Andrew James Whalan

Poet Blogger Writer

Tag: Feminism (page 1 of 2)

Horse and Carriage or Unfinished Symphony

I had to laugh (out loud on the train)! For My Dad, Kevin Whalan’s latest blog,opens with the same words as the following speech, written and delivered in 2001,  while I was going through…

“Love and marriage go together like a horse and carriage “

Well, you don’t see that any more do you?

Do I mean horse and carriage or love and marriage?

There is a hidden pandemic of loneliness occurring right now.

It’s called second and third marriage or permanent singlehood.

Actually it’s really divorce.

Most marriages fail. Most second or third marriages fail. Most divorces fail too!

What is the triumph of hope over experience? A second marriage!

But all is not lost! Like flowers in the desert after a rain shower, a new industry has sprouted to upend this trend.

Books, radio shows, tapes, videos, courses, even laws and of course marriage counsellors are lining up to help you and your loved one out of your marriage! I have checked out some of these resources. Unfortunately, few have been helpful.

But I did find something. To paraphrase Sherlock Holmes, when you take away what’s left, whatever remains, no matter how strange it is, is the answer.

Or what I might call Whalan’s law of failure, success is the path you take when all else has failed!

My neighbour loaned me a book. The basic idea of that book was that the man is the problem. And if he helped around the house a little bit more: let’s just set the scene…

The wife has gone out somewhere or is working and has come home late. The husband has just finished washing up and is putting away the dishes. He’s a bit bald, maybe a bit of a paunch, but tonight to the wife, he has never looked more attractive.  When she comes home, she is so glad to see him… scene cuts to the flames burning fiercely in the fireplace.

So you men, if you wash up marital bliss waits. Maybe even a second honeymoon. I wonder what do I get for doing the washing and my own ironing too?

One other book, which I bought and attracts dust, also says the man is the problem. If the man stopped going to the footy or cricket, stopped watching TV, didn’t go out with his friends, gave up his favourite hobbies then marital bliss awaits. Just spend more time with your wife and family.

But I ask you, what man has enough time to do all of this and the housework as well?

And suppose women are the problem.

Yet another book says the above. Laura Doyle’s “The Surrendered Wife: A Practical guide to finding intimacy, passion and peace with a man”. Luckily for me I haven’t read it even silently or aloud to my wife or coloured in the pictures.

For instance her advice is for the woman to stop nagging the man, even covering her mouth with duct tape to do so. She should say, “Whatever you say, dear? “ Talk about the inaudible language of love!

The woman should always say “Yes” and be available for the man. What does this mean? Maybe I should get the book…

The woman should never ever tell the man he is wrong. Does this mean that I’m always right! I can’t remember that time!

Or as I saw in a leaflet which prided itself as a prescription for marital bliss. It suggested that when the husband came home from work, the wife should have all the children lined up to greet him all squeaky clean and neatly dressed. The wife should be perfumed and also neatly dressed, made up etc. She should do all the cooking and housework and hang on every word the husband says.

Obviously, the wife does not work and the children are robotic. Not even in the Brady Bunch, could they make this happen. Even with Alice and Carol Brady slaving away…

It seems ridiculous that Ms Doyle can write a book saying the way to marital bliss is to let the husband do as he pleases.  Please no cheering men, for if what she says is true, men are Neanderthals with a no thickening veneer of civilisation and have to be appeased.

It always seems to me that its either the man is the Conqueror and the wife Surrendered. The women’s liberationists hate that and rightly so!

Or the other way around. The man is submissive and the woman a conqueror.

Maybe there’s a market for a book called the Surrendered Man. It would probably sell to the sensitive new age guys (you know, the ones with boyfriends) and I would have the other copy.

Maybe we should live like accountants, counting up and valuing every task and redeeming them for prizes. Like a game show.

Is there no common ground between men and women except mutual selfishness? Its that the answer?

Or is there not another way?

Maybe there’s a market for a book, video series, etc, called the Surrendered Spouse where both husband and wife promise to live for each other alone.

Maybe they could commit to mutual respect and work together and find that two people can do more together than each alone!

Maybe instead of trying to change each other for selfish gain, they could just change themselves one day at a time.

My point is that the only person you can change in your marriage or any part of your life is yourself. How is up to you !

That takes more courage than slavishly following a reverse tit for tat marriage manual.

