From a biological perspective, our needs are modest and few. If we knew enough to share, life would be effulgent, Edenic, easy. But, dang it, we don’t and it isn’t. In Chronicles of Wasted Time, Malcolm Muggeridge likened humans to “pigs in a crowded sty, jostling and shoving to bury their snouts in the trough; until one of them momentarily lifts his snout upwards in the air, in so doing expressing the hope of all enlightenment to come; breaking off from his guzzling to point with his lifted snout to where the angels and archangels gather round God’s throne.”
Forgiveness recognizes that every person acts according to his highest level of consciousness. Which, in some cases, is lower than a snake’s belly in a wagon rut.
As a young boy, there was a brief period when I thought I was a tiger. I felt fleet, powerful, at the centre of things. Then it passed and I drifted into error.