Tag Archives: thistle

Achne

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter AAchne: (n.) small, dry, one-seeded fruit that does not open to release the seed.

Small. Dry. One seed. Won’t open. Doesn’t release.

You can imagine where my mind goes. Or maybe you can’t.

Having lived for a spell on this planet–blessed to be an American citizen and a person of faith, I do occasionally despair about how much we’ve allowed the fruitfulness of our beliefs to dry up and for the seed of newness to rot inside us instead of being released to grow.

I don’t think I’d be interested in seeing this particular fruit, would you? I suppose it has a function. I guess somebody can crack it open, rip the seed out, plant it in the ground and make more of the little dried-up boogers.

  • I’m tired of things remaining small because they’ve dried up and died around the seed that could have made them grow.
  • I’m tired of seeing, in my lifetime, freedom change into debate, which transformed into the tiny, dried-up kernel called political parties.
  • I’m sickened by a spirituality of Jesus which became the church and now is closed up in the sarcophagus of religion.

Maybe things have to get small, dry up and die in order for something else to live. But it doesn’t change the sorrow in my soul–to see the death of great ideas because we’re afraid to release the seed.

I hope I’m never an achne. Of course, there’s little chance I’ll ever be small. I work very hard not to dry up. And I never keep my seed on the inside. I’m casting it all the time into the earth around me, even though much of the ground is stony–and it gets choked by the thistles and thorns.

Abutilon

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Abutilon: (n.) a herbaceous plant or shrub of the mallow family, native to warm climates and typically bearing showy yellow, red, or mauve flowers.

Have you ever read anything and thought to yourself, “I didn’t get that? ”

So you read it again, and you come to the conclusion that you’re never going to get it.

I have absolutely no idea whatsoever what this plant–the Abutilon– would look like. I have to admit, I got a little stalled by “herbaceous.” I envision a kind of green, thistly thing growing out of the ground with very little purpose, considered by those who possess thumbs which are green, as a weed. But you see, often plants like that have only one survivable tactic–a single aspect that separates them from being a big, green, ugly stem: they sprout a flower.

I remember when I was a kid, I came running into the house with a whole bouquet of dandelions, freshly picked from our yard. My mother took them from my hands, threw them in the trash and said, “Those are weeds. We usually spray and kill them.”

I was devastated. To me they were pretty yellow flowers.

Do you ever wonder what makes us determine what is productive and what is cast aside? Are dandelions worthless because they grow in grass, which we want to be totally green, and they interrupt the spectrum by introducing yellow? And what is the nature of this plant–the Abutilon? I will never think about it EVER again. I KNOW I won’t.

But perhaps in an attempt to apologize for its herbaceous, bush-like nature, it sprouts a flower. That’s nice.

Maybe if everything that was a little bit ugly sprouted a flower, it would have a much better chance for acceptance.

Yet to be honest with you, I return to the fact that the entire definition for this particular plant baffled me from the onset and continues to leave me befuddled.