Day 140: The Anti-Social Socialite



I have determined I am socially anti-social. I like most people. And, quietly diagnose the rest. Instantaneously inspecting and segmenting out the best. Experience has taught me the importance of caution with preliminary tests.

 
When around my circle I genuinely enjoy the familiarity of completed jokes. The knowing looks across wood stained tables. I connect.

 
Yet, in solace, I am free. Here the jokes are funnier somehow. Here somewhere the looks are deeper. I am one.

 
Yep, a little more anti than social.​
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Day 137: The Response


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I have friends who are atheist. I have friends who agnostic. I have friends who are Christians and friends who ascribe to another religion or no religion at all. Their belief in a deity or lack of belief is not a prerequisite for our friendship to flourish. Primarily, because I understand the experience principle.

 

Reality forms from one’s experience. The attribution exists in a collective oration. I’ve discussed this before. The idea nothing is truly real until you experience its’ realness first-hand.

 

Yet, I know empirically that my God is real and when sought the deity shows forth as Emmanuel.

 

You cannot see what you cannot believe. You will not believe what you refuse to see. The principle of a harden heart.

 

If you take the cap off your beliefs, God will take the cap off your sight. The principle of the promise.

 

As always the choice is yours, but the response is not.

 

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Day 135: The Underlined Reason


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There is a reason the caterpillar transitions into a cocoon before becoming a butterfly.

There is a reason little seedlings are planted after the last winter frost.

There is a reason you do not move into a home until it is complete.

In the past, I have contemplated the theoretical concept of playing dead without being dead.

Like most things, the understanding and application resonate with one’s perspective of death.

For some immobility is a form of death.

For others decimation of growth is death.

Medically speaking the loss of neurological function is death.

Ironically, this is not about death at all, but the symbolism of death’s characteristics.

I have observed, at different stages humans invoking death’s characteristics as a form of survival.

In school, we remain silent even when we know the answer out of unsupported fear of being wrong,

In relationships, we fabricate or eviscerate our feelings out of fear of losing the relationship.

In our jobs, we ride the assembly line even though we have already been assembled.

We fear the risk that does not pay off.

We fear the truth that does not reveal.

We fear the hope that does not produce.

And so, the caterpillar never becomes the butterfly

The seedling never becomes a rose.

And, the house never becomes a home.

Yet, change the perspective and the theoretical becomes the reality.

I know a king who was born a servant.

I know a servant who became a king.

I know a king who died a criminal but became an advocate.

His camouflage was a necessity to his survival.

The ruse surrounding his birth was predicated on hidden truths remaining hidden until their appointed unveiling.

It makes you wonder if he always knew who he would become.

You might even speculate if it came to him in the midnight hour.

Perhaps the helper showed him the way.

In any case, once he knew, he began to walk as he had caught the clue.

Until his payment was due.

The ideology bears witness to the theoretical supposition of the original thought.

Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.

And just because you know, doesn’t mean you divulge.

Sometimes the greater victory is not in the now but in the latter.

Bridle the tongue so the mouth may speak.

If the caterpillar refused to hibernate, it would never become the butterfly.

If the seedlings were never nurtured, they would never become roses.

If the tree was never cut, the house would never become a home.

You cannot reach the finish line if you never run the race.

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Day 69: Real Love


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Real love invokes the need for abstaining.

Real love invokes words like duty and honor.

Real love senses deceit.

Real love preserves.

Real love promotes needs over wants.

Real love redraws the outcome.

Real love solidifies positions.

Real love cannot be conquered.

Real love can only be surrendered.

The evolution of self is predicated on the invocation of real love.

Identify then rectify.

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Day 68: The Love Clue


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I love me some me.

I am not being vain.

I am acknowledging a truth, I di-d not know.

A truth I could not see.

But a truth nonetheless.

I simply loooo’-ve me some me.

 

When I discovered who I could be.

I act-u-ally fell more in love with me.

A vessel, you say?

A jar you proclaim!

A promise you whisper.

A proclamation you delivered.

To give of this, the val-u-e o of the exchange must be equ-i-tably measured.

 

Because I ab-so-lute-ly pos-itive-ly love me some me.

And it is my hope, you love you, some you.

Otherwise, you have missed the clue.

And, I bid you adieu.

