Eco-Quality… April 3, 2012

(1,473) 

A gift.  For a gift to have true value it has to possess two attributes–it has to truly be “mine” and I have to understand it. I have received presents that were not gifts, because the instructions came in German or Chinese and I was unable to access the true worth of the intention.

Likewise, around the age of sixty-one through seventy-two and beyond, we receive a gift. Unfortunately, most people of that age do not believe there IS a blessing imparted their way. Maybe it’s because the instructions are in the language of logic and we’re looking for something deeper or more mature. Maybe it’s because we focus too much on the difficulty of implementing the gift and fail to recognize the benefits. I’m not sure. But the ecosystem of Planet Earth is perfectly balanced within the human species by having us begin as children and basically end the same way.

Estrogen and testosterone removed as chemicals of dependence, we arrive in our later years once again on an even playing field, able to communicate if we so desire.

It is an eco-system that proffers quality, which I have blended to form a new word: eco-quality.

We are children again. As children, we can either choose to be child-like or childish. Verily, verily I say unto you–the greatest natural resource unused in this country is not natural gas trapped beneath the surface, but rather, our retired, aging, experienced, elderly population, which is set aside to vegetate and die. Maybe it’s because they never got over their addled essence and have decided to live a life that is adversarial rather than friendly. Maybe it’s because they wish they were still “kidding” and become overly involved in the lives of their grandchildren–ending up  interfering more than enlightening. Perhaps it’s because they think they’re still in their forties, struggling to make ends meet and haggling over the price of toilet paper at Costco. But more often than not, they get stuck dissing in action, and continue to pick at one another, finding fault and resenting each another because everything didn’t turn out quite as perfectly as planned.

So instead of having a flourishing, mature population, full of experience and wisdom, we have bratty old folk who need to have their diapers changed, bitching about eating their strained prunes and broccoli. I cannot disagree with those young humans who find this both annoying and pathetic. If you reach sixty-one years of age and the things you wanted to do with your life have still not happened, do yourself a favor and get up off of your rocker and imitate some of your aspirations with the energy you still have remaining. If we can teach our graying citizenry–many attending Woodstock, who were part of the disco revolution and survived all sorts of financial meltdowns–yes, if we can teach them to take on the better parts of chilled-hood and put that into practice in their everyday, senior citizen existence, we can unleash an intelligence for our youth and probably save a lot of money on medical care.

When children are happy they do two things–they learn and they play. If you reach sixty-one years of age and you think there is nothing for you to learn, you might just want to go to meet your Maker, who will be more than happy to explain to you the error of your conclusion. There is nothing more exciting, amazing and enthralling than an older person who is still willing to learn. We insist that you cannot teach an old dog new tricks, but since we are not of the canine species, we might want to rise a little above our “dogged” determination.

Learn. What’s necessary in order to learn? Two things: (1) “I don’t know,” and (2) “please teach me.” Since testosterone has ceased making men sexually obsessive, and estrogen isn’t cloying at women’s souls to keep them domesticated, we can actually enjoy things together and learn simultaneously.

And of course, play. There is no joy in longevity if we can’t find a way to pleasurably do everything. If life is a chore, please bring sundown so we can go home. But if we can find a way to make grocery shopping interesting, going to church a new vista of experience, or even a doctor’s visit to be a time of learning and information-gathering, then every day seems to have purpose and potential.

Yes, the greatest resource that is lost in our society is not the oil from old fossils, but getting our old fossils who are still alive to squeeze out some oil of gladness.

God gives us the tools:

1. We are not living in the pressure cooker of addled essence, where our hormones are screaming demands, making our bodies twitch with indecision.

2. We no longer have the pressure of “kidding.” I will be honest with you and hopefully others will join me–I enjoyed being a parent, I find grandparenting interesting, but I am glad I am back to my life being my own, thank you.

3. We have the intelligence to dodge the futility of Re-Spend-ability–causing us to fret over money–and  instead can take our experience and patience–to use it more wisely.

4. Hopefully, we will cease from dissing in action,  generating an atmosphere of tension, which has digressed to an ongoing silence of dissatisfaction.

Learn and play. Everybody gets older, but no one needs to get old.

The years from sixty-one to seventy-two and beyond should be conducted with two mantras:  (a) “I really know a lot, which makes me want to know more.” and (b) “if it ain’t fun, it ain’t done.”

A simple submission to these two precepts would change our society from a youth-crazed, fad-driven mania to a more balanced situation of looking at things through the eyes of experience instead of need and greed.

