Cry

Cry: (v) to weep or shed tears

Sometimes we grumble that nothing is getting better.

It may seem that the surrounding world is out of control and we are stuck moving at about 30 miles per hour.

So it is refreshing to allow oneself to consider the things that have improved and progressed us, instead of maintaining a cave-man attitude, wearing better clothes.

One of those things is crying.

We used to believe that crying was for women and small children. Men either didn’t cry or cried so quietly that you could not tell they were actually weeping.

It was considered a sign of weakness.

Then something changed.

Maybe it was the realization that three or four dozen football players working their asses off to win a game, only to lose it by one point in the last three seconds, did evoke tears—and there was nothing to be ashamed of.

Yes, we did become a better race when we realized that men cry as much as women. They have just learned how to mask it and not completely break down sobbing.

I cry.

I like to cry.

I’m trying to learn to cry without needing the stimulus of feeling sorry for myself. There’s a certain nobility to mourning for the needs and losses of others. I mean, I know what to say when I’m around a fellow human being who’s hurt.

But I’m not satisfied with how little I feel.

For instance, I am still very much relieved that it’s not me who’s going through the trouble. I want to express my sentiments of support and hope but not turn it into an all-day affair.

Mainly, I would like to do more to remove tragedy, sadness and despair from the world around me, so I don’t have to try to work it up inside myself or fail to do so and feel like a jerk.

I cry.

Unfortunately, most of the time I cry for myself.

But every once in a while, the Spirit that lives within me breaks through, wins the day and allows me to feel what it’s like to be another—and be tragically damaged.

Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.

I never thought of it before, but until we allow ourselves to cry, we’re not putting the troubles out of our lives.

We’re just putting them out of our minds.

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Cross-Legged

Cross-legged: (adj) having the legs crossed

The greatest gift that Mother Nature and Father God can impart to you is a weakness.

Without a weakness, you begin to believe you’re self-sufficient and don’t need help from any outside source. On top of that, you might just create deceitful interpretations of the truth when its proven that you are not “all that and a bag of chips.”

A weakness gives you the ability to know where to start working every single morning.

A weakness warns you that too much confidence is blustering wind with no lightning or rain.

A weakness makes you more compassionate to other people who happen to share a “soft spot” in their abilities—just like you.

A weakness is what makes you strong.

I do not know whether I was born fat, possess a fat gene—or if I’m just caught in the middle of some metabolic paradox.

But my obesity has created a weakness in my life.

Some people may consider it a weakness of my own making, or perhaps one created by my parents “making out.”

It doesn’t make any difference. I’ve had to base my journey on working around my girth—beginning at my birth.

Therefore, I can tell when one ounce leaves and seven pounds arrive to comfort my body over the loss.

I know when I’m on a good spin and when my health is being spun.

I don’t need a mirror to observe the “battle of the bulge.”

For you see, one of the ways I have always been able to tell whether I am beginning to move toward a more normal weight or traveling into the morbid regions of obesity is:

The simple action of crossing my legs.

Now, at this point every fat person in America reading this will howl with laughter, and every skinny-ass individual will turn and look quizzically at another scrawny person as if to say, “What does he mean?”

For when you’re fat, your thighs have grown a fondness for each other and are accustomed to being close. If you think about it, crossing your legs demands that these thighs develop autonomy. Also, your joints—which are essential for convincing one leg to go above the other—are sometimes jammed up with fat globules, which makes the process of crossing one’s legs quite athletic, if not painful.

Therefore, during times of weight loss, I have celebrated my victory with a leg-crossing—occasionally only able to maneuver the “wish bone variety,” where the right foot rests upon the left knee. But a few times, I was actually able to have the legs completely crossed—where the right knee appeared to be humping the left one.

When this has happened I have actually teared up—mostly because it was such a blessing to do such a simple thing.

But partially because being foreign to me, it was as uncomfortable as hell.

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Clod

Clod: (n) a stupid person

A novel, noble notion just came to my brain. If I could turn it into a lifestyle choice, I might just transform myself a decent human being.

No promises.

What if I could tell myself that I will not criticize, condemn, mock or marginalize any other person who is doing something that I have–at least once–done myself?

Can you imagine that?

Can you comprehend how much ammunition I would remove from my “judgment gun?”

For I will tell you for certain: I have been a clod.

