Tag Archives: stars

Create

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Create: (v) to cause to come into being

You created me.

So the story goes.

What was your intention?

Was I literally the next step in the evolutionary chain?

That would be fine. Yet I have to admit to you, I’m a damn far sight cuter than a chimpanzee. Maybe it was your time for a leap of faith.

The tale also includes that you created me in your image.

Which image?

Since you’re a spirit, there is no physical. So am I created in your spiritual image? (I’m sorry, I don’t think you’ll be able to buff out the dents I’ve generated in that situation.)

So what is your image? Well… I know you create. Duh.

So did you create me to be a creator? Will we compete? I suppose not. You can do the whole galaxy thing—I can make a telescope to see your stars.

So was I created to be creative? Was I evolved to further evolve? Or was I an accident due to some sort of ethereal busted rubber?

It’d be nice to know.

I must be candid with you—your response time is poor. Maybe it’s because the staff you have to work with consists of other humans like myself, easily carried away by their own fantasies, and they forget to be helpful.

I don’t know.

I refuse to be a chimpanzee. I don’t have the hair for it.

I’m reluctant to believe I was an accident.

I am waiting for an assurance agent, not an insurance agent. (See how creative I can be? What did you think of that assurance/insurance thing? A play on words.)

Maybe that’s what I am. Maybe you were making angels and you fucked some of them up and decided to rename them “human.” I can buy that. We’ve all had embarrassing workdays.

Here’s what I’m going to do:

I am going to believe that you created me in your image, which is a creative one, so that I would find a way to create, with the materials provided for me.

I don’t know whether this is right or not—but I do believe it promotes sanity.

It’s a much easier story to follow than me being a ping-pong ball in a fevered match between you and Beelzebub.

 

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Cowrite

Cowrite: (v) to co-author

Inspired.

Divinely inspired.

I don’t have a problem with either of these thoughts.

I’ve been inspired. I will even be so bold as to claim having been divinely inspired (if by divinity you include science, life, nature, humanity and breathing.)

Yet, I have a problem believing that something ever written by a mortal hand is minus all the twitches and nervous energy associated with that being.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Therefore, when you tell me that God wrote something, I become skeptical. My understanding of our Creator is that He is much more involved in the visual media of sunrises, sunsets, stars, planets, galaxies—and the universe, for that matter.

For any writer will tell you that the most dangerous thing to do is try to place truth in stone when your own mortality limits the comprehension of truth.

I fully understand that all those who ever wrote a “holy book” believed, in the moment, that their hand was overtaken by a divine spirit which urged them to convey the ideas.

But time marches on. What we believed to be true yesterday is not quite the same today.

And the search for “universal truth” really does not take us through volumes and volumes of thoughts and reflections, but rather, to the doorstep of a single emotion: love.

Maybe this is why a fisherman and cowriter once scrawled, “God is love.”


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Cosmic

Cosmic: (adj) of or relating to the cosmos

When I was in the first grade and they presented math problems for addition—like 4 + 3 and 2 + 7—I did them, believing that when I finished, I would know everything about mathematics.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

They didn’t tell me that subtraction was next.

They might have scared me off if they had talked about multiplication.

And, well, division is so divisive.

If they had shared that by the time I was in high school I would be studying something called calculus, which is mathematics taken almost to the realm of ethereal religion, I might have lost heart in the whole process—or stupidly, tried to jump ahead and take on “the big one.”

That’s the way I feel about people who are involved in religion, spirituality and the cosmic.

Here we have a beautiful Earth to learn, add up, subtract, multiply and even occasionally divide up into parts, and we are still tempted to study the heavens, the gods, the stars and the universal spectrum.

It doesn’t make us better people.

It sometimes makes us too high-minded about things instead of practical.

It certainly can make us self-righteous.

And in the long run, it pushes others away, who might like to have a conversation with us if it weren’t laced with “angels, planets and demons.”

There certainly is a cosmos.

But it seems to me that we should eat the plate that is set before us before we start ordering other things off the menu.

For our Earth is in great need of being befriended by those with bigger brains than the creatures who live in the jungle.

If we spend too much time looking at the stars, the Earth might turn into dust at our feet.


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Commiserate

Commiserate: (v) to express or feel sympathy or pity; sympathize.

It’s almost like the human being runs on two gas tanks. (Perhaps it’s foolish to try to compare our species to a combustible engine, but if you will forgive my simplicity, I will make the analogy.)

We have one gas tank that fuels us to achieve, and we have another tank that helps us putter along in self-pity.

Obviously, following this comparison through to a conclusion, the tank we fill up more often determines much of our happiness, success and value.

The problem comes when deciding where to place our feelings and attitudes when assisting others. Should we challenge, or should we commiserate?

And if we decide to encourage, which tank are we filling? Are we being sympathetic, which makes our friends believe they are victims? Or are we attempting to be uplifting, stirring them out of their doldrums?

It may sound tender-hearted to commiserate, but honestly, very little is achieved by filling up the self-pity tank of someone you love.

That engine has no power to do anything but sustain idle–not rocket them into the stars.

 

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Astronomy

dictionary with letter A

Astronomy: (n) the branch of science that deals with celestial objects, space, and the physical universe as a whole.

45 years ago.

April 22nd, 1970: the first Earth Day.

I was there for it. Well, actually, the truth of the matter is, the student body of our senior class was granted the afternoon off to plan a parade, and my girlfriend and I took the opportunity, being free from school, to go off someplace and neck. (I guess everybody has their own way of celebrating Earth Day.)

But when I thought about astronomy today, it seemed perfect for the occasion when we give honor to Mother Earth.

Because life is all about perspective and mission.

It doesn’t matter if you’re going to the grocery store or planning a trip to the moon. One always has to first gain perspective, and then plan the mission.

