The sense of sometimes being abused, in my case, I think comes from the knowledge that a second knowledge driving the matter has an evitable hierarchy. Where the hierarchy is inevitable, and life is just like that on occasions, the abuse for me doesn’t exist. But where the hierarchy is a choice, and the result of such a choice, then abuse is part and parcel of the dynamic. That is how I feel, and why I react as I do.
And when knowledge becomes the foundation-stone of war, instead of the touchstone of education and self, then it becomes both choice’s war as well as war’s choice.
The most difficult moment in anyone’s life is to meet up with the truths of hidden lies. Of lies and liars both.
The veil no longer falls these days: it crashes violently and splinters into slashing slivers as if made of invincibility’s cracking.
Give me the truth any day. But give me it honestly over the garden fence, not sly and cruel up the winding garden path.