Let’s not kill off our old people, but let’s create eco-quality,  joyously returning to our chilled-hood, when male and female were much the same and we we had great fun bouncing a ball … and learning our biology.

 **************

Listen to Jonathan sing his gospel/blues anthem, Spent This Time, accompanied by Janet Clazzy on the WX-5 Wind Machine

 

**************

Below is the first chapter of Jonathan Richard Cring’s stunning novel entitled Preparing a Place for Myself—the story of a journey after death. It is a delicious blend of theology and science fiction that will inspire and entertain. I thought you might enjoy reading it. After you do, if you would like to read the book in its entirety, please click on the link below and go to our tour store. The book is being offered at the special price of $4.99 plus $3.99 shipping–a total of $8.98. Enjoy.

http://www.janethan.com/tour_store.htm

Sitting One

 I died today. 

I didn’t expect it to happen.  Then again, I did—well, not really.

No, I certainly didn’t expect it.

I’ve had moments of clarity in my life.  Amazingly enough, many of them were in the midst of a dream. For a brief second I would know the meaning of life or the missing treatment to cure cancer.  And then as quickly as it popped into my mind it was gone. I really don’t recollect dying.  Just this unbelievable sense of clear headedness—like walking into a room newly painted and knowing by the odor and brightness that the color on the wall is so splattering new that you should be careful not to touch it for fear of smearing the design. The greatest revelation of all? 

Twenty-five miles in the sky time ceases to exist.

The planet Pluto takes two hundred and forty-eight years to circle the sun. It doesn’t give a damn. 

The day of my death was the day I became free of the only burden I really ever had.  TIME.

Useless.

Time is fussy.  Time is worry. 

Time is fear.  Time is the culprit causing human-types to recoil from pending generosity. 

There just was never enough time. 

Time would not allow it.  Remember—“if time permits …”

Why if time permits?  Why not if I permit?  Why not if I dream?  Why not if I want?  Why does time get to dictate to me my passage? 

It was time that robbed me of my soulful nature.    It was time that convinced me that my selfishness was needed. 

I didn’t die. The clock in me died, leaving spirit to tick on.  

So why don’t we see the farce of time?  Why do we allow ourselves to fall under the power of the cruel despot?  Yes, time is a relentless master—very little wage for much demand.

I died today. 

Actually … a piece of time named after me was cast away.

Chilled-Hood… March 28, 2012

(1,467) 

Chill out.

It’s probably the best advice that can be given to the new crop of parents running around in a tizzy, trying to invent the best way to care for their offspring. You can play them music and you can read them books, but children absorb the energy  of the environment rather than the good intentions of their parental units. In other words, if your kids think you’re frantic, they will imitate frantic– while using your frantic against you.

Children are simple. Jesus said they’re like heaven. They are not born looking male or female (matter of fact, you have to remove a diaper sometimes to be sure). Their needs are practical: eat, drink, be cleaned and cuddled. And they don’t arrive with any particular batch of beliefs or array of prejudices.

Also, they certainly do not have personalities. I know many parents will disagree with that, insisting their child is riddled with facial expressions and gestures that connote a style of behavior. But it’s really not so. They are a glob of goo, ready to go. What they become is what they acquire by noticing what creates the most attention in their surroundings. If you treat them correctly, with a balance of love, respect and discipline, they can be a most delightful experiences—emotionally, spiritually mentally and physically. If you become hectic, nervous, worried, frustrated and overly concerned, they can turn into little hellions that attempt to control your life by pushing all your buttons.

We should take advantage of the fact that children, from birth to age twelve, whether male or female, are basically equal. At this age, girls are not stronger than boys, boys don’t run faster than girls and really, even their bodies are similar. We like to clump them into “pinks” and “blues,” but they’re not really color coded. I will tell you, if you only put trucks and army men in a room for a girl to play with, she will enjoy herself. And young boys have their dolls—they’re called action figures and GI Joe.

It is a precious time—a season when we are allowed to pour our energy and convictions into these young souls—or poison them with our insecurities and misgivings. It is a time when men and women are truly equal. No wonder Jesus called it “the kingdom of heaven.”

To make sure that you do not taint this chilled-hood, when boys and girls are living in total eyeball-to-eyeball peacefulness with each other, we should focus on three things: value, values and valuable.

1. Value. There are only two of these that should be shared with any young child. They are the two ongoing truths in our earth journey that work no matter if you’re in New Jersey or New Guinea.