Perhaps then marriage (And Life Itself) be an unfinished symphony!

The Space Between Feminism and Neo-Masculinity

An Open Letter To Neo-Masculinists, MRAs, And General Dudebros Everywhere

Hardly a call to feminism is it? With a title like “An Open Letter to Neo-Masculinists, MRAs, and General Dudebros Everywhere”, it just has to be click bait. Besides what the heck is a Dude-Bro? I checked the Urban Dictionary and its not me!

But Oliver Chaseling make his point. If you’re a man who is afraid of feminism then you are afraid of your own masculinity.

Then I don’t know what is wrong with me. Did I take the Blue Pill?  The one where “You take the blue pill—the story ends, you wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe.”  Which isn’t me I’m afraid.

Perhaps it’s Mum’s fault. But then my brother is the same. We were brought up to treat women with respect. We were never brought up to control them.  And in the falling forward that is life and learning to walk, I found that I had one job.  That job is to ensure others gain their absolute best potential and that others don’t lose out to the worst one has experienced.

Which isn’t masculinity.  Masculinity sadly is limiting. Chaseling  calls it a tower. Masculinity separates men from women.  Women on the other hand see feminism as unifying and freeing.

Fortunately, some men  (#notallmen!!!) see feminism as an alternative. One where they can truly be themselves without having to fake masculinity! How do you fake something you’re not good at? That’s masculinity defined!

Besides I’m exasperated with people who focus on those differences alone. They have the same arguments over and again. See any random sample of social media (even the Quasi-Presidential tweets!) for verification.

Yes its Us versus Them.  Feminism versus Masculinity. Left versus Right. Winners versus Losers.

Conflict is so boring that I’d rather explore the horizons that we have in common. I’d rather stop yelling. Listen a little. Learn a lot. And wait for the time (like Chaseling) until the barriers dissolve. Then we all can do some good and have some fun! Sounds like anti-masculinity, doesn’t it? I’d rather call  it compassion.

Vulnerability is the Endless Way Back

Twitter is like someone  sitting next to you while you write. And as soon as you look up, she winks at you. Then you go back to writing again. Until you stop and she winks at you again.  Until you put down the pen or stylus and return the look.  For you realise that she has been waiting for you. And when you do, you have to stop yourself from staring. For something new has appeared.

As happened to me when I looked up after Twitter winked at me. That Twitter eye catcher was Trust, and the Only Fruitful Response to Betrayal in Intimate Relationships Maria Popova’s review of Martha Nussbaum’s book, Anger and Forgiveness: Resentment, Generosity, Justice (public library).

I can only rely upon the book excerpts in the blog. And similarly to the blog, my experience was eerily similar.  Except I’m now staring aghast at this new thing I’ve learned.

Yes I was betrayed. My trust was utterly vapourised. And me being me, I told myself it was my own fault for being so vulnerable. And not being watchful enough.

Yet vulnerability as that blog above states is the way back. For me, the other ways didn’t work.  If there are better ways, I’d be happy to  learn.

I falsely thought I had forgiven the betrayals.  No I had simply coloured over the incidents. And yet I remember many things clearly, for instance, the pattern and colour of my baby high chair.  Until four years later when the perpetrator recalled them. Then my life was a video replay of the content that I won’t divulge here. When challenged, the perpetrator denied them completely. I was still focussed on the act rather than being angry at the person who did it as Nussbaum states.

That betrayal still constantly denied,  found me and made its home in me. Have you ever had anger turn in on itself and feed itself? Still my response was repression, ignoring the video replay in my mind and the taunts in my ears the best I could. Nussbaum refers to my feelings as a status injury, which made me an ex-husband well before I separated!

Then three years later, she admitted the betrayal was true! I still recall the date, the time of day, the light that afternoon, the trees in the driveway, where the car was, where she was standing, where I was standing and how I reacted. I chose suppression. I said nothing and walked away. I had to.

But this time the anger was different. It wanted truth over revenge. It took me eight or nine months. Until I confronted her. She denied it again. This and every other time I had focussed on the first incident. That night, for the first time, I described the exact details of the second incident including the danger I experienced. There was no response. For all defences had collapsed.

This time, no answer was an admission of truth. She knew it too. Afterwards, I would joke to myself that like the spies say, “Everybody talks”, that is everyone tells the truth eventually. Yet the truth can also be told by omission. For what had been excluded had finally formed the real picture.

