#I just want to give more perspective and glimpse into Owens and house itself )
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listen i’m so in love with the owens’ house. the production designer describes it as literally a cauldron, having a whole world in both the house and garden, and that it’s a sanctuary for the family, who are outcasts. they aren’t the only ones. the black cats they collect over the years are all from a shelter on the island. nobody wanted any of them because of superstition, fear of bad luck and wickedness ( black cats historically have been seen as omens of evil, suspected of being familiars of witches ) , so eventually they all gravitate to the owens’ house --- and then the women there accepted and take care of them. i love the symbolism of that alone. it’s just so poetically beautiful, outcasts finding refuge with outcasts !
there aren’t any clocks or mirrors inside the house. in the back there’s a henhouse, a potting shed, a large padlocked greenhouse, and a garden described to be so lush and green it’s dizzying. a gate leads to a bluestone path up to the porch, where the ivy and climbing wisteria grow, and the light is always turned on after midnight. this is the light the desperate townsfolk from jealous house wives to angelic women in the choir go when they want to visit the aunts for something they desire. a charm, a potion, a spell, a tea, a spell. during the daytime they’ll avoid crossing the same side of the street as the women living inside but they’ll still arrive to sit at the table and hand over cash ( though the aunts favor cameos and have a drawer stuffed full of them ).
when you step inside and over the threshold it seems like time moves at an entirely different pace removed from the outside world. even just trying to get a peek within, there’s a current of discernible energy on the air, but good luck !! the damask curtains are almost always drawn, and the glass is old and thick, tinted with a green that makes everything look watery, almost like a dream. so maybe you’ll doubt what you see, if anything. or maybe you won’t, knowing the rumors swirling around the island and uttered since the 1600s.
the manor is so old that some of the wood used to make the paneling and mantels is extinct. a total of fifteen different types of woods have been used, including pine, golden oak, silver ash, and cherry fruit that gives off the scent of ripe fruit even in the winter. none of the woodwork itself ever gets dusty or needs polishing ( but sally takes it upon herself to dust and polish anyway ). there are three floors, a cellar, and two staircases. the one in the back is chillier, twisting like a puzzle, and the other is elegant and crafted from mahogany, leading all the way up to the turret that is like a single lighthouse tower. above the velvet-cushioned window seat on the landing of the front staircase is a portrait of the beautiful maria owens herself. her hair is pulled back with a satin blue ribbon and she’s wearing her favorite blue dress. sometimes it might feel like her eyes are watching you ( which might make sense, since when she was alive she fearlessly looked people straight in the eye, even if they were older or came from a higher class ).
it’s always cool, like a crisp autumn day. bats live in the attic, mice live in the walls. this changes after michael, sally’s husband, moves in, as i have discussed with @liminalchaos, despite the manor not needing the upkeep, it appreciates the efforts and dedication sally has always put into taking !! care !! of it ! because after michael moves in, the house becomes and stays cheery and warm. the bats move out of the attic and into the garden shed. roses begin to grow along the porch’s railing and choke all of the the weeds. the teardrop chandelier in the parlor tinkles back and forth on its own. through out the night a tranquil sound reminiscent of a flowing river fills the interior, glittering and trickling. it’s so sweet and melodic the mice come out to make sure that the manor is still in one piece, and a meadow hasn’t taken the house’s place.
the house. is. magic. even the bluestone path outside of it, which stops getting cold and icy during the winters after michael and sally get together. speaking of the stones !! maria brought them with her from ireland years ago to form the path in the garden. they’re protective, some would say lucky. extras are stored in the shed, along with maria’s rope. maria owens herself took matters of protection and luck very seriously. that’s why she planted so many things that still remain in the garden to the current day; fruit trees in the dark of the moon, hardy perennials, lavender, lilacs, roses, and strong onions and more. the owens will get down on their knees in the dirt and weed but never have to worry about earwigs. rabbits come to eat the mint, parsley and lettuce. aunt jet and frances are the ones to nail the skull of a horse on the fence to keep out gutsy and hungry neighbouring children.
