The Sad Irony
At so little are we
distressed; we who possess houses,
land, and possessions galore, we
who never hunger, and are never
left out in the cold, while
numberless are the hordes, whole
seas of humanity, who live and die
starving and naked in the
streets.They are human beings
just like us who unfortunately
were
born in the wrong place at the
wrong time. Have we any more right
to life than they? We who have so
much, but would you listen to us
complain. Because we are healthy
and well-fed we have the vigor to
complain, but those poor
unfortunates, the outcasts of the
earth, have no strength left to
even cry out against a cruel
world. We sit back in luxury, we
the pampered of the earth, and
lament the price of beans, or some
little ache or pain. How
unthankful we are as we grow fat
and lazy eating and drinking
ourselves to death.Even with all
our blessings we are still
unhappy, and we never seem to get
enough.We are blind and cannot see
how well off we are. Perhaps for
all our luxuries and possessions
when all is said and done we do
not fare much better, and are not
much more contented than those who
are born with nothing and die with
nothing. It is a sad irony that
those who have do not enjoy it,
not really, and are less
appreciative of life than those
who must struggle for every morsel
to exist.
 Somebody Who
CaresThere
has got to be somebody who cares.
There has got to be somebody who
cares about human life, respects
people, and who feels deeply. It
is that person who makes life
valuable. Pain, bloodshed, and
devastation are in part tolerable
if there is left one person with
enough magnitude of heart to view
the ashes with compassion.We
can go to our graves with a degree
of peace if we know that those who
follow us will possess mercy. The
person who cares gives us new
hope, raises us above our mortal
weaknesses, and inspires us to
great and noble ends. We would
despair and cry out for an escape
from a brutish world, did we not
find some feeling and tenderness
in the hearts of people. It is
this little sparkle of the divine,
this love light which shines
through the eyes, and is conveyed
from the heart, which keeps us
believing in others and in
ourselves. It is not in vain all
the struggling, all the
sacrifices, and all the hardships
humanity has endured since the
beginning if it has produced a
people who are concerned. We sink
into dejection with our minds, and
our hearts are brought low by the
evil aspects of life, and almost
we doubt if anyone is interested,
or more than mildly concerned
whether our plight is desperate or
not. We are sometimes denied
that morsel of kindness which we
need to
survive.
The Old Whiskey Bottle
In the middle of
nowhere I came upon an old whiskey
bottle. Overgrown with weeds it
looked as if it might have lain in
that state for a number of years.
The label was worn off, and the
contents long departed. It once
contained a half pint of liquid
that once fired someone's mind,
once soothed a troubled soul, or
at least dulled it with
stupor.The person who drank it
might also be departed, or perhaps
merely guzzling down another of
the same. I wonder what story it
could tell about that night or day
when haplessly it was thrown in
that ignoble grave. It looked
harmless enough lying there a
testimony to someone's
carelessness and thoughtlessness,
but put all together the
forgotten, recklessly discarded
empty alcohol bottles and cans of
this world add up to quite a
mess. Once it adorned a tavern
shelf, and once it fitted nicely
in a person's hand, but now it
abides with grass and weeds,
snakes and lizards crawl over it,
toads and crickets use it for a
seat, and spiders build webs
around it. Hard earned money was
spent to obtain that bottle while
maybe wife and children were doing
without needed food and clothing.
That bottle might have contributed
to a broken home or a traffic
accident. That bottle
might still be wreaking its havoc
in the lives of the people wrecked
by it. Now it lies buffeted by
rain and snow out of place even
here, and a scar on the
landscape.
SelfSelf
demands so much of our thoughts,
and so much of our time and
energy. But there is so much more
than self in the world. A devotee
to self has no time for anything
else, as his pursuits become those
of gratification of self. His
vanity prevents his having
anything but a grudging and
peremptory relationship with other
people.It is difficult for a
selfish person to be diplomatic
and meet people half way. Only the
person who puts self behind him
can truly care for other people.
Only those who are oblivious of
self ever find serenity. Only
those who are oblivious of gain or
ascendancy over other people ever
find contentment. The true measure
of unselfishness is devotion to
humanity. Except for a very few
exceptional persons, few people
think beyond self. Yet there is
something else in man, a small
semblance of self sacrifice for
the common good in every heart.
What freedom it would be to be
free of self, or at least gain a
new self. No man is free as long
as he has care. No man is free as
long as he has the least bit of
selfishness. What a mean slavery,
this self love. How fresh and
clear
the air, and how bright and broad
the world when we forget about
self and care for other
people.
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