Monthly Archives: November 2022

Ask Old Jules: Life in the ’60’s, Who supports marijuana legalization, Moderate Muslims, Legalizing drugs, Modern society


Old Jules, what was it like living in the 1960’s?

The ’60s were no better, no worse than any since. Different, but certainly not more self-indulgent than those today.
The music was one hell of a lot better, though. And the ’60s had the advantage of some percentage of the living population not having spent their early childhoods staring at televisions and hearing canned laughter.
Also, most people could still read and write.

Do you know there’s no such thing as a non-stoner who supports marijuana legalization? There never has been and there never will be. The only people who think it should be legalized are smokers.

Sounds as though you’re high on Jesus. Do you know there’s no such thing as a non-Christian who supports Christianity? Most of us would be tickled pea green if you just raptured the hell out.

Old Jules, why don’t all these so-called moderate Muslims speak out against or go on marches opposing the extremists?

The same reason Christians never spoke out against the Inquisition. The same reason Christians never spoke out about the 2000 years of slaughter of Jews. The same reason Christians never spoke out about the rape, robbing and murder of Mormons and driving them pushing shopping carts to exile in Utah.
The reason is that probably most Muslims object, but they don’t want the uglies among them knocking on their doors. Any more than you’d want them knocking on your door.

Old Jules, what about legalizing drugs?
Legalizing drugs would create a lot more problems than it would solve. The entire machinery of the illegal drug industry and marketing would have to turn elsewhere to make a living. Cops would have to actually begin holding up convenience stores, politicians would be mugging people in alleyways, prison guards, gangs, lawyers, judges, everyone among them would have to openly begin picking the pockets and otherwise snagging the money of the citizenry in more obvious ways.
Best leave drugs illegal.

Old Jules, what are the beliefs of people living in a modern society ? Their ways of life, religion, dreams,  and who are they?

They’re all over the waterfront. Although there are human genres, they’re certainly not alike.
Mostly they lock their teeth into an idea or viewpoint and obsess with it, or snort a lot of nose candy, or go glazed eyed over people in moving pictures or on television, or spectator sports, then salt it down with a bit of political opinion.
They are disfranchised from everything their ancestors did, believed, had to do to survive. In most of the western world not one person in a thousand has ever seen anything he ate while it was alive. Never killed anything then ate it. Never grew a veggie, nurtured it, then ate it. Don’t know what color the hair was on the piece of an animal they ate out of clear plastic and white foam from the day they were born until now.
If it weren’t for television they couldn’t tell a cow from a swine.
The way of life is one of synthetic ideas and artificial dreams.

A letter to Julia, age 6 (Part Two)

Continued from November 28th, which was Part One:

So, among the flock of humans out here on the Divide, there really aren’t any Lady McBeth’s to speak of, at least among the men. I’m not familiar enough with the wife folks to these fellows to be able to comment.
So here I am, sort of like I’ve won the lottery, in the chicken reality of things. A whole flock of clucks, and can’t make it pay off in green. Shakespeare could probably have done something with this, though it lacks in violence, cheap puns, murder, and slapstick. Hmmm… well, not the slapstick.

Silkies are easy to love– any hen will tell you that. Cromwell and the two speckled birds are easy to be indifferent about. The little red bantam is just what he is– cocky–all bantam–noisy, and about what you’d expect. But I like Rosencrantz for his bizarre looks and contrary nature. Not cluckishness, though he is one, but there’s a style about him that grows on a person. On me, anyway. But then, I’m the guy who believed in Y2K.

However, these hens evidently don’t want a whole lot of foppish Rosencrantz’s strutting about hither, thither, and yon. Maybe it’s just as well. Rosencrantz is in a class all his own now that Guildenstern sleeps with the fishes. Evidently, it’s a class that the hens don’t really want to send into the next generation. They don’t snub him to his face, which is charitable I think, but just let a yellow chick come poking out of an eggshell and there seems to be a unanimity of opinion about where to draw the line.

A bit later:
When I was a boy of butterfly catching age, not much older than you I’d imagine, there was a story around that if you ever got a tiger swallowtail butterfly with a six-inch wingspan, there was someone at Eastern New Mexico University who would pay $100 for it. The story had been around for years and passed each year from the boys who were older and probably in their last summer of butterfly chasing to the new crop just arriving at an age to find an old lace curtain, a piece of clothesline wire, and a broomstick the head could be cut off of.
A hundred dollars was an awfully lot of money back there when the 20th century had barely turned the halfway point. A new Ford or Chevy could be had for $1200.
Anyway, nobody knew who out there would pay it, but assumed it was true– to this day when I see a tiger swallowtail I automatically estimate the wingspan and briefly consider whether I might yet collect that hundred bucks.

