The Dental of Mental … May 4, 2012

(1,504) 

“Let me sink my teeth into it.”

It was a popular phrase long before the current craze of vampire movies. Deciding what to “bite off” and putting some energy into it is a valuable process in our lives. How should we determine it? What should we bite into?

There are three basic reasons that people bite things off, making the new taste their project. Sometimes they bite things off because everyone around them, including their families, tells us that it’s perfect, encouraging them to “take it on,” even making it clear that if they don’t, they have passed on a golden opportunity. Can I tell you that guilt is one of the worst motivators for human beings? And it is usually followed by a sense of dread, interpreted as “being responsible.” Biting off something because someone else wants you to do it will always leave a bad taste in your mouth.

The second motivation that often taunts us is that we “need” to do something.Whenever it appears that I need to do something, I purposefully delay, to make sure that my choice is not generated in frustration or futility, but rather, by my own inclination. Because the only reason to bite anything off is because I WANT it.Yes, the only question that needs to be asked by anyone at any time before biting into a new piece of life is, “Do I want it?”

It doesn’t mean that everything we bite off is good for us, or even necessary–because there are only two things that human beings require to maintain their sanity: (1) The choice was my own; and (2) if I find out it was a stupid one, please permit me a road to retreat and repent

The “dental of mental health” is to choose to bite off only what you want, not what others tell you is required or what you believe you need. Everyone knows–once you bite something off, you’ll have to chew it, and chewing is the process by which we prepare food to leave the delicious world of our taste buds and enter the unknown of digestion.  So as we consider what we want, the only question we really need to pose to ourselves is, “Can I chew it?” In other words, “Can I be patient?”

Chewing is being patient. It is also making sure that we drain the last bits of flavor out of what we’ve bitten before discarding it for more practical use.If we can’t enjoy the process of chewing, then we’ll probably end up trying to swallow everything whole, which will certainly cause us to choke in our hour of need. Can I be patient? Patience is one of those words that’s thrown around without definition, so let me give you two applications:

1. It tastes good enough that I don’t mind keeping it in my mouth for a while. Don’t think you’ll chew very long on something bitter.
2. I don’t mind being patient and chewing on it, because I know when it finally reaches my body, it’ll be good for me.

The main piece of success in my life is that I have learned to enjoy the chewing process. If you need instant gratification or immediate appreciation, you will never draw all the taste out of every experience, but will either become reluctant to bite anything off in the first place, or end up gulping, swallowing life whole, without tasting.

Can I be patient? Because after all, when the chewing’s done in the “dental of mental,” it comes time to swallow. What I have bitten off has now been chewed and no longer resembles anything of what I once took on. Swallowing is asking yourself the question, “Am I ready to evolve?”

Some folks believe that if their plans change, they have lost the integrity of the experience. Yet, plans changing IS the experience. Swallowing is what transfers food into energy.Change is what transforms “choice” into fruitfulness.Without change, we arrogantly begin to believe that everything we put into our mouths should remain there instead of being absorbed. How many evolutions will I have to absorb to get the full benefit of what I’ve bitten off and chewed? Well, let me swallow the next one and we’ll see how it goes. Am I ready to evolve?

Which leads to the final step in the dental of mental–digestion. Will what I have bitten off, chewed and swallowed produce the nutrient of even greater desire? There is nothing more discouraging than beginning a project and finishing it by saying, “I will never do that again.” Most people are not lazy–or vacant of purpose. They are afraid to bite things off because the last time the chewing and swallowing produced indigestion. It was dissatisfying and left them with a severe case of heartburn.

Yes. The heart, rather than being rejuvenated through the experience, is aggravated and disappointed.

So–will what I want be patiently evolved in me to end up producing even greater desire to do more? Because that is the essence of mental health. At the end of our experience, we should be fatigued, not exhausted. We should feel exhilaration, not exasperation. And we should want rest–in order to pursue again–instead of escape, to avoid contact.

If you don’t do what you want, you end up being on somebody else’s mission, which means that even if it’s successful, you lose the credit.