the grimoire shifts back and forth between the conservatory and greenhouse. it’s a thick, black, tome that is cool to the touch, filled with layered pages that fold in and out; only, it will burn your hand if you touch it and you’re not an owens. the conservatory has its glass beakers, tubing, vials and rows of potted plants, which is next to the potions room; the greenhouse outside holds bulbs and flowers, waiting to be planted in the autumn, along with those requiring special care. there are no mirrors in the house itself, but there is one hidden behind a black cloth inside of the greenhouse. it’s a curse or blessing ( undeniably magical ), however way you want to look at it. if an owens dares to remove the cloth to take a peek, she will see her reflection, along with shining images of the future to come.
back when maria owens was still alive and not too long after the victorian manor was built, a hurricane damaged all of the houses on magnolia street --- except for hers. not even the laundry hanging out on the line was disturbed. this incident helped fuel fear and rumors of her and her bloodline’s powers. it didn’t help when greenery on the island would brown and wilt and the owens’ garden flourished. any stroke of bad luck or mundane misfortune was swiftly blamed on the women living inside the house. while the garden was gated by a smaller fence, an even larger, black and spiky one circled the vast property. it looked like a snake to any outsiders. folk grew up and passed along superstitions. don’t walk past during nightfall, it’s not safe. only the most foolish would try to peer over the iron gate and into the yard. you risked being hexed or cursed, and being sorry for the rest of your life.
so this is long, and i bet i forgot details, i know i forgot details. like how the roof is a favorite place to go and lay out on to star gaze, look out at the ocean. the house, the property, it’s all spacious and rich with history. it’s a good thing it’s so big so that the women living inside it along with all the black cats that come and go have room to live and be free, even if it doesn’t always feel that way for them. it’s their safe place away from any prejudice or misunderstanding that might await them off their property. the owens women have largely always been envied and misunderstood. barely have any outside of blood dared to step inside the manor, since it's always been seen as too risky to do so !!
#´ ¨ ¤ . ¸ ¸ . ( OUT OF CHARACTER ) ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵐᵃᵍᶤᶜˑ#( this took some time#I wrote based on memory then went back through the books and movie#and interviews and all that to make sure I captured details to describe ......#I didn't even get to the island or Owens' history more in dept h !!#I'll be doing so in a future post :' )#But while I know people love Sally's shop#I just want to give more perspective and glimpse into Owens and house itself )
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Reason Provides the Push to Widen our Circle of Empathy
Our ancestors were tightly connected with each other, which is why they felt only the pain of their family and the people in their village. As we started to travel more and learn new things, we expanded the circle of sympathy to the clan, the tribe, the nation, the race, and maybe all humankind.
It was a process that at its origin had what physicist David Bohm called “participatory thought” — in some cultures there was a shared understanding that everyone was part of the same experience. In his excellent On Dialogue, Bohm explains the meaning of participatory, it's about “to partake of,” and the idea was everyone drew from the same source of energy.
“Literal thought” stands in contrast to it:
Literal thought aims at being a reflection of reality as it is — it claims just to tell you the way things are. We tend to say that's the best kind of thought. Technical thought, for instance, aims to be literal. Such thought intends to be unambiguous; it may not succeed, but it aims that way — to know something as exactly what it is.
British philosopher Owen Barfield has compared such literal thought to idol worship. It starts as the symbol of something greater that itself, and gradually it stands in for that. That's how the object borrows literal value.
In a way we are worshiping our words and our thoughts, insofar as they claim to be descriptions or statements about reality just as it is.
But then we're inconsistent because we say we think literally, but in reality we're still tacitly giving a lot of value to participatory thought. For example, when a country is attacked, people think “I am attacked.” So inside the tribe and clan there's this sense of “we're it,” which is difficult to anyone outside, because being a person or human becomes identified with being a member of the tribe or clan. Anyone not in the clan is not human. We can see where this kind of thought leads.
Words have tremendous and lasting power to affect how we think about things and the actions we take as a consequence. We didn't need literal thought much when we lived in small groups, everyone knew everyone else. With population growth and scale through agricultural and industrial ages, literal thought became more a necessity.
Organization was important to function:
They organized society by saying, “you belong here, you do this, you do that.” They began therefore to treat everything as a separate object, including other people. They used people as a means to an end. The further civilization went, the more these societies went into this area of using thought as a means to an end.
Treating people as objects was transferred to treating countries as objects and literal thought kept spreading to more and more areas, fragmenting experience into discrete and separate parts. If we're to do anything together, as a group, however, we need participatory thought. We never got to considering humankind a collective entity. What we have instead is separation.
Something interesting happens in the way people treat a group of others, which in the world of tribes was logically inconsistent with the way they insisted on being treated themselves. Which means that empathy can go only so far in human relationships.