(… to be continued…)

A letter to Julia, age 6 (Part One)

Jack wrote this to my daughter in June of 2000, while he was still living on his y2k property in New Mexico.

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Dear Julia,
In every flock of chickens, there’s usually one called the “cluck.” The cluck is the stupidest chicken in the flock–stupider even than the roosters, or other roosters, if it happens to be one itself.
I’ve watched this flock of chickens for a long time now, wondering which chicken was my cluck. For a while it was definitely the big white hen, whose name has slipped from my memory. Later, I thought it might be Crooked Beak– old Crooked Beak certainly is as stupid as a chicken needs to be.
The guineas don’t count– they ain’t bred for smart or stupid– they’re cunning, but really a lot more stupid than chickens–can’t find their way out of an opening they just came in. So who, says I, is my cluck?
I’ve thought a lot about this and finally reached a stunning realization: I have an entire flock of clucks! With the exception of Lady McBeth, every chicken I own is stupider than all the rest–stupider than a chicken has any business being, except Lady McBeth.
Can you imagine the odds against that? Thirty or forty clucks all in one flock? It’s like rolling boxcars 10 times in a row, or drawing to an inside straight (something no gentleman does) and ending up with a straight flush. For a while I wondered if there wasn’t money to be made from this, but I finally realized that nobody pays attention to such things anymore, more’s the pity.
Fact is, most people don’t even know what a cluck is. Some don’t even know what stupid looks like in a chicken. And some have so much in common with clucks that they find a sort of kinship with them– I suppose I’d have to put myself in that category. Shore do like these chickens, even though it’s plain to me they are a flock of clucks.
There are about 15 little chicks out there now. The chicks are a good mix, some of uncertain parentage, but one obvious silky, and the yellow one that had to come from an indiscretion by Rosencrantz. Likely he’s seen the error of his ways now, with this poor dogie chick that looks too much like him for deniability running around and wondering whether water is to drink or to drown in, and what became of its ma an pa. I’ve begun pulling eggs from the remaining brooding hens. Mostly they aren’t good mothers– likely as not to kill a chick if they don’t like the looks of it, or forget it’s theirs and not be a mama to it, letting it starve or get kicked around by other hens.
The yellow chicks have had a lot of that– one has been beaten up pretty badly and I think it won’t last the night. The other is the only one left, though healthy and protected for now. On the other hand, the mamas all seem to dote on the silky offspring. Guess they remind them of how sweet and cute and what good dancers their papas were.
Anyway, if you ever hear anyone refer to me as “the cluckster” you’ll know what they are referring to. When they say it, you might notice a bit of a sneer in their voice, or a curl to their lip, but never you mind. I’ve done as much to earn the title as any man on the planet and I’ll wear it with the same pride and charming savoir-faire as the idiot down the road wears the title “rancher.”  After all, the reason there are no clucks among cow critters is that exceptional stupidity is almost impossible to identify in creatures at that level. Who ever heard of a stupid snail or fish? Same’s pretty much true of ranchers these days I expect.
(to be continued)

Flying Story: Citabria Killeen

I spent several years trying to find new ways to frighten myself in a 1947 Cessna 140 without killing myself. Lots of hair-raisers and close calls in the left seat.

But I was with a guy who later became an airline pilot one day in his Aerocobra, him piloting, and came nearest to scaring the pants off me.

We were buzzing the house of a pilot friend during the super bowl game, lower and lower, then up, hard around and back down and over.

The guy in the house came running out and sprayed us with the water hose….. spray all over the windshield and we couldn’t see anything except out the side windows.

We had a lot of airspeed coming down so John pulled the nose up hard and up we went until the airspeed was gone gone gone and we were a couple of held-breaths from being scattered all over someones yard.

Last possible fraction of a second John kicked the rudder hard over and we reversed nose down, plane falling, not flying. Full throttle and the plane got enough fly into the wings to allow him to pull the nose up in time to knock down the television antenna, tear up the prop and send guy-wires from the antenna whipping around battering and tearing the wingtips.

We staggered back to the airport and hid the plane in John’s hanger hoping to avoid an FAA in-flight accident report.

Close enough for government work.