The dental of mental health: biting, chewing, swallowing, digesting.

• Do I want it?
• Can I be patient?
• Am I willing to evolve?
• Does it appear that it will produce even greater desire?

Don’t cheat yourself out of great mental health. Even though the world around you insists that you need to accomplish their desires, never sink your teeth into anything that you don’t really want.

  

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

Thinks-giving … November 19, 2011

(1,335)

Live, outdoors in Ambler, PA

 (1,335)

No, it’s not a typo. The title of today’s essay is Thinksgiving. Because once again we have come to the time of year when we are supposed to be celebrating the gratitude of our journey and the great hope of the birth of the Prince of Peace, but instead, we’re surrounded by organizations and individuals who want to bring us down by reminding us how tough it is for some people during Thanksgiving and Christmas.

I have never met or seen a generation in my entire life that spends so much time thinking without ever becoming thoughtful. Let me ask you a simple question. What makes this particular holiday more depressing than others? Wouldn’t you think that Easter would be equally as challenging to folks who are under a cloud of despair? I mean, think about it—one man raising from the dead when our graveyards are full? How about July 4^th? Firecrackers and marching bands in full blaze and array, when I’m stuck here with my fizzled activities, unable to toot my own horn? Even Arbor Day would make you mad if you were depressed—because the trees dare to keep blooming while you are drooping.

But these great thinkers of our generation don’t spend any time attacking any other holidays. Just Thanksgiving and Christmas. It is during these two occasions that we are to reflect upon the plight of humanity and be sensitive not to flaunt our thankfulness lest we “offend one of these little ones.”

Now, I am not a great conspiracy buff, but I find it a bit suspicious that these two celebrations in particular are targeted by these ever-so-concerned souls. We certainly do not suggest that Labor Day be kept under the hat because the unemployment rate is at 9%.

No, I think there is a nasty streak in all of us—we actually resents the hell out of being thankful and are equally frightened of becoming so giddy with joy that we regain our childlike faith. We’re just grumpy—and the idea of escaping our grumpiness for about thirty-one days during the year is so galling that we decide to use the excuse of other people’s depression as a reason for why the turkey plucking and tree trimming should calm down, if not cease altogether.

But it is because we, as a people, are depressed, frustrated, hurt, damaged and faithless that Thanksgiving and Christmas need to be taken out of the realm of just thinking—and pressed mightily into the action of participation.

Therefore, when you hear people complaining about the holidays, do yourself and them a favor. Quietly walk away. This season is a treasure-chest of blessing cast down from the heavens for us, if we’re just willing to unlock the secret and find the gift.

I am not thinkful. I am thankful—unabashedly, unapologetically and undeterred. I am NOT sensitive to other people’s beliefs during Christmas because my belief in the birth of brotherhood, peace on earth and good will toward men MUST be celebrated—or truly we are requiring that the elves come and rebuke us for our lack and put us on the naughty list.

Here’s a suggestion. You have about five or six days until Thanksgiving. Every day before you begin your journey into the human soup of life, sit down and write five quick emails to friends. Those emails should consist of this: “You make me …” Then tell the person what his or her presence, friendship and humanity means to you.

• “You make me better.”
• “You make me loving.”
• “You make me think.”
• “You make me believe in God.”
• “You make me richer.”

Tell them what they do that makes your “thanks” bell ring.  Then close it with thanks and sign your name. It won’t take you even a minute-and-a-half to do it—and at the end of the six-day period, thirty people who are being inundated with an overly zealous reminder of despair and destitution will be uplifted to be thankful instead of thinkful.

I will tell each and every one of you during this blessed time that you make me … valuable.  Thanks. 

Jonathan

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

Here comes Christmas! For your listening pleasure, below is Manger Medley, Jonathan’s arrangement of Away in the Manger, which closes with him singing his gorgeous song, Messiah.  Looking forward to the holidays with you!

Transitions … November 18, 2011

(1,334)

Live, outdoors in Ambler, PA

 

I met a young woman.

