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When decency is not decent

  In my previous post, I shared how Socrates and Plato taught that four virtues lead to true happiness: courage, moderation, wisdom, and justice. I believe in these virtues deeply, and I know many of you do, too. ​However, I’ve come to a painful realisation: not everyone shares a soul-deep longing for a world of harmony and reciprocal respect. We cannot ignore the reality that some individuals find a dark satisfaction in destruction, exploitation, and humiliation. It is a terrifying truth to witness. ​We see this reflected even on a national scale. Looking at the actions of governments in places like Russia or Israel, we are forced to confront state-sanctioned violence.  Some might say it is "racism" or "prejudice", but is it really? Or is it simply an honest witness to the unjustified violence happening in front of our eyes? And we "decent nations" do not react accordingly? ​I see a different kind of crisis in the USA. How did the "decent people...

gathering

This verb means to bring together and take in from scattered places or sources. This is exactly what I have begun to do. It has been a while by now. It is an enormous work!

Yes, because in the almost 9 years, very unfortunate years spent with my schizophrenic mother, that I deeply experienced as a total imprisonment, with no personal space and time... Well, when I happened, to somehow manage, to squeeze in something connected with my studies and research: notes, reflections, infos from some super interesting page on the web... that I wanted to put apart, for some future time of freedom, I inevitably ended up closing it in a hurry, into some clouds or private blogs, because my mother, again, had the urgent and immediate priority.

This meant that I never had the necessary seconds to reflect upon where I should have put the file. The result was that I often forgot I had already written a specific memo on the subject, therefore I wrote it again. At the end, all scattered in far too many places on the web, I found so much material, often written two, three, four times, and always slightly different, that now, that I am finally settling down and I am trying to gather the different themes - each into specific files - it takes ages before I even manage to put together the ones that I wrote multiple times. Literally exhausting.
But I want to have it done. 

It takes a huge amount of time and patience and focused dedication, to such an extend that when I finally  pronounce the fateful sentence: "let's call it a day!" I feel so spaced out from my reality that I need some seconds to recall where I am: in which of the many houses I have lived parts of my life, I find myself now, at this very moment. Disconcerting indeed! 

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