Entry 13 - In the Garden of Good and Evil. And Madness.

It is said that power corrupts. I saw that happen to myself. It robs you of the self-less giving that can define your character. It is a laziness of spirit. Evil – the loss of gifts. Strange that opposites should have so much in common. Evil is the loss of giving, good is the loss of receiving. G told me I could not accept. R told me I could not give – a reflection of duality. Both heal, both purify, both are symbolic and metaphorical, physical actions that shape interactions. Is evil just a balancing force? An equal and opposite reaction to largess? Good? Naivete. Sometimes I forget that evil exists. Or at least, I forget what I’m supposed to consider evil and reject. I’m not so sure anymore. Sometimes I forget that the shadows are not always created by the light in men’s hearts. I am surrounded with good, with joy every moment. Perhaps that is why we are so unhappy? Too much ease and comfort around us? Too much good? No outer evils to use our good side for, only good around provoking a countering effect of depression, anxiety, cruelty, judgment. Children in the US don’t feel history, can’t identify with cultural heroes. We have no coming of age ceremonies, no goals or gates for becoming adults. Our society protects us so much that we almost feel…stunted? Catering to the lowest common denominator and excluding individuality, common sense, personal experience. A laziness of mind. What is work, actually? What do we actually produce as adults, as a community? Why do we care for each other? It’s almost like we are slaves. The discipline of hard work, internally, is lost on us, because we can just do what we’re told. The determination, patience, and pride of a job well done for our own freedom is not ours. We fail. We can’t give and can’t receive because we’re all enslaved to this awkward conformity. Empty conformity. I see the weakness of it in my face. I’m neutral, evidently neither man or woman or human, according to R. R says many things. I do not. She sees too little of me, or perhaps I see too little of her. We always seem to reach for each other and fail. Too different, I suppose. Young or old, it doesn’t really matter. We’re both trapped in our fantasies of life. I see myself losing. What if I become my mother? Insanity, a wheel without a center, going around and around and around. All collapsed in on itself and lost to the rest of life. I do not want that.