Ask Old Jules: Fear of getting old, Thoughts that blow your mind, Meaning of life, What people don’t know yet


Old Jules, are you scared of growing older? Lately I’ve been depressed I’ve been worrying about a lot of things. A lot of people are so negative all the time around me lately. How can I change my attitude towards this all and try to ignore the pessimistic idiots who keep dragging my mood back down again?

I’m three-and-some-change times your age and growing older doesn’t frighten me. Nor, for that matter, does not growing older.

What you’re talking about is not an age thing. It’s in the fact human beings just aren’t all that intelligent and certainly aren’t enlightened enough to give you advice worth following [though many here think they are both].

Nobody’s dragging your mood down except in the sense you’ve handed over the reins to them, said, “I give you the power to influence how I feel, how I view life, how I respond to whatever’s around me.” You have the choice not to give them that power.

Old Jules, what thoughts have you had recently that have blown your mind?

I’ve been thinking a lot about time lately, about how the past within personal memory seems concrete enough, but how it resembles a venturi as it approaches the present. About how the present is gone so quickly it mightn’t exist at all as a practical matter. Any attempt to nail down the present is doomed to failure because it’s gone before you can get a hold on it.

Been trying to build an analogy or model to allow a better look at the way I, we understand time, or ignore it, and maybe arrive at a better grasp of what it’s all about, behavior of something in physics, particles or some such thing, with behavior that rhymes with the way time behaves in our minds.

Because time probably doesn’t exist. Which should mean the ‘future’ is as fixed as the past.

One of the analogies I’ve considered is something akin to a lens with the present being a retina, but I’m generally liking the venturi better at the moment.

I’m leaning to the opinion we aren’t better prognosticators, predictors of the future is because we’re looking in the wrong place for it. A straight line through the past, through the neck of the venturi and out into the future would appear to be the logical place to look, but it isn’t there or we’d be a lot better at figuring it out. I have an idea the location is being distorted by the movement through the retina or the neck of the venturi.

Old Jules, what would happen if all but 20 people suddenly vanished from the planet?

If no two of them were located within 1000 miles of the nearest other they’d each learn to live with themselves pretty thoroughly.

I’m a hermit anyway, and too many decades around the star to care much one way or the other. If I happened to be one of them I’d do my best to avoid the others until my time ran out. I’m not much impressed with humanity.

Old Jules, what do you think is the meaning of life?

It isn’t complicated. This pre-schooler figured it out all by herself:

Jessica’s “Daily Affirmation”

Old Jules, what’s something no one knows yet?

1] Why the magnet poles of the sun reverse themselves every 11 years, roughly.…

2] Why there’s a huge, empty piece of space out there [discovered since Hubble] with nothing visible in it.…

3] Why the magnetic poles of the gas giants are sometimes so far from the spin axis……

4] Why the mountain range a mile beneath the ice in Antarctica doesn’t meet our expectations derived from our speculations about how mountain ranges are formed.……

5] Pretty much everything else.

November 20, 1963, Letter from Korea

8:30 PM
20 November, 1963

Dear Folks,

 Got your letter, the fruit cake, and the peanut brittle, etc. All today, all the guys and me too were awfully happy to see it come. Thanks!
 Please pardon the fact that I haven’t written recently.  We have been in the field for about two weeks now, and it looks at the moment as though Thanksgiving will be spent out here.
There has been a lot of rain, snow, sleet, and a cold that just doesn’t seem to care how many clothes you put on. Commo seems to have been hit hardest by this alert. The phones have been silent for about 3 days. I’m beginning to wonder if there is anyone else left out here but us.
 Still, a battalion of tanks came down the river bed headed north about an hour ago, and the engineers have been skittering around ever since trying to undo the damage they did.
You know, it’s hard to believe I was 20 years old as of yesterday. It has been an awfully fast year. And a lot happened during it.
 This tent has all sorts of things in its favor that no home should be without. A field phone that doesn’t work. A coal-oil stove that soaks the ground around it in kerosene, a typewriter with no carriage throw, a file desk with nothing in it, and a camouflage  (this is probably the most useful thing around, because air harassment  has been nil in this camp). I imagine this camp is one of the smallest, most nearly forgotten ones in Korea at the moment. There are about 8 CP tents here, and numerous pup tents around. It consists of civil affairs personnel, 16 personnel, DSO personnel, and a few non-combatants. There is no activity whatsoever in camp the majority of the time. The best I can figure it we are somewhere to the rear of division rear, along the Han, and north Seoul and Yong Dong Po. I understand (through the grapevine) that EUSA HQ moved out of Pusan and the 7th Division is up on the line with the 8th and 9th Cavalry right now. Also there is a kind of confirmed rumor that the 7th Special Forces Group has moved off Okinawa and is up there with the best of them. The Slikky Boys are terrible out here. The Colonel caught pneumonia this week and they hauled him south this morn. 
 Closing for now- write soon and I’ll do the same.
 Happy Thanksgiving!
As always,

Thoughts About Relationship Issues

Most of this is from the Q/A site where the Ask Old Jules questions come from.

