1 Thing You Can Do This Week (To Magnify Your Character)

1 Thing You Can Do This Week …

(To Magnify Your Character)

William Shakespeare contended that “all the world’s a stage and each one of us, merely players.”

So who are you?

In the world of theater, it is impossible to play too many characters without coming across anemic in the roles. Also, if you establish your character onstage and then drastically revise it, the audience doesn’t buy into your leap.

The one thing you should think about this week to magnify your character is:

Don’t let your problems give you stage directions

Unlike true theater, in everyday life we have a tendency to adjust to the settings, the surroundings, the spotlights, the poor audience reaction or the failure of others around us to remember their lines, and either attempt to revise our dialogue to fit the circumstance or freak out because our the revisions cause us to lose all credibility.

Here is this week’s question: who are you?

And don’t try to tell me that you are a multi-faceted individual with many different layers of being. That’s the best way to describe a liar. Who are you?

Once you find the answer to that, remaining faithful to the role, no matter how the play unfolds in front of you, is how you gain the reputation of being solid and trustworthy– well worth knowing by your peers.

An acquaintance recently asked me, “Who are you?”

I replied, “I am a character addicted to good cheer, so no matter what you hand me, I will do my best to give you back joy.”

The definition of immaturity is feeling the need to change the script simply because there’s been an unforeseen twist in the plot. But in doing so, we sully our character and make ourselves seem unreliable.

Who are you?

Answer that question–and then don’t let your problems or your mishaps give you stage directions.

 

The producers of jonathots would humbly request a yearly donation for this inspirational opportunity

 

1 Thing You Can Do This Week (To Become Believable)

1 Thing You Can Do This Week …

To Become Believable

 

A proverb is a wise saying that gained status by being true most of the time. Like this:

“There’s a way that seems right to a human being, but the end of it is destruction.”

For instance:

“If you make a mistake, deny it, hide it and cover it up until people lose interest in it and you can move on.”

This concept is so faithfully followed in our country that it should be hung on a golden plaque in the halls of Congress, Madison Avenue and the White House.

Somehow or another, we have convinced ourselves that lying works. I don’t know how it happened–so many liars have been exposed, ridiculed and condemned that one would think their stories would prove to be cautionary tales. But not so.

If you want one thing to pursue this week to help you become more believable, do this:

Admit your faults and admit them early.

Nothing sounds nearly as bad if the confession comes from your own mouth. When it turns into an accusation from others or an indictment by society, you will find yourself either continuing to lie or offering a tardy admission of guilt.

“It was me.”

The three magic words. Not “I am sorry” nor “I love you.”

When the question is posed, “Who drank the last of the milk and left the carton in the refrigerator?” and you know it was your doing, simply replying, “It was me–sorry about that…” YOU BECOME A HERO.

Honest to God, nobody sane on the Earth will incriminate you further.

Take this one thing this week and put it into your daily activity. If you want to become believable to those around you:

Admit your faults and admit them early.

 

The producers of jonathots would humbly request a yearly donation for this inspirational opportunity

 

Populie: Christmas is for Children … December 3, 2014

  Jonathots Daily Blog

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I read it over twice just to make sure.

But even with this double scrutiny, I was unable to find the mention of any children in the original Christmas story, except for one baby born in a manger.

The tale contains a king, three astrologers from Mesopotamia, shepherds, a confused purported virgin, a bewildered carpenter-in-training, a prophet and a prophetess, a greedy innkeeper, and many souls who were finding their situation quite taxing.

But there was no one under the age of fifteen who was mentioned except the little fella with straw for a pillow.

Yet today you would assume that Christmas was conceived in the minds of the Madison Avenue elite, who were desiring to come up with a holiday that focused on “tots before they were teens.”

Politics loves this populie, because it provides new stumping ground extolling the family and high-sounding ideals.

The entertainment industry certainly focuses on kids because it frees them from having to put a spiritual spin on December 25th, but instead, advertises Santa Claus, candy canes and overgrown elves.

And religion can barely contain itself, trying to yank that baby out of the wooden cradle and on to the cross as quickly as possible.

