Saturday, 13 July 2013
It takes a particular kind of strength within a person to see that we are all different. It is an obvious enough fact but one that does not permeate us until something has happened to our being; something so violent, so unimaginable, that our minds must resign to this truth. We are forced to find that the vile outnumber the good, and the mediocre outnumber the vile. And for all these contingents, it is the good who finds it the hardest to accept the differences in us, to accept that others may choose momentary joy over integrity or one's own joy over another's pain. It is the hardest to him because he is tasked to look at these differences and respect them even to his own detriment, and then, without prejudice, without the notion of indifference or revenge, to try and plant goodness in tainted soils without the promise of its growth into a tree.