I have been a stumbling, bumbling sweaty mess of gelatin, trying desperately to impress, as I proceeded to diminish any confirmation that I had a brain in my head.

I fumbled.

I bumbled.

I said the wrong thing at the wrong time, and failed to do what was right to the right person.

I have been a clod.

I have been a stranger in a strange land, and that land was “Intelligence.”

I am clumsy–often without excuse, still feeling the need to make one.

If I could just learn that such weakness is much more acceptable if I do not treat others differently than I want to be treated myself.

For you being a clod is no different from me being a clod, which is absolutely the same thing as “clod-dom” everywhere.

Yes, if I would just stop condemning those who have done what I have also done, I would lighten my emotional workload by at least a ton–every single day.

 

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Classless

Classless: (adj) having no class

If beauty is in the eye of the beholder, then kindness may only dwell in the mind of God.

We seem to have an excuse for every occasion when we resort to crude behavior. At least I do. (Forgive me for speaking for you.)

Being rude is usually a by-product of a reaction which comes quickly. We just don’t train ourselves enough before going out in public.

Oh, yes–we must practice our humanity. It is needful for us to envision scenarios when we are offended, shut out of the moment, so we can have some idea what is going to pour forth from our personality.

We should be saying “I’m sorry” a whole lot less because we have taken into consideration the possibility of affrontation.

For after all, some of our fellow-travelers do not feel powerful unless we are weakened.

They don’t sense their value unless everyone around them has been put in the bargain bin.

And they don’t wish to be nice because they view it as a definable weakness.

If you don’t practice class, you will be classless. If you hang around with folks who insist that you don’t need to say, “Thank you” or “I appreciate that,” it’s only because they plan on starving you from that warmth coming from them.

My family often thinks I am silly, because in the process of any given evening, I may say, “thank you” a hundred and twenty times. As you consider how excessive that may be, I am musing over how I could do it more.

When I do something good, I make sure I enjoy it thoroughly, because stumbling around waiting for others to express their admiration is a formula for deep depression.

We are a classless society simply because we are waiting for someone else to start it up, and no one has taken the time to put the fuel in their engine to accelerate toward tenderness.

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Broken

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Broken: (adj) damaged and no longer in one piece

I walk with heavy hooves.

So recently, when I was passing through a lobby, I felt some of the tiles creak under my feet.Dictionary B

It was a bit embarrassing.

I looked down and there was no evidence of damage. In other words, nothing was broken.

But because I felt that “take from my give,” and heard that sound, I had to believe there was a weakness in those tiles. In other words, somewhere along the line, one of them was going to break because I passed by.

Or maybe not.

Perhaps that particular tile was just too tight or had some unnecessary stiffness which was merely relieved by my passing.

How do you know when something’s broken? How can you be sure that it requires repair?

Because I have been sick and performed at a top-notch rate.

I have sprained my ankle and still gotten around from place to place.

So I guess the definition is pretty simple: something is truly broken when it stops working. It ceases to perform the function it was intended to achieve.

There are many things in our society that have been broken for decades, which we continue to pretend are just fine–free of the need for repair.

  • Religion
  • Politics
  • Marriage
  • Child custody
  • Abortion
  • Murder

Well, I could go on and on.

These are things that are obviously broken, but because we have people hold them in great regard, we promote their strength.

Sometimes it’s good to admit something’s broken.

Because I am often astounded … how quick the fix.

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Besiege

Besiege: (v) to purposely surround

Dictionary B

Good intentions are the excuses we are prepared to make when we know, deep in our hearts, that we may just be interfering.

It really comes down to two words: hug or surround.

What is the difference? If you’re standing at a distance, they can appear to be the same thing:

  • In both cases, they resemble an embrace.
  • In both cases, they bring you close to the source of your focus.
  • And in both cases, they temporarily confine others to your moment’s emotion.

But a hug is something you want–or even need.

Being surrounded is the whim of the person who’s decided for you what you need.

You can see, one is quite the opposite of the other.

There is a general weakness in the human race which makes us feel that we are responsible to make other people as devoted, sacred, disturbed or entrenched as we are–even if it doesn’t make them happy.

We don’t want to be a testimony to others–we prefer taking the role of judge and jury.

So in my journey, I’ve discovered that even though I think I have an insight on the predicament or progress of other human beings, I will stand afar and allow them to know that I’m available … but not besieging them with my presence.

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