When I was a kid, that phrase conjured images of the first day of school, discovering I had a new teacher to deal with who didn’t seem young at all to me, but rather, old and stern, reeking of musty books, with a diabolical stare. I remember praying, “I hope my new young-woman-teacher is pretty … or even nice.” Unfortunately, the normal was just … pretty nice.

I met a young woman.

Time progresses and I’m twelve years old. Why is it that God has us discover the greater potentials of our body below the waist before we uncover the mysteries and intricacies of what lies above the neck? I would assume, for His amusement. Anyway, I’m only twelve years old, but those girls of sixteen and seventeen sure look good. But all I can get them to do is ruffle my hair, pat me on the back and treat me like a little brother. Still, the touch of their fingertips registers in areas that I shan’t share. But none of them notice me. I’m too young.

I met a young woman.

Time marches on. I am no longer theorizing, but am in the midst of full evolution and those wonderfully gorgeous young girls are now my age, but because I have a bit of the look of the predator, they’re afraid of me and I must find ways to flirt with them without being overtly obvious about my intentions. Dating. Oh, how I wish it were as easy as shimmying up a palm tree to acquire fruit. There’s nothing easy about it–and the payoff is often not worth the effort. But that doesn’t stop me from pursuing it.

I met a young woman.

Actually, I ended up marrying her. I was engorged with passion, overwhelmed with anticipation and greedy for the pleasures of what relationship could bring. Even sometimes, conversation. I am a young, married man who suddenly notices that all the women around me are all at once attracted my way because I am “taken” and seemingly, no longer a threat. They are all my age, all of them beautiful, it seems, and of course … all of them forbidden. My turmoiled consciousness presses on, desperately trying to keep myself out of situations where I might slip and “fall on purpose” and have to come up with a reason why it was accidental.

I met a young woman.

Older now, settled. Lost some of my hair, but not my vigor, if you know what I mean. All those luscious women are now about ten years younger than me and they think I’m an old man, but I know differently. I want to wink and flirt, but such overtures are met with uncomfortable silences or giddy laughs from the lasses, saying things like, “Oh, sir … you’re so silly.”  Yes, I am silly. I am an aging, silly young man who has not yet discovered that I’m getting gradually decrepit. It is depressing but still well worth living–and viewing. All of these young women have become temptresses. (Gee whiz. I didn’t even know there was a plural for temptress.) But there sure is in my consciouness. I have become too old to be considered, too young to retire, too vibrant to give up and too many birthdays to still keep my candle lit.

I met a young woman. 

Just yesterday. I am so glad that age has afforded me the benefit of looking at this human being before me as a person–really, a daughter. I don’t even notice her physical virtues because I’ve grown old enough now that I actually see through her eyes, down into her soul that is so confused because she is looking for a knight in shining armor, riding a Harley Davidson, chewing tobacco, stopping every fifteen or twenty minutes to read a poem by Shelley or Keats underneath a juniper tree. (My God, he also might be a vampire.) Obviously, such a creature does not exist, but in her innocence, she still dreams.  I am glad to be free of such foolishness.  I am glad I am still viable, but not under the spell of the variable of lustfulness. We talked. I was her father and she was my daughter.  So much more pleasant. So much easier.

I met a young woman.

It will not be long before all the fair maidens of the land will be my granddaughters, running up to assist me to rise from my chair, to come as quickly as I can to see their new cars or their new boyfriends, or to give my wise and seasoned opinion on the materials for a wedding dress. I will be the sage who survived all age to turn a new page to be the oracle for all wisdom.  Will it even cross their minds that I was once as young as they are, filled with the vim, vigor and vitality of pure insanity?

I met a young woman.

Yes, she is coming this morning to anoint my body with spices and ointments for burial. It is over.

Wait! … perhaps I have one bit of magic still left in me.  Maybe I can surprise her … and resurrect.

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

Here comes Christmas! For your listening pleasure, below is Manger Medley, Jonathan’s arrangement of Away in the Manger, which closes with him singing his gorgeous song, Messiah.  Looking forward to the holidays with you!