable.

In other words, puberty begins in the early teens–but we strongly suggest that people refrain from marriage until their early thirties.

A woman’s primal time for having babies is 14-35, but if we don’t marry until we are thirty, then there has to be a real rush if we’re going to squeeze in our 1.8 children into the statistical anomaly.

I suppose we could try to become more sensitive to the natural order of human activity, but that would require that we ask our children to skip being rebellious, foolish and slackered teenagers and instead, take on the mantle of adulthood much earlier.

This would be ridiculous.

What would we ever do with video games, juvenile detention centers, drug rehabilitation facilities and over-expenditure on trendy clothes? We might actually infuse premature emotional stability and spirituality into our offspring before they have a chance to sow wild oats–which, by the way, are rarely usable for making bread.Donate Button

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