In the meantime, the significance of “peace on Earth, good will toward men” dissipates into the background in favor of sitting back in our easy chairs, shaking our heads in awe as the youngsters rip open their presents.

Attention one and all: Christmas is for us. It may be our only chance.

It offers three very important possibilities which tend to escape us by the middle of January, and certainly have run away in horror by April 15th, when the IRS drains our sensibilities.

1. We are all the children of God.

If Christmas is for children, it is only because we live in the household of “Our Father which art in heaven.” We have lost our innocence. We favor a jaded outlook. We have resigned our place in the human family, running away to live in an orphanage, simply to make ourselves seem abandoned.

2. Children need to be taught.

For a very brief moment, we begin to look at the Jesus-born-in-the-manger as the life coach he was intended to be instead of the human sacrifice we have thrust upon him. After all, the angels foretold of “peace on Earth, good will toward men,” not a sacrificial blood-bath that ends up with us forming religious institutions with dark, dank corridors.

3. Going forward means going back to pick up what we lost.

There is nothing more precious than being nine years old on Christmas morning. To reject that memory as being idealistic, foolish or silly is to lose one’s soul before dying.

It’s not so much that “Christmas should be in our hearts each and every day of the year” as it is that our hearts should never surrender Christmas and the memories that make us chill with anticipation.

Bluntly, if you’re not excited about what’s going to happen next, you need to change what’s next.

So be careful with the populie that says “Christmas is for children,” because you soon will find yourself angry at the holiday, and also at the little fellows and ladies who keep trying to hang the holly and trim the tree.

It is only true that Christmas is for children as long as we understand that to gain a true spiritual and emotional sensibility… we must all become as a little child.

 

The producers of jonathots would humbly request a yearly subscription donation of $10 for this wonderful, inspirational opportunity

Please contact Jonathan’s agent, Jackie Barnett, at (615) 481-1474, for information about scheduling.

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Check out Mr. Kringle’s Tales…26 Stories’Til Christmas

The Best Christmas Stories You’ll Ever Read!

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A Nice Price for Mice … November 16, 2013

Jonathots Daily Blog

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It was a rather odd dream–not really spooky, just bizarre.

I found myself in a Wendy’s fast-food restaurant, chomping on a chicken sandwich, chatting with friends, when a young tyke about seven years old came walking up to me. He had chubby cheeks and wore a winter hat, similar to the ones you would see in the 1950s on kids who were forced to don them by their parents. In his hand he was holding an old-fashioned bird cage, and as I peeked inside, I discovered it was filled with little dead white mice.

I was taken aback. Then the youngster pointed to a sign pinned to his coat. It read, “A nice price for mice.”

I realized the kid was trying to sell these deceased little rodents–peddling from table to table.

Before I could express my horror, he ambled over to another patron, where a lovely older lady purchased one of the mice from the determined seller. He made his way all around the restaurant, with each person buying one of the dead boogers and patting the young man on the head.

I observed that none of the customers knew what to do with their purchase. As I mentioned, this was not a spooky dream. No one ate one or put it between their sesame seed buns. One lady wrapped the dead mouse delicately in a napkin and placed it in her purse; another man stuffed it in his pocket.

Why was the little boy selling dead mice? And why were people purchasing them?

Suddenly I awoke.

So you see, my friends, I don’t like to ignore my dreams. It may actually be one of the few occasions when my harried soul is still enough for God and my conscience to speak to me. In the process of analyzing the dream, I realized it was a parable of our American culture.

If Madison Avenue is able to find the right “little boy” to send our way to appeal to us, we are more than willing, at a nice price, to buy mice.

We really don’t know what we’re going to do with them. We don’t particularly favor them. But we find it difficult to say no to the attractive offer–especially when those around us are purchasing.

So we end up stuck with something we may not even believe in, and certainly do not treasure, as we pretend that it is our choice. Here’s the truth: mice aren’t nice–at any price.

Especially dead ones.

So I will tell you–there are some mice which have entered our society, promoted by Madison Avenue and large corporations. I would like to point them out and call them nasty, instead of wrapping them up in a napkin and tucking them away.