(a) People are the only important thing, and the only way to reach the heart of God and receive His grace is to treat them well. You can pass along prejudice to a child by merely teaching him to pity other folks. I don’t pity anyone. I love them and if pity is needed, I will leave that to God.

(b) Honesty. After your children understand that people are to be treated with dignity, then you need to teach them to handle themselves with honesty. That’s right. Instruct children to count the cost. Truly evaluate themselves on what they’re able to do without shame, and then find their goal–and then not stop until they hit the finish line.  Those are the only two pieces of value that need to be instilled in children to make them successful and overcomers. Everything else is banners, tinsel, decorations and streamers.

2. Values. After you teach your chilled-hood what is of value, then go ahead and let them know what your values are. And please, don’t make it a long list. Ten commandments are nine too many. Seven virtues of the successful person is over-wrought by six. Keep it to one. Here is the only value you need to teach your children: No one is better than anyone else. Teach it well, because they won’t hear it anywhere other than their home. Society is a cacophony of voices screaming “equality,” while whispering, in back rooms, “bigotry.” Your chilled-hood needs to know that you really believe that you’re not better than anyone else. It will cause them to be viable to the world around them instead of part of the problem.

3. And finally, valuable. Don’t give your children money; don’t give your children gifts. Teach them that the world functions on the basis of work and pay. Have chores, duties, goals and aspirations for them to achieve, and when they complete them, give them coupons that are good for purchasing their toys, movies and special events. Free yourself of the ridiculous notion that unconditional love is giving away the blessings of life to ungrateful people. Your children will grow up to be solid human beings, free of prejudice and with a great work ethic–as long as they understand that toys are a by-product of work. All you have to do is tally up how much you plan to spend for movie tickets, games, gifts and special occasions over a given month, and when your children enact the plan of the family, give them coupons that enable them to purchase these benefits. Money will make them greedy. Receiving gifts causes them to feel entitled. But if they sense they’re in control of their own destiny concerning their pleasures, it will build them up and make them excited about the journey that lies ahead. They will also appreciate what goes into making a dollar available.

If we would stop hovering over our children, fearing their next move, and instead use their chilled nature–the equality that exists between boys and girls–to foster value, values and the knowledge of what is valuable, we might be able to avoid some of the disaster that occurs as they move into the dark ages of their existence.

Yes, because after age twelve comes a frightening season when the human being temporarily seems to be unreachable by normal methods. This is referred to as adolescence. But if you don’t mind, I’ve renamed it.

I call it … addled-essence.

See you tomorrow.

.

**************

Listen to Jonathan sing his gospel/blues anthem, Spent This Time, accompanied by Janet Clazzy on the WX-5 Wind Machine

 

**************

Below is the first chapter of Jonathan Richard Cring’s stunning novel entitled Preparing a Place for Myself—the story of a journey after death. It is a delicious blend of theology and science fiction that will inspire and entertain. I thought you might enjoy reading it. After you do, if you would like to read the book in its entirety, please click on the link below and go to our tour store. The book is being offered at the special price of $4.99 plus $3.99 shipping–a total of $8.98. Enjoy.

http://www.janethan.com/tour_store.htm

Sitting One

 I died today. 

I didn’t expect it to happen.  Then again, I did—well, not really.

No, I certainly didn’t expect it.

I’ve had moments of clarity in my life.  Amazingly enough, many of them were in the midst of a dream. For a brief second I would know the meaning of life or the missing treatment to cure cancer.  And then as quickly as it popped into my mind it was gone. I really don’t recollect dying.  Just this unbelievable sense of clear headedness—like walking into a room newly painted and knowing by the odor and brightness that the color on the wall is so splattering new that you should be careful not to touch it for fear of smearing the design. The greatest revelation of all? 

Twenty-five miles in the sky time ceases to exist.

The planet Pluto takes two hundred and forty-eight years to circle the sun. It doesn’t give a damn. 

The day of my death was the day I became free of the only burden I really ever had.  TIME.

Useless.

Time is fussy.  Time is worry. 

Time is fear.  Time is the culprit causing human-types to recoil from pending generosity. 

There just was never enough time. 

Time would not allow it.  Remember—“if time permits …”

Why if time permits?  Why not if I permit?  Why not if I dream?  Why not if I want?  Why does time get to dictate to me my passage? 

It was time that robbed me of my soulful nature.    It was time that convinced me that my selfishness was needed. 

I didn’t die. The clock in me died, leaving spirit to tick on.  

So why don’t we see the farce of time?  Why do we allow ourselves to fall under the power of the cruel despot?  Yes, time is a relentless master—very little wage for much demand.

