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Criticism is welcome to me. Criticism is the honing stone upon which I am sharpened.
In reading the gospels we are reading something that somebody said to yet somebody else a very long time ago. As quoted in the bible, when Jesus spoke, logically and semantically, he was speaking to the person(s) standing immediately before him. But, if we take it personally, if we take it to heart, he is speaking directly to us (the readers), so that, when he said:
“…Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect.”
(Matt. 5:48 KJV)
He was in fact speaking directly to us or, especially, to me – today.
In order to comprehend this, one must first accept certain premises:
1) One definition of father is as the originator, e.g., “George Washington was the father of our country.”
2) God is the Father/Creator of the whole universe, and you, as part of that creation, are thus, his child.
3) You accept Christ as your lord and you become subject to him, (i.e., as one knight accepts another as his overlord), his words become his will and thus a commandment directly to you.
Under these premises, when I read “ye” in the above quotation he is speaking directly to me.
On the other hand, whenever you read “ye” he is speaking directly to you.
Humanity seeks perfection but does it the hard way, pointing critical, accusing fingers at each other, instead of putting forth the effort of perfecting themselves. He did not say: “Make them perfect.” But, rather: “Be ye therefore perfect.”
I’ve given up on trying to make others perfect. It’s just not working. And this begs the question:
Is it even possible for someone to be perfect? And in what way?
I can’t straighten my crooked leg. There is no corrective measure for my lifelong amblyopia. Diet and exercise are hopeless against the ravages of old age. What can I perfect? What about me is perfectible?
Nothing, really, but I hit upon the idea that he meant logic and reason and the taming of the tongue – what pours forth from your mouth must be closely monitored; perfect in all cases. And what of the mind, purged of all sin, all hatred, and selfish motivation? Morally, as the Law is written, I stand condemned; and yet I still continue to strive for perfection. Why? Because God is my judge, and He being perfect, the closer I come to perfection the closer I come to Him. I gain assurance against that condemnation.
I invite you, as a friend, to criticize me:
criticize my spelling, my grammar, and my punctuation; but especially, my reasoning, that I make no error in the eyes of The Almighty.
In this life, on this plain of existence, perfection and it’s attendant assurance of God’s Love is the closest thing to happiness a man can find. So help me in my quest for my own perfection.
Your criticism is more than welcome here.
“You have the cleanest ears I’ve ever seen.”
That’s what she told me; that’s what she said. She, of course, was a young she-male VA doctor. Her comment struck me as a bit odd. Upon further rumination however, it seems to make perfect sense.
Earwax is a component of your immune system, like boogers. (mucus is our friend) It guards the entry into the ear canal. That is its purpose.
Earwax (also spelled ear wax), medically referred to as cerumen, is produced by glands in the outer ear canal. Its purpose is to trap dust and other small particles and prevent them from reaching and potentially damaging the eardrum. Earwax also may prevent the growth of bacteria and fungi in the ear canal.
I never really think about earwax unless it itches excessively. Of course the presence of ear hair contributes to the occasional bout of itchiness that must be addressed.
I confess to having used a Philips NORELCO nosetrimmer on my ear hair; having used and abused hydrogen peroxide to the point of irritation and weeping; and regularly and flagrantly ignoring the WARNING label found on Q-tips brand cotton swabs.
That being said however, over time I have noticed a strong correlation between earwax production and stress – and lack of proper sleep. On those rare occasions when I enjoy fully restorative REM Sleep (Rapid Eye Movement), not only do I experience a copious production of earwax, but my renal function operates at full bore as well.
As a Việtnam War veteran wrongfully assessed as NOT having PTSD but having a Sleep Disorder, coupled with the fact she was a VA doctor; has led me to the conclusion that the presence or absence of earwax (and proper kidney function) is indicative of your stress levels or want of restorative sleep.
Under current circumstances I am producing little to nothing in the way of earwax.
“You have the cleanest ears I’ve ever seen.”
That’s what she told me; that’s what she said.
I don’t know if her comment was complimentary or merely observational; just odd.
It’s Halloween, October 31st, 2019. An early snow, a wet, heavy snow, is falling. It’s 33⁰. The leaves are still clinging to many of the trees making it hazardous for broken branches cutting down already snow heavy electrical utility lines.
I’m reminded of a Summer storm of many years past. One hot, humid afternoon we were subjected to heavy rains and slashing, near tornadic, winds. (A siren had sounded) A large old tree exactly one block from my porch was twisted then splintered, and finally fell. A great limb of it crashed through the roof of a nearby garage; slicing through and destroying the roof and damaging the two cars inside. On the way down it also pulled down what we called some “high tension wires.”
The rain soon let up, but the rainwater was still running full in the central gutter of the alley. One of the power lines lay crosswise in the water; arcing and sparking with a loud zapping buzz, and emitting an eerie and threatening electric blue light.
I went inside and called 911 to report it. I went back outside and stood on the porch.
As the storm appeared to be over, people began to emerge from their homes. The rain and wind had done little to releave the heat and mugginess of the day. Two grown women and several children walked down the alley barefoot and splashing in the water toward the downed wire; attracted as if mesmerized, by the zapping sound and electric blue lightshow; oblivious to the danger.
At the top of my lungs and in my most masculine and authoritarian voice; I yelled at them to get the hell away from there. I rarely raise my voice to such an extreme. They actually listened and backed away.
