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 Cares

There 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.


Self 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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