Guys what do you honestly want from a relationship/marriage?

Nobody wants the same things. I’m approaching 70 times around the sun and one of the things I’d do differently is sit down with individuals going into relationships with me and discuss thoroughly what expectations each had, the stuff that goes without saying, the “assumed” stuff. I’d want to know and communicate the minimums, the maximums, the bottom lines.

But nobody ever does. Asking strangers in the genre won’t help. Some of us gotta have someone beat us, tie us up, some of us want drugs, money, rock and roll. Some want to eat popcorn and stare at a TV all day picking our noses. We’re all different.

I left a lot of unhappy women along my back trail and I have fond memories of all of them. If I was the sort of person worries about such things I’d think they didn’t do themselves a favor by spending months and years with me as a primary piece of their lives telling me how much they loved me, valued me how great I was, but carrying bitterness or hatred after I left. I think they’re laying aside something they loved at the time in favor of retrospectively hating it and me.

Maybe they’d feel better about it afterward if we’d put it all down on paper ahead of time and each signed it. I never made a secret of my intentions. The secret was they believed they could change me into something I wasn’t.


What you want is for you to decide in your own life. What anyone else thinks about it has zero value. What you think about the wants and needs of others is of zero significance.


Standards is a word with implied superiority, wisdom, morals. Treat it that way if you wish, but it’s horse manure for you to attempt to preach it on the streets.


Dependency relationships last as long as you put up with them. My main one lasted 25 years, me thinking I could fix it. When I finally left she blamed me for not giving her an ultimatum, said she didn’t realize how important it was for me. That’s been more than 20 years ago and I still puzzle over it (and still miss her good points).

Die early and avoid the fate.


Is there an age after which it’s pointless to bother with marriage?

I’d say 16 would be a good age to begin the comprehension, but it took me until I was almost 50. That approaches two decades of finding out a lot of women haven’t realized it yet.


Depends on what both members of a relationship openly agree ahead of time to have expected of them and live up to. There’s no “normal” tacit agreement until it’s agreed to by both parties.

All this moralizing is about moralizing. It isn’t about reality and fleshed out characters. It’s about how the people answering hope it will be in their own lives measured by their own values, then extended outward by default as how everything should be for everyone so’s to make anything else unacceptable (down in the microscopic environment of their own lives and heads).


My personal experience with married women (I wasn’t married to) was that they loved telling me in a motel bed after sex all the things they hated about their husbands, his inadequacies, his most personal traits I didn’t want to hear.

But that’s only about 100 women, plus or minus. Probably some who didn’t go to bed with me were different.


A long relationship is 20 years. A relationship less than five years is a lark.

Leave the fling behind you and learn from it. If you feel lost it’s because you had a dependency relationship and you need to do some self-examination before hooking yourself onto someone else to sponge drama and a life from.


Bringing home dvds and toys?

I don’t have a partner, but if I stood to get one of those digital microscopes with a usb to plug into the comp they sell as being educational for kids, I’d consider it a beginning of a long relationship. Followed up with a DVD of Doctor Strangelove I’d consider a temporary long relationship.

Why is marriage so important? Marriage is a key relationship in our lives. What are three good reasons this is true?

People love dependency relationships
People love drama
People owe it to the kids to have marriages, mama and papa, one each


Is marriage an unnecessary risk?

I think it’s a waste and a self-destructive dependency relationship involving two people. Risk isn’t included in the mix. Whatever happens is just part of the rest.


30ish is one of those crucial ages when women wake up and discover they’ve been stuck with decisions they were too young to make when they made them.

No reflection on you. You were too young, also.


If spouse cheats it’s your fault?

What your spouse does isn’t a statement about you (and sometimes not about him). It’s a statement about a relationship that’s out of balance one way or another, one that doesn’t fit. Nature hates anything out of balance and individuals behave the ways they’re driven by nature. Mostly, anyway, especially when they’re young and the hormones are raging.