A Police squad car arrived shortly thereafter, blocking off the far end of the alley.
As I’ve pointed out elsewhere, the wrong kind of freedom is deadly to children and ignorance surely kills adults.
I’ve saved a few nitwits in my life; not sure it’s a good idea.
Those who oppose Public Education (and there are many) are murderers.
My understanding of jubilee comes from the reading of the bible. Admittedly, the language of the bible in translation is often a muddy affair. It is, at best, poorly written, roughly translated, biased in interpretation and, all too often, entirely misunderstood.
Jubilee was never effectually put into practice. This is perhaps due to personal greed, a misunderstanding of its purpose or the disruptions it might have caused to the economy. Every 50 years the Israelites were to leave the land fallow and to forgive all debts, which may well have included the freeing of debt slaves. The prophets denounced the Israelites vigorously and repeatedly for their “inequity” – which is more an economic term than anything else.
While jubilee bears some kinship with modern bankruptcy practices it was not intended, as bankruptcy is, to break the debtor, picking his bones like vultures, but rather for the money lenders themselves to thank God for all his blessings: a life of wealth, ease and success thru usurious undertakings.
Jubilee is the shedding and redistribution of accumulated wealth. If every Israelite freed their slaves and debtors all at once chaos would ensue but, if practiced individually, say from bar mitzvah (manhood) to age of 62 (retirement or 50 years) it would have served to strengthen the nation rather than weaken it.
If we can agree on nothing else we can all agree the language of the bible is indeed muddy.
The accumulation of land and other forms of property polarizes the nation into two camps: the very rich and very the poor. The poor slaves and servants are unwilling to fight to defend your inheritence.
When the Visigoths sacked Rome the people stood by the roadsides applauding – most of the population were slaves in some form or other and so too were the denizens of Judea some centuries earlier, which easily fell to Rome.
Ruinous usury and excessive inheritance were fatal mistakes for the Israelites.
There are similar tribal hospitality and sharing customs in many other cultures.
Once upon a time, in a land not far from here, a family gathering took place. A banquet was laid out with all manner of food and drink. It was, as they say, a “pot luck” dinner, where everyone brought something or other to share. There was much discussion over a particular dish, it gaining laudits all ’round, and much high praise. The people all said it was “A – #1”; and begged the woman who’d brought it for the recipe. She, of course, adamantly refused. That particular recipe, it seems, at least for the moment, made her the center of everyone’s attention – it was, as on so many other occasions, her personal “claim to fame.” No one could pry that secret recipe from her tightly closed lips.
The recipe itself had something to do with;
Corn Starch, perhaps, just for thickening.
But we’ll never know the exact ingredients – the truth of the matter, as it were, as she died with her secret still locked away in her head, more’s the pity.
Long, long ago, I read an article in the newspaper about a man who made prosthetic glass eyes. The article stated that he was one of only three people left in the entire country in possession of such a skill, to match correctly the size, shape, and color of an individual human’s eye, out of molten glass no less. Of course, that was a long time ago; so naturally, and in due time, he took his knowledge and peculiar skill to the grave, – lost to mankind forever.
History does not repeat itself – ignorance does. With each squalling baby’s birth, ignorance is born again. And with the death of a man, much knowledge and wisdom is lost. I mourn for this fact. My desire to write is predicated on this: that I’ve had my epiphany and realized how stupid I was (and am); so much so that I became a voracious reader and learned much; but still I mourn that I am unable to impart my knowledge to future generations.
One often wonders why people act like such animals (and worse than animals). It is because we are all born animals; animals that must be tamed.
Culture is communication from one generation to the next. Old heads placed upon young bodies. We have no culture.
Technology is morally neutral. The ability to print a great number of tabloid size or larger newspapers with full color photographs and graphic illustrations is an evolved form of the print technology that underlies some forms of mass communication. But the technology, like all other technologies, is still morally neutral. Gutenberg would just shit if he saw this!
Kosciusko Junior High School 7th Grade Wood Shop Project
This magazine rack was one of several projects students could choose from in learning how to safely operate power tools such as a band saw, a table saw, a drill press, and the various hand tools commonly used in the manufacture of commercial wood products.
After expending a good deal of time and elbow grease gluing, clamping and hand-sanding the joinery of my sub-assemblies (much to my own satisfaction) I placed my work in the wallmount bin (we were assigned by name) to stow our unfinished projects. I returned the next day expecting to stain them (which brings out the wood grain) and make the final assembly, but I discovered that someone, some other student, had switched their much inferior parts for mine. I immediately reported the crime to Mr. K.; the Woodshop teacher. Indifferent to the injustice, he just told me to use the ones the thief left behind instead of the one’s I had so carefully and painstakingly made.
Somehow I’d gotten the notion that a man is supposed to take pride in his work; and so it was with my wood joinery. I’d spent hours hand-sanding the sub-assemblies to such an extent that a blind person couldn’t detect the transition from one piece of wood to another.
I was incensed at my teacher’s indifference. I was so infuriated at this I angrily assembled the ill-fitting pieces, slathered on the wood stain but didn’t bother to wipe it down in the prescribed manner. That’s why it appears to be painted rather than having a light wood grain finish.
This is not my magazine rack.
In this life, those things that you steal may be quite admirable, but you, still in all, are just a common thief.
This was Junior High School, 1964, Grade 7B.
My final grade for the course was a B – it should have been an A.