Tag Archives: outward appearance

Contact

Contact: (v) to communicate with someone

Despair often follows the conclusion that something is either complicated or perhaps impossible.

Matter of fact, if you want to discourage another human being, just spend too much time explaining the difficulty of a simple task. They will funny wisdom on words that begin with a Cnot only avoid pursuing it, but will be grateful to you for helping them to avoid the bee hive.

To a major degree, that is what has happened over the past fifty years, as our sociologists have turned racial relations into trigonometry.

Forsaking the notion of the commonality of all mankind and the idea that additional contact would soon eliminate our predilection for looking on the outward appearance, these learned fellows and ladies have concluded that our species prefers to clump into heaps of mutual culture.

Once we establish that somebody is from a different culture than us, our job is to respect them–which we think means to avoid them.

A lack of contact forbids having a “contact high” when we get around a person who looks different, speaks uniquely and dresses to taste.

You suddenly realize that all cultures have families.

Every culture has a potato derivative.

Every culture has their own hamburger.

And indeed, every culture, when contacted, can offer the same warmth and gentleness of love.

 

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Chair

Chair: (n) separate seat for one person

I was five years old the first time someone referred to me as “fat.” It came off the lips of Aunt Pruney-Face Fussypants. (I don’t recall her real
 name so I’m working off stage directions.)

She whispered to my mother, “Don’t let him sit in that chair. He’s too fat. He might break it.”

I don’t know if I was stunned, mystified, humiliated or defiant, but I went over and sat down in the chair anyway–just to prove that it would embrace me from the bottom up.

It held its ground.

Yet over the years, certain chairs have gone “snap, crackle and pop” when introduced to my backside. So I hbave developed the mystical ability to peer at a piece of furniture, determining its width and sturdiness. I avoid bargain-basement furniture, realizing that it’s only suited for an anorexic market.

Chairs are problematic when you’re large.

Large is problematic because you’re always looking for a chair.

Aye–there’s the rub.

So even though I have encountered tens of thousands of seating units on my journey, many had to be rejected by my prejudice toward their outward appearance.

 

 

 

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Buckteeth

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Buckteeth: (n) upper teeth that project over the lower lip.

In pursuit of truth and compassion, you find yourself in many a thorny patch.

Even though each one of us may insist that we want to be truthful and tender, our internal prejudices often grab us by the throat and Dictionary Bchoke out all the kindness.

This is especially true when it comes to teeth.

I don’t know what it is about teeth. I could say I never consider anyone’s teeth–but if they have missing ones, or buck teeth, I will notice and attribute a lack of intelligence to them because of it.

I feel bad about it. For some reason, this was transferred into my brain at an early age, and found such a resting place that eviction seems unlikely.

Yet I run across other people who think my teeth are flawed, but choose to be merciful.

My children were especially, notoriously obsessed with their teeth. But it takes a prince’s ransom to create straight teeth in the human head. If you multiply that times three or four kids, you may find yourself needing to go into piracy to procure the desired pearls in their mouths.

Buck teeth are tough.

It’s a simple protrusion, yet it connotes so much negativity that it almost has to be corrected to secure acceptance for the victim.

And victims they will be–because we have not yet reached the point where we can consider the intelligence, the spirit and the passion of other human beings without first contemplating their “dentality.”

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Bombshell

Bombshell: (n) a very attractive woman.

Sometimes it’s just not enough to attract.Dictionary B

Even though we spend a lot of money and too many hours trying to become more attractive, we also expend equivalent energy insisting that we are loved for something other than our outward appearance.

I guess there’s a great advantage to being ugly–because you know if you attract anyone in your direction, it’s legitimate.

From time to time I think about the life of Marilyn Monroe.

Whatever she truly wanted to achieve, she failed to accomplish, causing her to misuse drugs and end up the victim of an overdose.

What did she want?

She wasn’t totally innocent–in the sense that she certainly did use her sexuality to gain prominence. But once that was acquired, she was stuck with the perception that she was nothing more than a blithe, flighty, unaware female with a good body, tempting every man to prove that he could be her supreme lover.

The smirks, the snickers and the lascivious smiles that trailed her probably exhausted her already-burdened spirit, and made her wish for anonymity.

Or maybe she was just a spoiled brat, who wouldn’t have been happy with anything.

I don’t know.

Does anybody know?

But since human sexuality encompasses such a small amount of space in our lives, to give much effort to blow it out of proportion is tiresomely vain.

Yes, I imagine the true problem of being a bombshell is that you just never know when it’s going to blow up in your face. 

 

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Badlands

Badlands: (n) extensive tracts of heavily eroded, irretrievable land with little vegetation often found in the Southwestern U.S.Dictionary B

As much as I believe that God is a person, during my journey here on Earth, I value Him mostly as a concept.

What I mean is that since I am living in an atmosphere which determines quality by results, I must look for mortal conclusions instead of insisting on eternal ones.

I’ve learned this from dealing with conservatives and liberals.

In both parties there are certain issues, regions or individuals they have deemed “bad”–dare I say, irretrievable?

So sitting in San Francisco, talking to some of my more liberal acquaintances, I will relate to them about my journeys into Mississippi and Alabama as they roll their eyes and wonder what I could possibly hope to achieve by peddling my thoughts to the ignoramus.

In like manner, I have conversed with my conservative friends in Georgia, who heard that I was heading to Southern California, as they told me they would pray for me, hoping I would be able to do something to enlighten those “fruits and nuts” in the Golden State.

The greatest danger in the human experience is accidentally trying to transform one group of humans to divinity while forcing the remnant to live with the apes.

  • There are no badlands–just regions with a lack of vision.
  • There are no good lands–just territory where they use their talents.
  • There are no chosen people–just folks.

We will finally reach a sense of true spirituality when we take a hint from our Creator and stop living our lives peering at the outward appearance, and instead, begin to ascertain what is possible in the heart.

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Androgynous

dictionary with letter A

Androgynous: (adj) Partly male and partly female in appearance; of indeterminate sex.

It’s just one of those issues.

Yes–a contentious idea that causes the liberals and conservatives to hide in the weeds, giggling, waiting to see what stance you might take, so they can proclaim you either friend or enemy.

Such is the term androgynous.

Will I appease the conservatives by acting like I have a semi-sympathetic heart about those who “choose” to have such an appearance, while secretly I’m laughing at them with my friends behind their backs?

Or will I make the liberals rejoice by making a blanket statement of acceptance, while going off with friends and desperately trying not to bring it up again for fear of being judgmental?

Sometimes I grow weary of the battle between clown philosophies–“clown” in the sense that you feel the need to don a costume and exaggerate your features so as to prove your allegiance to the cause.

Concerning this word, I need look no further than myself:

I am a fat, white man of German descent. For some inexplicable reason, I have no hair on my legs or chest. Being overweight, I have pectorals that occasionally could pass for girly, sixteen-year-old breasts. My skin is not rough and I’m not a tumbling sort. Yet I fathered five children and still prefer women instead of men.

If I were walking around a locker room with a bunch of macho individuals, I might appear, in some ways, to be a bit more “ladylike” than they are. Yet some of them would be more comfortable, welcome and visually acceptable in a gorilla cage.

What does it all mean? I don’t know.

But I am certain of one immutable fact: the more we try to identify each other visually, by outward appearance, the less we have the eyesight of God.

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