I died today. 

Actually … a piece of time named after me was cast away.

Six Twelves… March 27, 2012

(1,466) 

It’s not Iran. Nor is it the global crunch going on in the financial institutions. Paling in comparison is the oil crisis and terrorism.

In my opinion, the greatest ongoing threat to our society is the often-manufactured conflict between men and women.

It generates a fussiness in the air which becomes the butt of jokes, offering no resolution to move us to greater understanding and equality. When you have fifty per cent of the population at war with the other fifty per cent, and this skirmish is condoned as “inevitable,” you can’t possibly expect to maintain a sanctuary of peace anywhere else. It is caused by misconceptions. So if you would be so kind, I would like to address these misconceptions over the next few days, and insert some ideas about signing a treaty between the sexes–to begin a recovery.

First of all, I think human life is divided into six twelve-year units.

  • From birth to twelve–which we normally refer to as childhood; age thirteen to twenty-four–commonly known as adolescence; twenty-five to thirty-six–young adulthood; thirty-seven to forty-eight—the family years; forty-nine to sixty—middle age; sixty-one to seventy-two and beyond—affectionately dubbed “The Golden Years.”

The difficulty lies in the interpretation of these passages of time and what they are supposed to accomplish–so that when we arrive at our older lifespan we have confidence, wisdom, joy and compassion for those who are younger. If that is to be the conclusion of life, then candidly, we are doing a miserable job. We have accepted that “cantankerous, grumpy and ill-tempered” is a part of becoming old. This is an error.

So since we see the end result of our philosophy of life bringing out some of the worst attributes in our citizenry, maybe we should trace back and see where the trouble begins. In the next few days we will answer three questions: (1) Are men and women different? (2) If they are, is it cultural or merely biological? (3) If it is cultural, what can we do to close the gap?

It should be a lot of fun. And I certainly welcome your input and disagreement over some of the things I will share. I do feel a responsibility to warn you that because my readership is quite diverse, I fully intend to be blunt and adult in my presentation. I have no intention of being crude on purpose, but where there is a need for direct language, I will use it. Please don’t let that frighten you off, but I felt the need to preface this series with that statement.

So having broken this down into our six twelves, let us start tomorrow with the one that most people refer to as childhood. If you will allow me a little writer’s lenience, I shall call it chilled-hood.

**************

Listen to Jonathan sing his gospel/blues anthem, Spent This Time, accompanied by Janet Clazzy on the WX-5 Wind Machine

 

**************

Below is the first chapter of Jonathan Richard Cring’s stunning novel entitled Preparing a Place for Myself—the story of a journey after death. It is a delicious blend of theology and science fiction that will inspire and entertain. I thought you might enjoy reading it. After you do, if you would like to read the book in its entirety, please click on the link below and go to our tour store. The book is being offered at the special price of $4.99 plus $3.99 shipping–a total of $8.98. Enjoy.

http://www.janethan.com/tour_store.htm

Sitting One

 I died today. 

I didn’t expect it to happen.  Then again, I did—well, not really.

No, I certainly didn’t expect it.

I’ve had moments of clarity in my life.  Amazingly enough, many of them were in the midst of a dream. For a brief second I would know the meaning of life or the missing treatment to cure cancer.  And then as quickly as it popped into my mind it was gone. I really don’t recollect dying.  Just this unbelievable sense of clear headedness—like walking into a room newly painted and knowing by the odor and brightness that the color on the wall is so splattering new that you should be careful not to touch it for fear of smearing the design. The greatest revelation of all? 

Twenty-five miles in the sky time ceases to exist.

The planet Pluto takes two hundred and forty-eight years to circle the sun. It doesn’t give a damn. 

The day of my death was the day I became free of the only burden I really ever had.  TIME.

Useless.

Time is fussy.  Time is worry. 

Time is fear.  Time is the culprit causing human-types to recoil from pending generosity. 

There just was never enough time. 

Time would not allow it.  Remember—“if time permits …”

Why if time permits?  Why not if I permit?  Why not if I dream?  Why not if I want?  Why does time get to dictate to me my passage? 

It was time that robbed me of my soulful nature.    It was time that convinced me that my selfishness was needed. 

I didn’t die. The clock in me died, leaving spirit to tick on.  

So why don’t we see the farce of time?  Why do we allow ourselves to fall under the power of the cruel despot?  Yes, time is a relentless master—very little wage for much demand.

I died today. 

Actually … a piece of time named after me was cast away.

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