Economist and philosopher Adam Smith said:
Let us suppose that the great empire of China was suddenly swallowed up by an earthquake, and let us consider how a man of humanity in Europe would react on receiving intelligence of this dreadful calamity. He would, I imagine, first of all express very strongly his sorrow for the misfortune of that unhappy people. He would make many melancholy reflections upon the precariousness of human life, and when all these humane sentiments had been once fairly expressed, he would pursue his business or his pleasure with the same ease and tranquility as if no such accident had happened.
If he was to lose his little finger tomorrow, he would not sleep tonight, but provided he never saw them, he would snore with the most profound security over the ruin of a hundred million of his brethren.
Without the idea of participation, we lose the more compelling aspects of sharing in common humanity and that is cognitive empathy. We miss the understanding piece, and thus we fail to use reason for we never engage the conscious ability to understand someone else’s perspective. We don't really “know” what it feels like because we don't internalize the thought, we don't participate.
Philosopher Rebecca Newberger Goldstein says:
Reason has muscle. It's reason that provides the push to widen that circle of empathy. When thinkers through the ages give reasons for why some practice is indefensible, they demonstrated that the way people treated some particular group of others was logically inconsistent with the way they insisted on being treated themselves.
[...]
Contradictions bother us, at least when we're forced to confront them, which is just another way of saying that we are susceptible to reason. And if you look at the history of moral progress, you can trace a direct pathway from reasoned arguments to changes in the way that we actually feel.
Time and again, a thinker would lay out an argument as to why some practice was indefensible, irrational, inconsistent with values already held. Their essay would go viral, get translated into many languages, get debated at pubs and coffee houses and salons, and at dinner parties, and influence leaders, legislators, popular opinion. Eventually their conclusions get absorbed into the common sense of decency, erasing the tracks of the original argument that had gotten us there.
Few of us today feel any need to put forth a rigorous philosophical argument as to why slavery is wrong or public hangings or beating children. By now, these things just feel wrong. But just those arguments had to be made, and they were, in centuries past.
It was John Locke who argued that slavery was inconsistent with the principles of rational government. Once that movement for the expansion of rights was in the public domain, it inspired another with the same logic. Which is how reason provides the push to widen our circle of empathy.
Literal thought, which has gotten muddled in with participatory thought, sees individuals by their function — we say “I'm a banker,” “they're an accountant” and so on — and thus separate them into a hierarchy where we have people as objects. Eventually that tendency becomes self-inflicted, where we say, “I must fit here, and I must do this and that and become better.”
“But society is not an objective reality,” says Bohm. “it is a reality created by all the people through their consciousness.” It's the same with physics, when we try to measure an atom exactly, we can't, because it participates. We can get average behaviors in society, even predictable ones, though not significant, but we don't have an average person.
The things that really move us, we don't look at those. And we don't take into account the context and experience in which these things happen in relationship to each other. That's what art expresses, the connection. Science tries, it succeeds in some limited ways. Which is how we lost the bond with nature as we try and fail to manage it as an object.
So we have reason to help us with cognitive empathy, and we have thought to direct our attention. Here's where we want to make a distinction between two kinds of attention:
limited — what we call concentration, the brain is occupied by it. This is useful to earn a living.
unlimited — the fundamental kind we tap into when we're in silence and lack occupation. This is important to participate at a higher level. Bohm notes how the root of the word “leisure” means “emptiness, and empty space of time or place.”
To be productive in making use of reason, we want to think of thought as a process. When things don't go as we anticipated, maybe they're going to pieces, we want to identify the distractions. That's part of the learning process. This is how we connect to everything.
“Reason is intelligence taking exercise,” said Victor Hugo. In a letter to Grand Duchess Christina, Galileo Galilei wrote, “I do not feel obliged to believe that the same God who has endowed us with sense, reason, and intellect has intended us to forgo their use.”
Making good use of this tool means having a glimpse of the daily illusion — that objectifying, separating, and fragmenting are the answer when there is so much more we can work out for ourselves through reason, and find those commonalities we often hold in contempt.
from DIYS http://ift.tt/2nrsfbU
0 notes
Text
Reason Provides the Push to Widen our Circle of Empathy
Our ancestors were tightly connected with each other, which is why they felt only the pain of their family and the people in their village. As we started to travel more and learn new things, we expanded the circle of sympathy to the clan, the tribe, the nation, the race, and maybe all humankind.