Here are three that immediately come to my mind:

1. Killing.

I am against it. I don’t like war. I don’t agree with capital punishment. I don’t like abortion. I don’t particularly like it when a guy shoots a woman through a screen door. It’s a dirty little mouse being peddled to the public as realistic and entertaining.

2. Drug abuse.

I don’t understand why we need them. What I mean is, I don’t understand why we would want to take drugs for recreational purposes when we’re reluctant to use them for treatment. I think we should be in the business of becoming a drug-free society because we’re working on being happier people. I will not purchase that little wall-dweller and call it a pet.

3.  Pornography.

It isn’t cute. It isn’t pretty. It doesn’t create equality between the sexes. It is another form of slavery for women. It is notorious. It is a dead “stinky” being sold by pretty people who want to portray themselves as open-minded–unless you are talking about the rights and dignity of the female of our species.

There you go.

I realize we live in a society that wants to peddle a nice price for mice, but I will tell you, things like killing, drug abuse and pornography are dirty rats.

And they are not a deal for me … at any price.

The producers of jonathots would humbly request a yearly subscription donation of $10 for this wonderful, inspirational opportunity

Click for details on the SpirTed 2014 presentation

Please contact Jonathan’s agent, Jackie Barnett, at (615) 481-1474, for information about scheduling SpiriTed in 2014.

click to hear music from Spirited 2014

Finding the “man” in manly … August 4, 2012

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Macho. I got very weary of that particular profile early on in life. Watching a bunch of young guys strut through a shower room naked while other, more humble participants huddled against their lockers to hide their more private moments  quickly cured me of any notion that manliness is equated with physical attributes. Yet merely objecting to an overabundance of testosterone, or “showing off the guns” in some sort of prideful pose is not enough to establish what truly being a man is all about.

It is not up to women to define manliness. Women are just as confused on the issue as are their male counterparts. They gyrate between wanting to be dominated and looking for a sensitive fellow who at least understands why Thelma and Louise decided to go off the edge of the Grand Canyon. Candidly, one of the worst ways to evaluate your manliness is to try to use women as a determination for your value and prowess.

I’ve just come to the conclusion that there are two attributes that make up what is involved in maintaining the integrity of the “man side” of our species, and they both begin with the letters m-a-n: (1) Manners; (2) Manifest.

By manners I am not referring merely to the ability to discern the difference between a salad and dinner fork or where to place your napkin while dining. That particular style of awareness is really an off-shoot of a mindset rather than a learned activity–because you can teach your children to be mannerly, but as soon as they leap into a corral of over-zealous “guys,” they will immediately abandon that particular training and situate themselves right in the middle of what is deemed acceptable in the bull pen.

What I am referring to by manners is the abiding outlook that a man has on the world around him. For I believe the doorway to being mannerly, courtly, respecting others and giving place to the human beings around you is to possess a steadfast, unwavering commitment to the idea that “NoOne is better than anyone else.”

The minute you believe that by some right of birth or genetic tendency or even locale that you have gained some sort of supremacy over another fellow-traveler, you will eventually succumb to obnoxious behavior, self-righteousness and whatever prejudice has become ingrained in the environment around you. Don’t be fooled. If a man thinks that he is better than a gentleman of another race, he will just as surely believe in his supremacy over women. Any man who believes that Americans are better than Chinese will have no trouble whatsoever making the maneuver to the preference of one skin color over another.

Once prejudice has found a home in your heart, how you treat other passers-by will be contingent on whether your first viewing of them is favorable or casts them in a dimmer light. I have never met a male chauvinist who is not also bigoted racially, and I have never met a racial bigot who thinks a woman is capable of doing equal work to a man.

If you want to build a man you must first place deep within his soul the conviction that “NoOne is better than anyone else.” It will cause him to give respect to those who serve him instead of treating them like common servants. It will cause him to give place to a woman without needing to become effeminate himself. It creates a knowledge deep within him that since God is no respecter of persons, then any attempt we make to differentiate one body from another is merely an ongoing aggravation to the Divine.