Ideal age woman for a 25 year old guy?

The simple fact is you need to find a woman of 40 who might be able to put up with you. When she ditches you get another one of the same age until you get there and one keeps you.

Wasting time with a woman under 40 is playing with worthless toys that carry a scorpion sting without being able to give you any wisdom you wouldn’t find for yourself.


I was married for 25 years. The far too many women over the succeeding 20 or so years might have each still been in my life if it weren’t for the marriage issue. I never intend to marry again and I make no secret of it. But almost everyone of them secretely thought I’d change my mind. Made themselves miserable convincing themselves I did them a disservice by not doing what I carefully told them up front I wouldn’t do.


Does a woman always need to climax before sex?

It helps. Multiples help. A partner who “listens” to the body of the woman and plays it the way a good musician plays an instrument helps.

It ain’t worth the price of admission if you aren’t sending her through the ceiling.


Ask Old Jules: What’s good about life, What’s it like without hope, How texts shape our understanding, Why are humans superficial, What things we have no control over

3.22.03 and back ups 1017

Old Jules, what makes you feel good about being alive?

Acknowledgement of it by gratitude and forgiveness of everything it isn’t. Gratitude for that, also.

Old Jules, what is it like to be without hope?

It can be a place with a lot of quietude and satisfaction. Hope implies expectations and the antithesis of acceptance. For a person who believes expectations are a source of distraction from the better things in life and that acceptance is the fundamental goal for transcending this hostile reality being without hope is an accomplishment of major importance.

Old Jules, how do scholarly texts shape our understanding of the world around us?

Texts become doctrines. Doctrines bypass the need to reason, explain or question. Religious texts and scientific theory resemble one another in that regard. Each develops a priesthood and warrior partisans hiding along the roads to ambush new or opposing thought.

Old Jules, why are humans so superficial?

I suspect it’s hardwired, then reinforced by social conditioning. Which creates a filtering process resulting in the ‘greats’, the non-superficial among humans being purged through all manner of peelings off and classifyings if they pull it off successfully. The overall superficiality of humankind assures the ones who make it out and poke their heads above the general run will be tougher, more determined, and probably more able than those who were merely ‘above the normal’.

Old Jules, what things do you think we have no control over?

The minds, attitudes, activities and choices of other human beings,
Anything we can’t actually touch [as a practical matter] for the most part
Anything that’s already happened, which is a huge part of our consciousness and perception.

Forgiveness and Fundamental Nature of Reality: Excerpt from a letter, Part Two

I need a transition here to something else I want to say and the transition is awkward in this thought flow, almost trite.

One of the thornier paths we can choose to avoid self-damage is forgiveness. The only virtue in that path is that it avoids the even more destructive route of the state of unforgiveness (self- destructive- our unforgiveness rarely harms anyone but ourselves).

But genuine forgiveness by its nature has to be an act of self-forgiveness- a recognition that we are flawed- full of warts- that those flaws and warts are the water and fertilizer to our growth—with that recognition we can then recognize and forgive flaws in others without setting ourselves up on a superior moral plane and thereby stumbling into one of the multitude of tiger-traps hidden in the path of forgiveness.

When the path of forgiveness is allowed to lead into the more worthy path of self-forgiveness along with a recognition of the true nature of our flaws and warts, our failures–  all the instruments of growth—we’ve found a true path… along that path are the flowers of gratitude for the otherwise most devastating circumstances of the human condition.

The ultimate recognition that your life is about YOU- not about anyone else, is one of the phantoms we chase through life after life- until we recognize that simple, obvious fact we cycle through our lives blaming others, praising others, emulating others, seeking praise, seeking approval, seeking recognition in the eyes of others by doing for other and so on ad infinitum.

I’m not suggesting that doing for others is a bad thing- I am saying that the almost inevitable next step of elevating ourselves as a result of our having done so (in our own eyes- and always one eye on the approving glances of others) and especially when we make a fetish of it, is contrary to growth.

This is an ingeniously contrived reality we’ve chosen for ourselves here—it’s easy enough to understand how during the course of human history so many conflicting explanations as to the nature and purpose of life have emerged.

However, with all that, the reality hung two absolutes before us and lit them in neon—it was always there for every human to see, insistent, inarguable.

The first is the fundamental nature of the reality: every creature or life form must kill at least one other life form to live. ( Lichens and certain other plant forms are the exception, however, even most plants depend on the decomposition of the remains of living creatures for life).