It was a process that at its origin had what physicist David Bohm called “participatory thought” — in some cultures there was a shared understanding that everyone was part of the same experience. In his excellent On Dialogue, Bohm explains the meaning of participatory, it's about “to partake of,” and the idea was everyone drew from the same source of energy.
“Literal thought” stands in contrast to it:
Literal thought aims at being a reflection of reality as it is — it claims just to tell you the way things are. We tend to say that's the best kind of thought. Technical thought, for instance, aims to be literal. Such thought intends to be unambiguous; it may not succeed, but it aims that way — to know something as exactly what it is.
British philosopher Owen Barfield has compared such literal thought to idol worship. It starts as the symbol of something greater that itself, and gradually it stands in for that. That's how the object borrows literal value.
In a way we are worshiping our words and our thoughts, insofar as they claim to be descriptions or statements about reality just as it is.
But then we're inconsistent because we say we think literally, but in reality we're still tacitly giving a lot of value to participatory thought. For example, when a country is attacked, people think “I am attacked.” So inside the tribe and clan there's this sense of “we're it,” which is difficult to anyone outside, because being a person or human becomes identified with being a member of the tribe or clan. Anyone not in the clan is not human. We can see where this kind of thought leads.
Words have tremendous and lasting power to affect how we think about things and the actions we take as a consequence. We didn't need literal thought much when we lived in small groups, everyone knew everyone else. With population growth and scale through agricultural and industrial ages, literal thought became more a necessity.
Organization was important to function:
They organized society by saying, “you belong here, you do this, you do that.” They began therefore to treat everything as a separate object, including other people. They used people as a means to an end. The further civilization went, the more these societies went into this area of using thought as a means to an end.
Treating people as objects was transferred to treating countries as objects and literal thought kept spreading to more and more areas, fragmenting experience into discrete and separate parts. If we're to do anything together, as a group, however, we need participatory thought. We never got to considering humankind a collective entity. What we have instead is separation.
Something interesting happens in the way people treat a group of others, which in the world of tribes was logically inconsistent with the way they insisted on being treated themselves. Which means that empathy can go only so far in human relationships.
Economist and philosopher Adam Smith said:
Let us suppose that the great empire of China was suddenly swallowed up by an earthquake, and let us consider how a man of humanity in Europe would react on receiving intelligence of this dreadful calamity. He would, I imagine, first of all express very strongly his sorrow for the misfortune of that unhappy people. He would make many melancholy reflections upon the precariousness of human life, and when all these humane sentiments had been once fairly expressed, he would pursue his business or his pleasure with the same ease and tranquility as if no such accident had happened.
If he was to lose his little finger tomorrow, he would not sleep tonight, but provided he never saw them, he would snore with the most profound security over the ruin of a hundred million of his brethren.
Without the idea of participation, we lose the more compelling aspects of sharing in common humanity and that is cognitive empathy. We miss the understanding piece, and thus we fail to use reason for we never engage the conscious ability to understand someone else’s perspective. We don't really “know” what it feels like because we don't internalize the thought, we don't participate.
Philosopher Rebecca Newberger Goldstein says:
Reason has muscle. It's reason that provides the push to widen that circle of empathy. When thinkers through the ages give reasons for why some practice is indefensible, they demonstrated that the way people treated some particular group of others was logically inconsistent with the way they insisted on being treated themselves.
[...]
Contradictions bother us, at least when we're forced to confront them, which is just another way of saying that we are susceptible to reason. And if you look at the history of moral progress, you can trace a direct pathway from reasoned arguments to changes in the way that we actually feel.
Time and again, a thinker would lay out an argument as to why some practice was indefensible, irrational, inconsistent with values already held. Their essay would go viral, get translated into many languages, get debated at pubs and coffee houses and salons, and at dinner parties, and influence leaders, legislators, popular opinion. Eventually their conclusions get absorbed into the common sense of decency, erasing the tracks of the original argument that had gotten us there.
Few of us today feel any need to put forth a rigorous philosophical argument as to why slavery is wrong or public hangings or beating children. By now, these things just feel wrong. But just those arguments had to be made, and they were, in centuries past.
It was John Locke who argued that slavery was inconsistent with the principles of rational government. Once that movement for the expansion of rights was in the public domain, it inspired another with the same logic. Which is how reason provides the push to widen our circle of empathy.