I don’t care if it’s a political party, a religious sect or a corporation’s Madison Avenue advertising campaign. Any conglomeration of people who try to alienate one group of individuals from another is removing manners from human interaction, and therefore is giving the status of manliness to little boys with hair in the right places.

I did not become a man until I realized that “NoOne is better than anyone else.” When I did that, I ceased to be a threat and became an advantage to those around me, and because I had the sniff of benefit instead of the stink of an adversary, I found myself embraced and my confidence boosted.

A man needs manners–and manners spring forth from understanding that “NoOne is better than anyone else.”

Now, after that revelation is registered deep in the heart of the male of our species, it is time for him to manifest. This gives a whole new meaning to the phrase “man up.”

Because “NoOne is better than anyone else,” a true man will stand tall and say, “I have set my sights on doing better.”

He will proclaim, “I’m not speaking for anyone else–just me. The whole world doesn’t have to follow my example. Society does not have to concur. I will manifest something in my life that is born of my passions, nurtured by my talents and brought to the finish line by my perseverance.”

The sure way to lose the respect of the world around you–especially a female’s–is to make claims, set goals … and never accomplish anything.

A true man manifests. He brings to fruition realities that show he is aware of his weaknesses and is moving towards solutions.

• It is sexy because it’s sensitive.
• It is intelligent because it shows we’re thinking.
• It is spiritual because it allows the possibility for repentance.
• It is emotional because it shares a vulnerability with an aspiration towards improvement.

The notion that manliness is expressed by refusing to admit wrong has caused at least eighty percent of the pain, evil and darkness that has befallen our world. I want leaders who flip-flop. I want to be around men who are given new information and instead of ignoring it, burying it or pretending they already were aware of it, they implement it into their next decision.

I do not know where we got the idea that manliness means “being right.” Being a man is pursuing right, and therefore, being willing to be wrong. The foolishness of our art, entertainment, politics and even our religion in portraying men as hunters and domineering has placed pressure on mere human beings to cover up their flaws instead of deciding to do a little bit better every day.

The most romantic thing I have ever done in the presence of a woman is to tell her where I have erred, share with her my plan and then follow up with some evidence that my convictions are bearing fruit.

It is time to put the “man” in manly.

Manners–they are set in motion when we finally comprehend that “NoOne is better than anyone else.” It tenderizes the human experience into compatibility instead of competition.

Manifest—“I will set my sights on doing better.”

There are only two things you can do in life to pass the time: think up excuses for why you aren’t changing, or make a plan on how to change. One is the profile of an ignorant coward and the other is manly. Would you join me in putting the “man” back in manly?

Perhaps it will be easier for women to understand their heart and purpose when they don’t have to spend nearly as much time figuring out why little boys never became men.

The producers of jonathots would humbly request a yearly subscription donation of $10 for this wonderful, inspirational opportunity

Re-Spend-Ability… March 31, 2012

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How do you make meat loaf? Well, on a good week, you have the confidence to put in more meat and eggs. On a bad week, you sheepishly add additional bread crumbs and onions.

Good weeks and bad weeks. They accumulate until they become months of struggle. The problem with the American dream is that it works really well until you wake up to the reality. And what is the reality? If you stay at a job and continue to work, eventually your finance will peak, but your expenses will continue to climb. This leads to conflict.

So those “you’re kidding” folks, twenty-five through thirty-six, who have now arrived between the ages of thirty-seven and forty-eight, so concerned about whether their kids were well-fastened into car seats, are now confronted with ever-increasing expenditures and limited finance. They also discover that babies are not the problem—it’s teenagers. Cleaning up a mess in a diaper is much more “doable” than paying insurance premiums after your new young driver has had that first accident.

So suddenly two words that should never co-exist collide, creating the new family dynamic. The two words?Love and money. Matter of fact, the Bible says “the love of money is the root of all evil.” Whenever those two words inhabit the same sentence, there is conflict. So people who were once in love are suddenly at each other’s throats because all conversations seem to be at the kitchen table, discussing the budget.

