BUT what’s strong language? Probably a lot of sound and fury adding up to zilch.
Maybe something like the bundle of seed words in a tigalpo, not even pronounced above a whisper—merely muttered under the breath to induce slow dehydration of body fluids on the intended victim. Ghastly death follows.
But it takes summoning the body’s reserves of intrinsic energies to pronounce such a death sentence on the deserving. Before such pronouncements can be made, an initiate often goes through a back-wracking regimen in the military arts, even pursues a monastic life—something like plain down-to-earth living, opulent grab-at-the-heavens thinking.
In the 1990s, doctor of alternative medicine Masaru Emoto found out that water has the ability to retain information, be influenced by thoughts, music, especially prayers. In an experiment, he asked a Buddhist monk to say blessings to a Petri dish of toxic water taken from a highly polluted lake. The blessed water turned up purified—the Buddhist monk’s blessing was a likely culprit to the transformation.
More than two-thirds of the human body is water. Water which—as the Masaru Emoto tests show-- turns out to be quite gullible at keeping choicest chunks of filth and tripe dumped into it, say, the real score behind an Ylmas Bektas-Ruffa Gutierrez break-up, the falling out of a Gladys what’s-her-surname from Eat Bulaga, or the coming out in the open of an Ogie Alcasid-Regine Velasquez romance… ugh nauseam.
It’s likely idle chatter works out the same toxic effect on the body fluids.
And if you’re a Sufi wont to the prescribed daily regimen of calling on a name of the Almighty corresponding to “Taker of Life”— or “killer” in plain Arabic—the aqueous biochemistry somehow follows the invocation. You become.
Or you’re probably into mantra yoga sowing the daily cycle of seed words into your systems; you’ve even picked out a most beautiful aspect of the Divine, the bloodthirsty Durga whose myriad arms bear motley weapons of mass destruction and obliteration. You’re cool. Aum namaste!
You could be into Zen, dumping tons and tons of invocations to serenity in the eye of tornadoes and cyclones in your biochemical make-up. Let peace in the eyesight of tropic howlers be in you, bro.
Now, it should DAWN on our good old physician comrades-in-the-healing-arts Net Billones and George Abordo why this writer is inexplicably choosy when it comes to people he’d chat up with in earnest. Why, stupidity is a water-borne disease. It’s virulently contagious.
Hey, something called tigalpo was cited earlier. A bundle of seed words, probably gibberish or too arcane to decipher, enunciated sans pomp and pomposity of a court of justice. A quaint packet of seed words for sowing not unlike the pesky Gmelina tree species whose invasive roots suck dry every droplet of water.
Those aren’t words that heal. They cause the contrary. Anyway, a shriveled corpse can be pumped up to decent plumpness with a few gallons of formaldehyde solution—any decent embalmer can do that.
Those are the most likely candidates for pretty strong language.
Ah, I’ve grown fond of talking to the plants that I’ve often kept company—they don’t indulge much in idle chatter or brainless banter.
Too, plants are wont to use weak language.