After the admission, came the explanation. I shook my head and walked away from that too.  It was a contradiction of present words versus previous actions! I can laugh at its inanity now. Then I was too sad. When I was angry afterwards, I had nothing to feed now I had found out the truth. And being angry just made me tired and sad. I suppose I had met the truth at last.

That was the way out. And in time I left.

But the problem with grief is that it is so easy to keep it at a distance. I was simply afraid that if I didn’t it would overwhelm me and crush me. Then I would have to admit I was vulnerable.

Which it did. It took another relationship for that. And this is where Maria Popova’s  blog devastates me. For one cannot ignore grief. I had read about grief in Kluber-Ross On Death and Dying, but I never really had it happen to me.

Grief? It’s the wave taller than you that flips you and lifts you then throws you down to the sea floor until you become sand.

It leaves you with nothing. But I knew that. I just didn’t want to experience it!

From nothing, all I could do was renew. I think what I was doing was Kintsugi reassembling broken pottery with gold!

That was the way back. I did what I needed to renew and review. From that nothing, I studied, I wrote, I walked, I listened to music, I had people appear and help me, I made friends and I started a charity. Every day I looked for joy. And nearly all the time, I found it although I was still unexpectedly surprised!

I consider myself lucky that I could get through. Not all of us can. It is better to admit vulnerability and ask for help. I have done, I still do, although I find it challenging. The road is not ending anytime soon.  And as I have found there are switchbacks and recurrences.

So often, one forgets those times and are then unprepared for its recurrence. And still unprepared to recall the resilience that saved.  Besides I don’t like fairy tale endings. Living happily ever after almost certainly is death by boredom!

Now that I’m out of the fairy tale, there is learning ahead. I learnt and am still learning to trust myself. I learnt and am still learning to accept my vulnerabilities. Then I learnt and am still learning to forgive myself.  It sounds so trite and easy but it’s ruddy well not!  I have not always succeeded either and there are relapses. That’s what the self-help books don’t tell you. The road is endless.

In there, somewhere, I don’t know where exactly, I learnt to forgive the betrayer, the betrayal and free myself. And leave them to deal with it.

In truth as Nussbaum writes, all of this runs closely together. For I had chosen all this. I was therefore responsible for the negative consequences. I know better why I chose it and I’m the wiser (not yet wise) for it.

I’m also responsible for the positive consequences which is, once you get through the worst, you know what you can get through, then you look back and discover life has given you a bonus. That was last week’s truth.

Now I’m left with today’s truth. Betrayal, misusing trust and taking advantage of the vulnerable is too difficult a life to bear isn’t it? Yet such behaviours are an admission of vulnerability from the perpetrators too.

For them, the road hasn’t yet begun. For me it has yet to finish.

 

Suffering Is a Superpower

Bleed out drop by drop,
Breathe out gasp by gasp,
Lose time tick for tock,
And love beat by beat.

Each day darkens upon dark,
Each touch lessens its loss,
I watched my heart disappear,
Shrivelled and dried by fear.

Push me away, slap my face,
Shove me to the wall, that’s my place,
Punch my chest, kick my head,
I fend off the blow. And now I’m dead.

For you’ve found the impetus enough for you,
Though I’ve stopped you, you take your revenge,
I see it double inside you as i double up too,
For many are the offences I could avenge.

I could easily kindle that evil in me,
Take hold of your rage and reciprocate,
Your anger as mine, now pure and clear,
But surrendered to the void of fear.

I know and see that you’ve suffered,
I’ve been racked by your loss unsalved,
If I could, I would offer you comfort,
But I found the healer was killed by the cure.

And now with my heart spent,
I am poured out and empty,
All I have left are questions
To ask of you, one or two, if I may?

Will you let this dissolve you?
As you enjoy the hurt cast on others too,
Now, my question is better said:
Would total revenge be a comfort to you?

Or would it, a second one, if I may ask,
Be a false cure to a pain eternal,
An acid that melts a dying heart,
And bile that burns your mouth?

Perhaps I may suggest an answer,
Diffcult though it may yet be.
A hope perhaps still shrouded
But it may be happening to me.

Out beyond the passing pain,
Lies a desert now watered by rain,
And in it an oasis of comfort and healing,
Where you’ll rest and regain your healing.