Here is the train of events: over-budget, overwrought, overwhelmed.

That’s right. Even when she decides to go back to work, the application of that decision drains more finance from the family and actually sometimes doesn’t even create a break-even proposal. After all, she needs a car, she needs a wardrobe, she needs gasoline, she needs lunch money… And meanwhile, the school system that used to be better-funded by a concerned government now has to ask more money from the family because the government has dropped the ball on public education.

Everything is over budget. What do we do when we’re over budget? We become overwrought. At this point, our minds go to disaster instead of possibility. (Even though we know there are no debtor’s prisons, we keep an extra toothbrush just in case.) And when we’re overwrought—since we do love ourselves pretty well—we start looking for someone to blame. How about that person we walked down the aisle with? They’re handy. How about those wonderful children we birthed, who somewhere along the line have seemingly been struck by a spirit of “brat?”

Yet, being over-wrought can seem cruel and put the household in a constant state of tension, so we try to cork up our feelings in a bottle and walk around morose, with a sense of dread etched across our features, completely overwhelmed.

We call this maturity. I call it “Suck on a Triscuit.” There has to be a better way.

Once you discover the truth about the American Dream—that it only works as long as you stay one step ahead of the increase in expenses—then you are better prepared to enter the years between thirty-seven and forty-eight, which I have dubbed Re-Spend-Ability – taking it on instead as a responsibility, which you can handle because you are prepared. Here are four suggestions:

1. Separate. I’m not talking about leaving your marriage.  I’m talking about separating love from money and never talking about them together. If you’re in the midst of a discussion about your relationship, never bring up money. And if you’re discussing money, don’t try to use it as a means to romance. (Can we be honest? Even mediocre sex is acceptable when the mortgage is paid.) Separate love and money, or be prepared for love and money to separate the two of you.

2. Negotiate. I’m talking about with your children. You cannot be a pigeon, flitting around your own household desperately trying to give your kids everything they want, and expect to keep your head above water. If they want something, they should be willing to investigate it, find the best price and work off “their half” of the expense in chores or tasks at ten dollars an hour. Don’t give into the pressure that your children are giving into. What they want has nothing to do with their investigation of good choices. It is a whim and a necessity to them of co-existing with other students at their school who are chasing what Madison Avenue has decided is the new “teen craze.” Negotiate. Will they be happy about it? Your children’s happiness is based upon your demeanor and solvency, not their wish list.

3. Regulate. Don’t yell at your kids to do anything that you are not already doing. Don’t tell teenagers to turn off the lights in the house. Just get a little exercise and walk behind them and turn them off yourself. Shop better. That’s why we have the Internet. Put in a request for a revision on your mortgage. Banks do not respond to applications, they respond to perseverance. Regulate your expenses in a way that the family is never aware of any change in your financial climate, but you benefit at the end of the month with the bottom line.

4. And finally, innovate. The American Dream is not energized by freedom. It is fueled by capitalism. Capitalism is a philosophy that unashamedly concludes “the rich get richer and the poor get poorer.” Since that is the way the American culture works at this point, learn it well. Have some sort of extra project with the family that you entrepreneur—maybe on a Saturday morning—that brings in a little extra cash. It could be anything from garage sales to a small Internet business to one of your children picking up trash for the neighbors and offering half of their intake to the family income. The more you create community with money the less you will fight. You cannot live in the United States of America working forty hours a week and think you’re going to get ahead. Your boosts in salary will never cover the explosions in inflation. It is a time to be creative.

A good number of divorces happen during this period between age thirty-seven through forty-eight. These couples think they fall out of love. Actually, they fall into the money pit and can’t find a way to love each other enough to get out of it. But if we had taught them to be a chilled-hood, respecting each other as boys and girls growing up in equality, and had not allowed them to enter addled essence—adversarial to each other in their teens—and had balanced out the duty of parenting and birthing during the you’re kidding era, there would be a much greater savings account of affection to fall back on during the hard times.

Re-Spend-Ability. It’s when we foolishly think that love and money can be mingled and still maintain harmony.