I often find myself looking to the stars and the heavens. Almost universally, the human race believes that God dwells somewhere in the vast expanse of the astronomical wonder. Whether that is true or not, a gaze into the sky will certainly give you perspective. For we truly are one small dot on a huge landscape of the universe.

Sometimes it makes me think about God. Oftentimes it gives me a humbling mingling of gratitude and humility.

But sooner or later, I need to take my eyes off the sky and place them on the scope of the work which is directly in front of me.

I need to gain mission.

And mission is very simple: what am I going to do today on Earth that is sensitive to the planet while still honoring the heavens?

I personally like Earth Day. It reminds me that I am an Earthling, while also letting me know that the stars twinkle above … gently viewing my progress.

 

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

Aquarius

dictionary with letter A

Aquarius (n): the eleventh sign of the Zodiac.

“This is the dawning of the …”

The next part of this lyric from the song in Hair is “…Age of Aquarius.”

I happen to really enjoy that production and the tune, even though I grew up in a religious environment which believed that all astrology was “of the devil.”

Yes. Leave it to Satan to come up with a practice where everything is left to chance and the moving of the stars.

So as a kid, it was difficult to sing the song, share the song or even refer to the song around grownups. They would warn me that I was welcoming in dark demons, which would later infest me with horrible attitudes like failing to pay my electric bill.

It was difficult–because truth is much like water. It tends to come from everywhere and surprise us with how similar it is, considering its divergent points of origin.

Some water comes from the mountains through melted snow.

Some from the sky.

Some from wells from deep within the earth.

But pour it in a cup, drink it down and it’s refreshing.

I have to be honest with you–the off-Broadway musical, Hair, did more to enlighten me, generate social consciousness and make me compassionate than any sermon I ever heard in church.

It was raw, a little silly and laced with too much hopefulness.

But without that kind of childlike faith, we all become cynical growling adults. And deep in my heart, I wish there was an Age of Aquarius. I dream of how wonderful it would be if the stars would shift, Jupiter would align with Mars and attitudes would improve.

But I think I’m stuck with the symbolism–or maybe I’m Jupiter and my brother is Mars and the truth of life is still stuck in the closet somewhere … of the seventh house.

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

Aerodynamic

Words from Dic(tionary)

dictionary with letter A

Aerodynamics: (n.) the study of the properties of moving air and especially of the interaction between the air and solid bodies moving through it.

I came to a conclusion yesterday: it’s really good that people can’t fly.

Actually there was no great revelation yesterday. I pretty much knew this all along. It’s just that when I saw the word “aerodynamics,” it brought my gratitude to the forefront.

It’s wonderful that the Creator gave every creature some specific ability, making it superior in a unique way to its neighbor.

  • Snakes crawl on their bellies.
  • Porcupines have quills.
  • Sharks have big teeth.
  • Skunks have … well … aroma.
  • And birds can fly.

Can you imagine, with the human ego, how annoying, obnoxious and even dangerous we would be if we flew??

Let’s just start with driving. As precarious as it may be to travel the freeway with other motorists, if that action was occurring up in the sky, where you would not only have a fender-bender but a fall to the earth as also well you can see, the results could be quite lethal.

And then there’s the problem of aerodynamics and air-lift–that skinny people would have even MORE reason to brag and feel superior to fat folks like me because they could “get up to three thousand feet” instead of hovering at three hundred.

Yes, that would be horrible–to not only be able to buy clothes off the rack at will, but also to touch the stars because you have five percent body fat.

I suppose it’s dangerous enough that we have built machines to fly us through the air, which make us believe that we are supernatural, yet we do fall from the heavens enough to confirm that we truly are not gods.

Aerodynamics is a wonderful study, best conducted in analyzing birds, airplanes and rockets.

Thank God my irritating friend Larry, from high school, was not able to achieve such heights. It was bad enough with im when he was discussing how much iron he could pump in the weight room. I can’t even imagine what he would have been like if he could have taken off and flown high over my head … to spit on me below.

Achernar

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Achernar: (n.) the ninth brightest star in the sky, visible only in the southern hemisphere.

That’s me. Of the eight stars available, I am the ninth brightest.

But you see, here’s the power. Or maybe better phrased, here’s the solution: if you realize you’re the ninth brightest star, it’s a good idea not to get caught up in number envy.

No matter how hard you try to promote that idea, the natural question to those reading your advertising material would have to be: “Hmmm. I wonder where the other eight are…”

I think the key to the whole definition is this: if you’re the ninth brightest star, become important by finding your own southern hemisphere. OK. Maybe you’ll never make it to the northern hemisphere. Maybe you’re stuck below the equator, the Mason Dixon line, the belly button or just underneath the radar.

It doesn’t mean you don’t have light.

The ninth star does not look dim unless it hangs around trying to compete with Numbers Three and Four. Only stubbornness, pride and foolishness would make such a stupid choice.

Things that have “gone south” still need to be “lit up.” And if you’re the ninth brightest star, that’s your job.

I occasionally have people walk up (even though they don’t literally “walk up.” That’s just a phrase authors use to establish perspective) and they ask me, “Don’t you wish you could reach more people? Don’t you wish you were more famous? Don’t you wish …”

“Wishing” is for fairies and lamp rubbers. I stopped wishing a long time ago and now spend my time considering, planning and performing what I can do. Somewhere along the line you have to leave the rest up to time, chance and the whim of God.

So there are only two important things to remember if you’re the ninth brightest star:

  1. Find a darker place–where you look really bright.
  2. Enjoy what you have to bring instead of wishing you had more.

That’s it. If you do that, you can be like our friend, Achernar: you can do a job and have a really difficult name to pronounce …  to further guarantee your obscurity.