NOTHING LIKE TURNING OVER A NEW BEEF
Are vegetarians the only folks who know how to turn over a new leaf?
Are the rest of us capable only of turning over a new beef?
Don’t ask me where such thoughts come from–they just insist themselves into my writing, searching for space in which to thrive and insinuate.
Why am I pondering the prominence of beefs? I keep tamping down this prominence but it continues to raise its fluttering hand. It seems everybody has a beef these days, including you and me.
Griping and whining can be fun and tribally satisfying. But griping and whining also sucks all the time off the clock, eats up space, leaves us little room to ruminate, contemplate, meditate…little time to feel the awesome, surrounding presence of the Universe.
I was never a sportsman, never an athlete. But in my swirling imagination I am great with a baseball bat. When I’m feeling the better part of my DNA, I can take that bat and swing at the beefs and whines and self-deprecating illogical annoying stormtrooping negatives and CRACK! send them shattered into dust. Then, some kind of metaphorical leaf blower is employed to delegate that useless dust to the imaginary ethos in which they were birthed.
All this talk about whining and beefing is really another way of contemplating all those philosophical writings about whether a glass is half full or half empty. You know–are you a pessimist if you see the glass as half empty, are you an optimist if you view the glass as half full?
Unfortunately those whines and beefs rear their uglified heads and won’t allow you to feel good till you’ve found something negative to say.
Is the glass half-full or half-empty? DEPENDS ON WHETHER YOU ARE DRINKING OR POURING.
If you see water spots on a glass that’s half full, ARE YOU BEING PESSIMISTIC?
If the glass is half full, DO YOU WORRY ABOUT WHO DRANK THE FIRST HALF?
And so on.
Any good idea can be twisted into a bad one by the snarkies of society.
It’s up to you, it’s up to me, to take up our bats and knock those negatories into a ballpark far, far away
© 2016 A.D. by Jim Reed