Equality is seeing oneself in the other person. Now, what you see is another matter.
It depends entirely on what you see in yourself.
A sense of wonder is such an elusive treasure. With the passing of time its perception seems to require more and more props and a greater intricacy of effects.
I look on with a fond yearning to the past when all it required was a dance of shadows against a wall for me to see epic tales.
Here is a tough call:
Give up all hopes of acknowledgment of your good deeds, your affections, your aspirations, your opinions, and ultimately your love.
Give up all expectations.
And now, assuming that you are surrounded by such an extremely indifferent universal vacuum, proceed to live your live filled with the fierce joy of knowing that you can still do all these things, still burn with the fire of the self, and that the reactions of others -- or lack of such -- matter less than the light breath of wind upon a great flaming furnace.
Remain aflame, because you must.
And because the above scenario is false.
Every epoch needs an epic -- a grand story of heroic deeds and larger-than-life individuals of the time. Epics are the only reliable and immortal time markers for the chronology of the human world.
When you find yourself looking back so far and finding nothing, and then relying on the ancients for a great story of their time -- and yours -- it is time to create a new epic for this age, for the here and now.
If you understand the importance of this, then proceed. Else your age will remain a blank unmarked spot in the future chronology. . . .
As though it did not exist.
Inexcusable! Something must be done about it, by someone.
Have you ever wondered why meditative techniques such as Zen and other "blank slate" inducers work to focus the mind?
Very simple when you focus on nothing, the only thing you have is what's already with you -- inside you, bothering you, burdening you, irritating and hurting you.
The blank slate tempts it forth, according to the laws of the physical world. It has been observed that matter tends to fill up and occupy empty space, and there is a perpetual resistance to vacuum.
So, the internal thought-matter comes out, slithers out, crawls out, to fill the vacuum of the blank slate imposed like a drainage catheter upon your busy mind, to fill the surface consciousness.
Use it to its full capacity.
Imagination is nothing more than the raw matter of all life experience mixed up into separate elements in your mind.
Some people have trouble mixing up the pieces in meaningful new ways. Those are said to lack imagination. Why? Complacence or cowardice? More likely it is ordinary distraction -- a preoccupation with the concrete pre-assembled world already before them.
Others rejoice in the opportunity to create purple elephants with golden hair and flying cities, the ability to time travel and talking porcupines with doctoral degrees.
Imagination is the mind's joyful sandbox, a spread-out game board.
A sparkle of tiny iridescent elements upon crisp fallen snow, illuminated by streetlamps. The pristine spherical glitter of raindrops. The fierce undulation of liquid fire upon a sunlit ocean. The curves of shadow and brightness upon human skin. A homogeneous white glow of gathering mist. The sharp-to-soft fadeout and sudden contrast of pallor and depth in the petals of a rose.
All beauty comes down to a simple movement of light.