And there you will rest and be restored,
There you’ll receive a power conferred,
There you’ll learn to love your suffering,
And that will be the superpower.

Why Doesn’t He Just Leave? Men and Domestic Violence

At the moment, according to Destroy the Joint there is at least one woman a week being murdered by her partner.

Domestic Violence is now more of a mainstream issue than ever.
And there is plenty of advice in the air.

Men Accusing a Young Woman (ID 52029258 © Everett Collection Inc. | Dreamstime.com)

Men Accusing a Young Woman (ID 52029258 © Everett Collection Inc. | Dreamstime.com)

Rosie Batty is campaigning against domestic violence as Australian of the Year. The Prime Minister has floated the use of ankle bracelets to monitor domestic violence offenders. But first they have to be brought to court. Most aren’t. Mark Latham suggested that poverty and unemployment are the cause. He didn’t really suggest a solutionSallee McLaren claimed that women contributed to domestic violence and needed to be more assertive. Phil Barker stated that it was men who needed retraining.

Perhaps this scenario may yield another point of view…A man who was brought up never to strike a woman finds himself in a situation of domestic violence. After the initial shock, he resorts to non-confrontational tactics and seeks safety in work, parenting and housework. Most of the time that provides solace. It never occurs to him to seek help because there isn’t any. But after years of avoidance and abuse, he retaliates.

The police become involved and he is served with a Domestic Violence Order. Despite the woman admitting she initiated the violence, she is not charged. The man reflects upon his actions. He ultimately determines that he shouldn’t have retaliated regardless of the provocation. He takes responsibility and does get help.

But it doesn’t change things. For, from that point onwards, more violence occurs. This time the man does not retaliate. He bides his time and in time leaves.

Perhaps the Men’s Rights Activists would see this as a defeat by rampant feminism. Perhaps their advice would be for the man to be more assertive. But much like Sallee McLaren’s advice, it would have made things worse.

At no stage does it change that fact that most domestic violence is male against female. Neither does it justify misogyny nor misandry.

But from this scenario emerges a man who has seen both sides of domestic violence.  And from this man comes an answer which many people may not agree with….

Man Leaving (© Alexeys | Dreamstime.com - Leaving Photo)

Man Leaving (© Alexeys | Dreamstime.com – Leaving Photo)

And it’s isn’t that rather over-used cliché, “Why doesn’t she just leave?
No it’s the opposite : “Why doesn’t HE just leave?”
In fact, whether victim or perpetrator, it is easier for the man to leave the relationship.

And for this man, domestic violence is now a relationship ending event.

And for this man, any domestic violence leaves him one course of action. Leave. And he should.

Why Doesn’t Gillian Triggs Leave? #IStandWithGillianTriggs

Last night’s ABC Q and A on domestic violence and the ongoing bullying of Gillian Triggs by the LNP would appear to have little to do with each other. But to me both events are more synchronous than coincidental.

Last night Q and A exposed some of the private stories of domestic violence. Today the Senate hearing that interviewed Gillian Triggs exposed the ongoing public corporate violence towards an individual.

Whether public or private, individual or groups, all of these stories run in parallel. They have the same theme. Much like Anastasia Steele in the movie 50 Shades of Grey, Professor Triggs and domestic violence victims all have been offered a deal.

Just do as you’re told. Don’t disagree. Don’t fight back. And all will go well with you.

Much like Rosie Batty, Gillian Triggs and the many victims of domestic violence, that deal involves accepting the unacceptable. As Julie McKay writes, it’s about giving into power.

What’s unacceptable includes having your parenting abilities called into question (both Rosie Batty and Gillian Triggs), being subject to gaslighting, having false rumours and allegations spread about you, etc, etc, right up to and including mental, physical and sexual violence.

What’s then unacceptable is then being asked “Why Don’t You Just Leave?” as if finding new accommodation, packing and leaving, paying rent and bond whilst leaving a relationship is easy. Rosie Batty’s response to Joe Hildebrand and her eloquent words last night say more than enough.

What’s also unacceptable is being implicitly asked to leave a role and then possibly promised another for not towing the line (See transcript).

As to the question “Why Doesn’t Gillian Triggs Leave?” No her perpetrators should. At least we know who they are.

And then we can focus on the children.