This is an incredibly predatory reality- a fact which we’ve mostly forgotten through the eon, or failed to recognize the significance of it.

In order for us to achieve growth in this reality or any reality the way to growth must be to somehow act contrary to our own nature. However, we can’t possibly live without killing- even at a cellular level our bodies are engaged in warfare with other species.

And yet, given that fundamental truth, somehow the purpose of our lives here must be partially contained in the nature of the reality we chose- it’s too overwhelming otherwise.

Based on that, I’d say the ultimate goal we have here, the golden ring we are reaching for must be to spiritually transcend our predatory requirements for survival- not defeat them, but transcend them spiritually.

I believe that probably translates to recognition and respect for the oneness between ourselves and that which we consume at a profound spiritual level- I think this is what St. Francis was getting at.

We didn’t come here to voluntarily starve- we didn’t come here to kill ourselves with guilt or grief for the creature we kill- we didn’t come here to submerge ourselves in killing – to become the best killers in the entire reality- we didn’ tcome here to sanitize our killing and hide from it by wrapping it up in clear plastic so it’s unrecognizeable as a part of the creature that died to provide it as food—

What’s left? What’s hardest?

We continue to kill- experience recognition, gratitude, respect for that creature, each creature that was forfeit for our survival. I think we probably had lost the battle for this as a species, not as individuals, long before the words “ And God gave dominion over…” ever were written on some clay tablet.

Finding the reason we’re here was probably never intended to be easy. Almost as soon as the words were said they begin to mist, to cloud. “Brother Hawk”- “Brother Raven”- “Brother Rabbit”- somehow assume a meaning other than the fundamental and obvious.

Hmm… I’ve digressed. I’ll save the other absolute for another time.

Owning the Past, Deserving Kindness–Excerpt from a letter, Part One

I think it would be a timely thing for you to cease the self-recriminations about things- the past is past, now is now, future is future.

The past is sealed, dated, and notarized- filed away. The future is little more than a ghost of the imagination, of potential potential. Any focus or energy we direct to either of those is wasted energy if it goes beyond idle reflection.  Both drain the significance of the moment- all this to say the gift of hindsight is truly a gift only if we tame it and don’t allow it to become anything more than the elevator music of our lives.

Despite appearances, you own the past- it doesn’t own you. You have the power to force it into the back room closet or allow it into the dining room to eat at the table with you or into the living room to sleep on the couch and get into the way of your life and the lives of others.

The concept of deserving kindness is another one that’s destructive to the growth of the soul. We don’t go through life on some roller-coaster of worth or value based on our behavior of today, of last week.

I don’t know whether the physical manifestation of each of us in this reality is of equal value or not, but I think I can say with certainty the issue isn’t whether a person deserves kindness or not. Certainly each does. Sometimes we fail to remember this- some of us never learn it. You aren’t a paragon of virtue in this regard, and neither am I. Few people are. In the coming times some people might demand to be killed, by their behavior. Probably in those circumstances even, the real challenge isn’t in the avoidance of our responsibility to slaughter another human – the challenge will be to do it with kindness in our hearts, without malice, hatred, rancor. With the same respect for another human who demands the cessation of his life through his choices as we have for the chicken-killing hawk, the rabbit, doe, a fawn that steps into our sights at a time when our bodies demand a meal- the mouse which by its nature chews its way into our corn.

All this to say that unless we purge ourselves of the concept of whether we deserve kindness or respect for our own choices and behavior we’ll be unlikely to overcome the far more difficult challenge of giving respect and kindness to others when they make choices which are so contrary to our own interests or values. Not to say our responsibility doesn’t extend to looking out for our own interests forcibly if needed- just that when we do we dassen’t ever fail to do so in the recognition that this is a fellow soul on the long path- that where he is we’ve probably been or will be in some other life.

Despite our ego-driven beliefs to the contrary, most of the things we do or say, kind or unkind, have little importance in the lives of others. In those rare instances where this isn’t true the reason isn’t in us, but rather in the person who chooses to make it important. We have little influence on that choice in another person—rightfully so—the business of our lives is our own choices, which are plenty challenges enough.

So, when we choose to be kind and show genuine respect to others it has little to do with the other person or that person’s behavior- it’s a kindness to ourselves, mainly.  A recognition of our own thorny path- our own failures, and therefore a willingness to accept that other person and the thorny path that person walks.