Tag Archives: sanctuary

Commode

Commode: (n) a concealed chamber pot

Unexpectedly and much to my surprise, during the news cycle recently, “shithole” became a point of discussion.

Even though I find myself to be a person of some insight, and maybe even able to offer a prediction from time to time, “shithole” sideswiped me.

It reminded me of being a young man and having to deal with the subject of the bathroom.

Since most people don’t take baths anymore, and were unwilling to call it the “shower room,” relegating that to sporting facilities, we do need a name for that very important sanctuary for our natural release.

Truthfully, lots of folks are repulsed by the word “toilet.”

“Potty,” aside from being extraordinarily pretentious, also is now tied to a potty-mouth, which means you are susceptible to using all sorts of foul language and profanity.

Yet even though it has become part of the commentating on television, “shithole” is a little strong for me. It’s the kind of thing a bully would say to you when you walked out of the restroom in highschool, to make you feel uncomfortable.

“How’d it go in the shithole?!”

Of course, there is no appropriate response to the question: “The shithole was fine!” Or, “I don’t call it a shithole. I call it a commode.”

No, I have never referred to the porcelain fixture in the water closet as either a loo or a shithole.

I’m actually without terminology.

Sometimes I try variants–to see if there might be a favored word among my friends. But I’m still confused at how to express for a significant part of my journey.

I neither “take a shit,” nor do I “poop.” Nor have I done any “loaf pinching.”

I have referred to it as porcelain, but not a throne.

And of all the terms, “dump,” for me, is the least appealing.

I think the secret code we developed as children still has some universal possibility:

Simply hold up one finger–or two–to announce one’s intention.

 

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Bury

j-r-practix-with-border-2

Bury: (v) to put or hide under ground.

Everyone loves a good resurrection. No one wants to bury anything, to see if it can be awakened.

Yes, for a resurrection to occur or even for a revival to be plausible, we have to admit something is dead–and bury it.

How do we decide if something is dead?

It doesn’t have a pulse.

There’s a good sign. The lack of a pulse is a pretty clear indication that something should be buried.

It doesn’t have breath.

We find ourselves staring at it instead of experiencing conversation, with enthusiastic ideas spurting forth.

It starts turning gray.

Yes, even when things are valuable, you need to make sure they don’t turn old.

It decays.

And as it starts to fall apart, it stinks. Maturity is when we stop pretending that something isn’t smelling up the joint, and we talk about how bad it reeks.

It’s not responsive.

The world is going on around it, and there is no acceptance, realization, acknowledgment or participation.

It’s in the way.

Because it does not offer contribution, it clutters.

There are many things in our society which are dead and need to be buried, but we keep them around because we have a flag to commemorate them, a sanctuary to revere them or an office building to house them.

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Bond

Bond: (v) to be joined securely to something else

Putting my shoes on.Dictionary B

It’s a confirmation that I’m heading somewhere–usually out the door.

So footwear has a special significance to me. It tells me I’m ready. It tells me I’m going to be moving from my place of personal sanctuary into the coliseum of fellow-gladiators.

At that point, I need to understand one immutable reality: I must bond.

  • I must find a reason to get along with others.
  • I must be looking for commonality.
  • I must carry a pocketful of logic to pay the toll on a highway of misunderstanding.
  • I must realize that even though the humans around me may put on ugly masks or disguise themselves behind clown noses, beneath all that fakery is another soul not so different from me.
  • I must penetrate color.
  • I must be able to incorporate another gender.

I must find the bond … or stop being surprised that the whole damn world seems unglued.

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Antediluvian

dictionary with letter A

Antediluvian: (adj) of or belonging to the time before the Biblical flood

I must not be the only one–or if I am the only one, I would have to question why I find myself alone.

I would enjoy being allowed to believe in a God who loves people, challenges us to excellence, and asks us to be tolerant of one another without being tied in with barefoot, emotionally Neanderthal sorts who seem to permeate the sanctuary of spiritual thought with outdated concepts and hurtful expletives.

It is very easy in an agnostic-driven society to become the target of pseudo-intellectual critics who try to trap you into defending Jonah and the whale, Daniel in the lion’s den and Noah and the flood.

Recently when I told a friend that I believe that the trinity of God, Nature and Science have no argument with one another and are complementary, he became incensed, insisting that he wanted them separate because the charm of each one lies in its difference from the others.

I was bewildered by that thought. I decided to leave him to his own mental escapade and walk off quietly into the distance.

If there was a great flood, there was also a great season of evolution which preceded it, where dinosaurs walked the face of the earth.

I have no problem with that.

I don’t look at stories from the Good Book as being eyewitness accounts with accompanying photographs. I look at them as tales passed from one generation to another, to encourage the fresh offspring to pursue kindness, goodness, gentleness and hope.

Unfortunately, like in any book, extra narrative is thrown in which does not advance the story.

  • I want to believe in God without having to defend the writings that surround Him.
  • I want to love people because God loves people, without believing that some of them are chosen and others, uncircumcised.
  • I want to live my life with a sense of purpose and emotional grandeur instead of feeling as if I am “one with the walrus.”

I don’t think I’m alone here.

When religion stops putting pressure on mankind to be morally astute, and atheists realize that a life without a Father turns this joint into an orphanage, we will actually begin to make progress … through our humanhood with one another. 

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