 

 

My Brisbane Storm

Much like the other day in Brisbane, and  2008 storms in South-Eastern Queensland happen fast. Perhaps faster now. This one from over a decade ago didn’t leave me much time.
Thie storm began with a small white grey cloud. It seem to tumble and twist like flying cotton candy.  I watched it for a while fascinated and distracted. Then a stray thought occurred to me. Why was it moving so fast?
It was still sunny, hot and humid. There was no wind at that stage, not a breeze, not a whisper. Being a typical Queensland day we had all the doors and windows open, hoping to catch a touch of cool.
I then looked behind the little cloud.  As we were then living on top of a small hill, I had a good view south-west. Usually I could see the mountains. As I looked from west to east the sky was a moving grey tsunami. The mountains were swamped, enveloped in a moving morph of black grey cloud. As I looked more closely, I could see that the clouds weren’t entirely grey. They were changing colour in front of me. I had the distracted thought that they looked like bruises. Green, purple and even yellow shades swirling and rotating.
Then another stray thought occurred to me.  These are snow clouds. The last time I had seen clouds like this I was living in Canberra. My mind started to wander again.  But it doesn’t snow in sunny south-east Queensland.
This was a serious storm. It’s speed left me little time to prepare.
I grabbed the first thing near to me.  I snatched up my youngest son and ran inside. I plopped him near the door and shut it. I just hoped he didn’t sense my rising panic.
Quickly, I upended the outside tables and put the chairs inside. Once inside I closed all the windows. I was running now.
I ran to the front of the house. I shut and locked the front screen and slammed the front door. I sprinted through the house to the main bedroom to do the same. Now I was in a rapid routine. I had done this battening down routine quite a few times before.
By the time I got to the bedroom it was too late. The storm had arrived. The rain was like sea-spray. The wind started to howl and rise in volume. I thought for a second I was on a sailing ship rounding Cape Horn and would be swept away.
I shut the bedroom door and screen. The next thing I knew I had thrown myself full length on the bedroom floor. There had been an explosion. I looked outside and saw flotsam and jetsam. Piles of mulched leaves and branches had already filled the porch. I couldn’t see the front yard trees at all for the sheets of rain.
Then the sky roared at me and the house. I found my children and ushered them into the hallway which was the perfect centre of the house. I  huddled them together to ensure they felt safe but felt that at any moment they wouldn’t be. The sky roared even louder. I still don’t know how long we waited. Then it stopped silent.
Once disaster has been averted, I had a sense of relief. That was followed by the false belief that nothing really happened. In that state of mind, I went out the backyard. The first thing I saw were silver grey sheets on our back fence about 50metres from the house. It was the remnants of our next door neighbour’s shed in pieces in our back yard. My distracted thought was why can I see the back fence at all. We now had no trees. We had a yard of twisted limbs, twigs and branches. That would be tomorrow’s problem : a cleanup for me while I watched the birds that normally visited try to find a place.
Then I went out the front. Apart from a mulch heap of leaves and branches the trees at the front were intact. Except for one.  The largest tree was split in two. Half the trunk had twisted and fallen and was suspended by a remaining branch. I still have no idea if it was lightning or wind.
It was only when our neighbours arrived to retrieve their shed, I realised the storm’s full effect. They had been extremely lucky too. Much like the people from Brisbane the other day.

Mark Latham v Lisa Pryor (Feminists Are Parents Too)

Like Mae West, when Mark Latham is good, he’s very good. Witness his eulogy to Gough Whitlam.

Unlike Mae West, when he’s bad, he isn’t better. Witness his garbled article stating that left feminists hate children.

After several reads and re-reads of this, I may have worked out the gist of what he’s saying.

He opens with a critique of Lisa Pryor  who wrote an article about parenting invoking coffee and anti depressants. She didn’t say what the anti-depressants were. They could be sugar or milk for her coffee for all we know.

She wasn’t writing about anti depressants. She was writing about the vulnerability of being a parent.

Latham initially misses that. He first makes the point that if you don’t want to have children, don’t have them. As a parent I won’t shirtfront Mark Latham on that.

Then surprisingly Mark Latham also writes about the vulnerability of being a parent.Clearly he  has had a good experience parenting and the joy in his words leaps off the page. He’s lucky and should be sharing that joy more often. That’s where he should have stayed.

He then somehow he crosses the chasm in two leaps. He follows up with an incredibly withering critique replete with psychological generalisations that feminists are child hating complainers. Where are these feminists that hate children? Are there any at all? If I’m a feminist then does that mean I’m a bad parent?

