Life is a play of love. Which means all of it or none of it. I cannot say I love one country or six people. Love does not discriminate. It cannot be divided.
Factual men are quiet, kind, humble. Opinionated men are the opposite of that.
Of the outer world, that of form and flags, we know a lot. Of the inner world, that of emptiness and silence, we know a little. We go where our interest takes us.
It appears that there are two classes of refugee: White ones. Everyone else.
Me and mine. Seems like a benign concept until we dig into it, exposing the cloaked inherencies of me-ness and mine-ness. If all conflict derives from selfishness, we may have found the source.