(We will continue our series on Monday, to allow time tomorrow for Marketing the Big TE)

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

 

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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.

Day One, Part Three — Lighten Up … February 17, 2012

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Jubal hated his name.

 

Actually, he hated people’s reaction to his name. Everybody wanted to misspell it, mispronounce it and certainly, misinterpret it. He often wondered why his parents had made the choice, considering all the “John, Paul, Sam and Tom” possibilities available. When he asked them about it, their only response was, “Special people need special names.”

 

Jubal didn’t feel very special. Aside from the fact that every time he was introduced, some folks would crinkle their brow, trying to fathom the origin of his particular calling card, he felt completely normal, and really, without any outstanding uniqueness.

 

Well, he did have one talent. He enjoyed writing. Not scribbling and scrawling–just poetry and prose. He had even submitted some of his material to some publishers, and was unceremoniously informed that “there was no market for rhyme and verse.” He just smiled. So much like his whole life–there’s just no room in the world for a Jubal.

 

One day, in the midst of deep thought accompanied with a side of self-pity, he decided to stop complaining and create something. He took some of his poems, Xeroxed them and put them into a little booklet and entitled it Jubal’s Nation.  The volume wasn’t very attractive. It certainly lacked Madison Avenue appeal. But he decided it was his “meaningful mess.” It was a conglomeration of what he had learned, felt and discovered during his journey thus far. For Jubal had selected to allow his emotions to be honest, his spirit to seek and his brain to learn, while keeping his body as healthy as possible.

 

The process generated a product–him–and there was a natural light that beamed from that completed package that he felt was worth sharing. So he “published” his little work and passed it out to friends. He passed it out to enemies. He passed it out to everybody who was willing to hold out a hand and receive it. He had just enough funds to print two hundred copies of his little tome, and within three weeks he had dispersed all of them.

 

He sat back and waited. He realized that everything he could do was now complete. He had taken his time to discover the light within him and then had meticulously, through his pen and heart, released that light onto paper. He realized that none of us can offer any more than what we really are. It reminded him of a scripture in the Bible, where God looked on a world He had created and said, “‘Let there be light.’ And there was light.” There wasn’t light because God spoke it into existence. There was light because God WAS light. He might as well have said, “Let there be Me.” Jubal recognized, and even reveled in the fact that when you work on your internal light, you have the right and authority to speak that light into existence. Otherwise, your time on earth is a series of wishes and hopes instead of beams of enlightenment.

 

It took a while. Some time passed before people responded to Jubal about his new little book. He was itching to ask them, but intelligently passed, figuring that it was much too pushy and much too predictable. After a few weeks he received some emails. One lady said that the words arrived in her life right after the death of her husband and took away some of the sense of desperation. Another young gentleman said that he was actually contemplating suicide but had giggled at Jubal’s self-deprecating poems and realized that nothing was quite as bad as it seemed. Some folks actually wanted additional copies, although they suggested an improvement in the printing and the appearance of the work.

 

Jubal was ecstatic. He wasn’t going to be famous–but he never really wanted that. He just wanted to make a meaningful mess, while sharing the honesty of his heart, the seeking of his spirit, the learning of his brain, propelled by the health of his body. He wanted to bring the light that he was into being. He knew, deep in his soul, that no one can shed illumination if they do not already possess the spark. He knew that, just  like God, he was allowed to say, “Let there be light” if he had actually produced some light inside himself.

 

He still wasn’t sure he was thrilled with his name, but Jubal was an excellent name for a poet, if not for a dude. He printed off some more of his stories and circulated them. And that pretty well culminated the lifespan of Jubal’s Nation. But it produced enough light to brighten up his future.

 

Jubal would be more than just an unusual name for an unusual guy. He would always be a poet who was trying to create a meaningful mess through the honesty of his emotions, the seeking of his soul and the discoveries of his brain. From that point forward, he would be that poet who happened to have the really cool name: Jubal.

 

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Got a question for Jonathan? Or would you like to receive a personal weekly email? Just click my email address below and let me know what’s on your mind! jonathancring@gmail.com

 

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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.