He labels  women and/or left wing feminists and/or Lisa Pryor who want more choices in raising families as child haters. He labels women and/or left wing feminists and/or Lisa Pryor showing vulnerability as complaining and avoiding responsibility.

Unfortunately, his article assumes that anyone else who has had a different experience to him is wrong. His first assumption is that as parenting has been good to him, it should be easy and joyful for others. As Lisa Pryor implies, it ain’t necessarily so Mark. His second assumption is that to admit that vulnerability is a bad thing and that you should harden up. It ain’t necessarily so Mark, showing vulnerability is actually courage in itself.

And that last assumption means he completely misses what Lisa Pryor’s article is all about. Perhaps he didn’t read it to the end.

What’s quizzical about all of this is that funnily enough Mark Latham and Lisa Pryor have more in common that one might think. They’re both parents and they both write about the vulnerability and the required courage of being a parent.

 

And I’ll leave the final word to Mae West , ““I never said it would be easy, I only said it would be worth it.” Pity Latham didn’t focus on that more.

 

 

Do It In A Dress : More Than Educating Girls

School Children When I walked into my gym I got a pleasant shock.

The receptionist was wearing a school uniform.

I started laughing. I knew why. Last time I saw someone in a school uniform, it was for the same  cause: Do it in a Dress.

Do It In A Dress is a fund raising campaign for the One Girl charity  to ensure that girls are educated in Africa.

So why is a man writing about educating girls?

Because it’s personal.

I’ve seen first hand the power of educating girls. If only from a first world point of view.

Sixty years ago, my maternal grandfather died too early. He left a large family. Consequently,he left his wife (my maternal grandmother) some major challenges.

Not the least of which was financial.

Which created an educational problemEducation. Should she encourage all the family members to get the best education? Just the boys? Or the girls as well?

The choice she made has reverberated and resonated down three generations (and counting).

She encouraged both her sons and daughters to get the best education. And against all odds, all the children did way better than their circumstances would ever let them.

One of those daughters became a teacher and mother to me.

Whether she was teaching or not, in school or out of school, my mother lived the importance of having a great education. She knew that an education gives you choices.

Which is why I’m choose to be educated. And still am being educated.

Hopefully I’ve encouraged my children in the same way. They’re educating themselves too. And realising the wider choices they have.

Now taking this story back into the third world, educating girls obviously creates an immensity of choices for girls.

And all of their children and their children’s children.

 

Sex and Vacuuming : A Game of Mutual Selfishness

Kathy Lette’s If Your Wife Doesn’t Want Sex Then Try Doing the Vacuumming article echoes the Annabel Crabb‘s The Wife Drought re having it all and needing a wife.

Like the old expression, “Love and marriage go together like a horse and carriage“, there isn’t much of that anymore.

Yes, unfortunately, I’ve heard this all before.

In the throes of a disintegrating marriage, I turned to reading books many of which made the same recommendations.

The prescribed panacea was that if a man did more housework or spent less time with his mates, marital bliss awaits.

In truth I did step up and I fervently believe that men should (see Having It All). But there’s no guarantee of reciprocation. Not that reciprocation was my motivation.

Unfortunately, the opposite argument is of course is that the woman should do more. As set out by Laura Doyle in her book the Surrendered Wife where women need to step up so the man can step down. Again there’s the implicit guarantee of reciprocation.

These viewpoints seem to treat marriage as some sort of reality show (Wife Swap perhaps?). Marriage is seen as a game where you amass points for doing the right thing, are penalised for doing the wrong thing and receive or forgo prizes. Marriage in this light seen as territorial and transactional with winners and losers.

My real problem with all of this is that both viewpoints are both motivated by the guarantee or expectation of reciprocation. If I do this, I get that and if you do this, you get that.

What that creates is a relationship based on mutual selfishness. Both partners keep score and amass points and expect to be rewarded. The problems occur over keeping track of the points, rewards, penalties and prizes. From my personal experience after arguing over that there’s little energy left for vacuuming or sex.

Nor does it foster much love. Nor create an environment that fosters compassion and generosity.

So what’s left from this? My dull insight is this. Perhaps we could try an unselfish love for oneself and for others for a change? Perhaps we could create an environment of compassion and generosity?

 

 

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