"Until he extends the circle of his compassion to all living things, man will not himself find peace."
-Albert Schweitzer
Let me tell you about something that I know I am bad at. Love. I can't tell you much about it - but I know that I'm bad at it. I think it is something you have to experience and have to share to describe. And then you've got to battle with the restrictions of language - I hear it transcends words.
Just like lust (though Leonard Cohen is damn close to describing this).
I try my best not to be a smooshy, or sensitive. Its just not in me. I spent a lot of time in high school being immensely emotional as I was dealing with the reality of growing up. And so I have tried to purge myself of so much emotion.
Now when I encounter it, I am paralyzed. Concerned that it will bring back uncontrollable frustrations. Thoughts of suicide. And I never realize that it could completely alter my personage in the opposite direction; that, in some less-than-cliché form, I could be transformed by love. (Note: not Love.)
I have realized in the past weeks that I haven't an ounce of compassion in me.
I have tried to visualize this. If I were turned to liquid, and a chemist thought I was worthy of the effort, I could be distilled into my man different traits. There would be a jug of pride. A couple glasses of jealousy, one more full than the other (of course). A tumbler of anger, with some ice in it just to cool me down. An ounce of compassion.
I wish it were not so.
I have noted that my experience in teaching has made me more conservative. I was recently joking with a former colleague about how some parents should not be allowed to have children because they haven't any idea of how to raise them. Then we continued, saying that some people, particularly those with mental and physical ineptitude, should not be allowed to procreate because their children rarely turn out well.
I had this conversation. And I meant it when I was having it. And it has troubled me ever since.
An ounce of compassion.
I wish it were not so.
I am not the things you think I am.
Let me tell you about something that I know I am bad at. Love. I can't tell you much about it - but I know that I'm bad at it. I think it is something you have to experience and have to share to describe. And then you've got to battle with the restrictions of language - I hear it transcends words.
Just like lust (though Leonard Cohen is damn close to describing this).
I try my best not to be a smooshy, or sensitive. Its just not in me. I spent a lot of time in high school being immensely emotional as I was dealing with the reality of growing up. And so I have tried to purge myself of so much emotion.
Now when I encounter it, I am paralyzed. Concerned that it will bring back uncontrollable frustrations. Thoughts of suicide. And I never realize that it could completely alter my personage in the opposite direction; that, in some less-than-cliché form, I could be transformed by love. (Note: not Love.)
I have realized in the past weeks that I haven't an ounce of compassion in me.
I have tried to visualize this. If I were turned to liquid, and a chemist thought I was worthy of the effort, I could be distilled into my man different traits. There would be a jug of pride. A couple glasses of jealousy, one more full than the other (of course). A tumbler of anger, with some ice in it just to cool me down. An ounce of compassion.
I wish it were not so.
I have noted that my experience in teaching has made me more conservative. I was recently joking with a former colleague about how some parents should not be allowed to have children because they haven't any idea of how to raise them. Then we continued, saying that some people, particularly those with mental and physical ineptitude, should not be allowed to procreate because their children rarely turn out well.
I had this conversation. And I meant it when I was having it. And it has troubled me ever since.
An ounce of compassion.
I wish it were not so.
I am not the things you think I am.
