Fail to Modify

A noun is a person, place or a thing. An adjective is the modifier of a noun. The professional work of an adjective is to describe a noun. It adds colors to the shadows, if you will (and even if you won't). A noun by itself is pure. It is simple. I realize that "pure" and "simple" are in fact adjectives themselves. But think of a noun without an adjective. Think of a meadow without it being charming. Think of a sunrise without it being sublime. Now think of a person only as a noun. That might sound impersonal and cold at first but follow me for a bit.

My first decision of a new acquaintance must be that her or she is a noun not an adjective. Adjectives inevitably come later. But what if I see them as a human being instead of as a tall human being or a loud human being or a beautiful human being? First impressions are where we turn someone into what we think they are. Sometimes our perceptions are justified. Sometimes a mean person really is a mean person. But when we paint false descriptions onto someone based on their appearance, we immediately modify the noun and unjustly so. We turn them into something they very well might not be. It's so hard not to. But when I'm successful, I find it's easier to love them. This doesn't mean I'm to throw aside all elements of discernment. But it does mean I take slower steps in "categorizing" people who are not pieces of language.

How much easier life is when we don't have to prove ourselves!

Your PB from J for today: "The only joy she found was in her daily ride."

What'd I Say

So, I've realized the error of launching raw words into the atmosphere. They reveal all too much. And then some.

I want to spend the day talking 96% with my eyebrows. Honestly, how much of what we want to communicate actually needs to be spoken? I'm talking about what is truly necessary to say. The more loquacious folks probably talk in about three quarters dross. Most of what most people say seems to be fluff. It is small talk. And don't get me wrong, there's a great deal of charm in clever conversation. And that's what I'm talking about here. Just simple every day conversation. Not speeches, not sermons, not essays. Just how we speak to each other. But what if we amputated the "um" and the "ya know?" and the "haha, yeah" from our daily dialogues? The ornamentation of dead air is one of the strongest impediments to any meaningful confabulation. My constant tendency is to be lazy and sling my words out like mashed potatoes (let alone my poor articulation). But if my words were to stand up straight and represent a heart and a mind that wants to be heard, how much deeper could they penetrate their targets? I'm going to try and be sparing with my words. I'm going to only hold them back until I'm ready to use them. And when I use them, I'm going to paint them in all the colors of my mind and teach them to dance to my back beat.

I feel better now. The written word is a sweet getaway car.

Let's re-instate an old tradition, shall we?. Here is your PB from J for today: "There is nothing nearby. Not for miles."

Hopeless? Romantic?

I've been finding puns in every conversation. Help me please.

Sometimes my heart feels like a porcelain chin in a fist fight. I was a bit hesitant to write on matters of the heart, what with Singles Awareness Day fast approaching and all. But I can't survive another minute on auto-pilot and I must purge this gum ball machine of a mind.

I suppose I am a romantic. This has been brought to my attention recently. For a long time I was a hopeless romantic. I was in hot pursuit of the sunset every morning, chasing down that one golden girl who was the embodiment of all satisfaction. When I go in, I go all in. I'm a bit of a monomaniac that way. But Olde Man Tyme has beaten me with the big hand of experience and the sharper little hand of pain. He's an excellent disciplinarian. After a few shipwrecks and bombshells, I'm afraid I've resigned myself to be a spectator. But I'm not even an enthusiastic fan of the sport. I'm the greasy heckler in the back row who screams obscenities at the boxers. These things ought not to be this way!

Proverbs 4:23 tells us to guard our hearts above all things, for from it flow the wellsprings of life. The Bible often uses soft words loaded into strong arguments. This particular verse has been shrapnel in my mind for years but it has been slow to trickle into my heart. Due to my neglect, I've endured a good amount of pain, much like the rest of my fellow travelers. I have the feeling that most of us are walking expectations wrapped up in wishes. We are constantly pining after fulfillment and in so doing we leave our hearts back on the barb wire we had to climb over. Like Spartan infants, we expose them to whatever wind blows by. No wonder we are the walking wounded, addicts to the mighty Valentine heart. I have not been a vigilant watchman.

I think we should all stop playing with fire. We're a bunch of monkeys, knee deep in kerosene, with lighters. But you can't just outlaw dating. Certain Christian authors tried to do that. As long as you breath oxygen and crawl the earth, you have to deal with the reality that people will date. But we crave so quickly and deeply a fast happiness that we tear into each other's hearts like jackals around a fresh kill. There is no protection. There is no insurance. There is no commitment.

So right now, I'm just a tangle of smiles and clenched fists. Don't pay any mind to the cynical, bitter color of my words. It's late and I'm tired. I've just been thinking more than I should. But the sentiment remains. I am truly angry at myself and the other monkeys. There is much more I could say here. Indeed, perhaps I should stop and patch up some holes in these sentences. Maybe I should delete some of the more sour phrases. It feels uncomfortable and unfinished, like going to bed with half of your nose stopped up. But whatever I said, I said without thinking and editing would just subtract from the sincerity. That's my excuse anyway.

Today was warm as pipe smoke. I'll be better in the morning. Don't you worry 'bout a thing.