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Day 67: Sacrifice


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The lock locked.

The tie straightened.

The button buttoned.

 

The tear fell.

The heart pumped.

The pen signed.

 

The accepted challenge read,

 

If it would save someone’s life later, could you walk away, indefinitely, so it would?

If you could, would you have the wherewithal to usher in its unplotted course?

 

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Day 5: Conflicted Mourning


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This was not the intended first published piece of 2017.

I have written other works of art centered around my reflective learnings of 2016. I wrote the inspired words and set them aside. I learned this technique awhile back. Write with passion. Write with emotion. Write whatever comes forth then set it aside. Forget about the infused emotional, thoughtful, and provoking life I left on the screen. Let their fire dim. Let their virtuosity wane. Let logic overrule. Let the pain and anguish of their meaning flicker out like the last flame of a well-burnt candle.

Then and only then return to the scene. Shift through the ashes. Search out the treasures. Breathe in the remnants of what remains. Ask the only question that matters. Are the words still true? Publish, if yes. Revamp, if no.

My confliction causes me to break away, if only for tonight, from this writing ritual.

Prepared I knew. We are not a family of jesters. Sure, we joke and laugh at the appropriate times. Yet, we are planners and thinkers. He had been preparing my mother. And, my mother had been preparing us. So I knew. I was prepared.  I was aware. The signs came with each fleeting day.  I expected the call more than once. I knew what steps to take in order to be available. I held back tears with each new revelation. The diagnosis was clearer with each update. Not through what was said, but by what was withheld.

The urgency came. The call was made. The words were spoken. He’s passed away she spoke. There it is. The confliction of heart, mind, and spirit. I feel it. I cannot fully name it, but I sense it. The heart aches because his temporal presence has left. The mind is grateful the pain and confusion he experienced in his final days are over. The spirit rejoices because his soul now rests where no more harm can come to him in the form of “treatment”. I feel it all and I feel none of it. The medical attempts to save him reduced his quality of life in the final weeks, if not months, so I pray his mother and my grandmother greets him upon his arrival as her memory consoles me now.

I feel it all and I feel none of it. The medical attempts to save him reduced his quality of life in the final weeks, if not months, so I pray his mother and my grandmother greets him upon his arrival as her memory consoles me now.

For this is how I learned to express what is sometimes inexpressible. I am a stoic soul with a complex heart. It is here the emotions intersect with the logic to usher in the therapy mere condolences cannot bring. Here my gift allows me to sit in my Father’s lap. In a place, my stoic soul with a complex heart – can experience the caress that does not bend and does not break. For this was not the intended published first piece of 2017, but it was needed.

You will be missed, but not forgotten.

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Day 341: Rollcall


 

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Stand at attention.

You have been assigned a new mission.

Be on guard.

Always ready to take charge.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Day 339: Cultivation


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If you cultivate the right things there will come a time

where cultivation is no longer required.

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Day 335: Anchor


 

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What is an anchor?

Anchors are strong.

Anchors provide support.

Anchors hold vessels in place.

Anchors deliver content to the public.

Anchors can also prevent you from  moving when you need to move.

Anchors can become a hindrance.

Anchors left unsecured can cause you to unexpectantly drift off course.

Anchors reliant on others can distort the truth.

 

Anchors exert power in a team sport.

Anchors attract consumers in a retail structure.

Anchors are fixed similar to true North.

Placing the anchor in the wrong position can cost you the race.

Placing an anchor in quicksand can sink the ship.

 

What is my point?

For every use, there is a consequence for improper positioning.

You can have all the support, all the talent, and all the wherewithal in the world.

Yet, if you use an anchor out of position, you will sink instead of swim.

 

You do not place detergent in the water after all the dishes have been washed.

You do not paint the wall after all the pictures have been hung.

You do not prepare for the job after the candidates have been selected.

 

So often we hear people say, “I was in the right place at the right time”.

Conversely, they might say, “I was in the wrong place at the wrong time”.

In both of these statements, they were in a position to receive some obscure action or value.

 

Before I wrote my first sentence, I had to learn my first word.

Before I learned my first word, I had to be taught my alphabets.

Before I was taught my first alphabet, I had to learn how to talk.

 

Every development had an equally important precursor.

Without the first, there can be no latter.

 

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