Literal thought, which has gotten muddled in with participatory thought, sees individuals by their function — we say “I'm a banker,” “they're an accountant” and so on — and thus separate them into a hierarchy where we have people as objects. Eventually that tendency becomes self-inflicted, where we say, “I must fit here, and I must do this and that and become better.”
“But society is not an objective reality,” says Bohm. “it is a reality created by all the people through their consciousness.” It's the same with physics, when we try to measure an atom exactly, we can't, because it participates. We can get average behaviors in society, even predictable ones, though not significant, but we don't have an average person.
The things that really move us, we don't look at those. And we don't take into account the context and experience in which these things happen in relationship to each other. That's what art expresses, the connection. Science tries, it succeeds in some limited ways. Which is how we lost the bond with nature as we try and fail to manage it as an object.
So we have reason to help us with cognitive empathy, and we have thought to direct our attention. Here's where we want to make a distinction between two kinds of attention:
limited — what we call concentration, the brain is occupied by it. This is useful to earn a living.
unlimited — the fundamental kind we tap into when we're in silence and lack occupation. This is important to participate at a higher level. Bohm notes how the root of the word “leisure” means “emptiness, and empty space of time or place.”
To be productive in making use of reason, we want to think of thought as a process. When things don't go as we anticipated, maybe they're going to pieces, we want to identify the distractions. That's part of the learning process. This is how we connect to everything.
“Reason is intelligence taking exercise,” said Victor Hugo. In a letter to Grand Duchess Christina, Galileo Galilei wrote, “I do not feel obliged to believe that the same God who has endowed us with sense, reason, and intellect has intended us to forgo their use.”
Making good use of this tool means having a glimpse of the daily illusion — that objectifying, separating, and fragmenting are the answer when there is so much more we can work out for ourselves through reason, and find those commonalities we often hold in contempt.
from DIYS http://ift.tt/2nrsfbU
0 notes
Text
Reason Provides the Push to Widen our Circle of Empathy
Our ancestors were tightly connected with each other, which is why they felt only the pain of their family and the people in their village. As we started to travel more and learn new things, we expanded the circle of sympathy to the clan, the tribe, the nation, the race, and maybe all humankind.
It was a process that at its origin had what physicist David Bohm called “participatory thought” — in some cultures there was a shared understanding that everyone was part of the same experience. In his excellent On Dialogue, Bohm explains the meaning of participatory, it's about “to partake of,” and the idea was everyone drew from the same source of energy.
“Literal thought” stands in contrast to it:
Literal thought aims at being a reflection of reality as it is — it claims just to tell you the way things are. We tend to say that's the best kind of thought. Technical thought, for instance, aims to be literal. Such thought intends to be unambiguous; it may not succeed, but it aims that way — to know something as exactly what it is.
British philosopher Owen Barfield has compared such literal thought to idol worship. It starts as the symbol of something greater that itself, and gradually it stands in for that. That's how the object borrows literal value.
In a way we are worshiping our words and our thoughts, insofar as they claim to be descriptions or statements about reality just as it is.
But then we're inconsistent because we say we think literally, but in reality we're still tacitly giving a lot of value to participatory thought. For example, when a country is attacked, people think “I am attacked.” So inside the tribe and clan there's this sense of “we're it,” which is difficult to anyone outside, because being a person or human becomes identified with being a member of the tribe or clan. Anyone not in the clan is not human. We can see where this kind of thought leads.
Words have tremendous and lasting power to affect how we think about things and the actions we take as a consequence. We didn't need literal thought much when we lived in small groups, everyone knew everyone else. With population growth and scale through agricultural and industrial ages, literal thought became more a necessity.
Organization was important to function:
They organized society by saying, “you belong here, you do this, you do that.” They began therefore to treat everything as a separate object, including other people. They used people as a means to an end. The further civilization went, the more these societies went into this area of using thought as a means to an end.
Treating people as objects was transferred to treating countries as objects and literal thought kept spreading to more and more areas, fragmenting experience into discrete and separate parts. If we're to do anything together, as a group, however, we need participatory thought. We never got to considering humankind a collective entity. What we have instead is separation.
Something interesting happens in the way people treat a group of others, which in the world of tribes was logically inconsistent with the way they insisted on being treated themselves. Which means that empathy can go only so far in human relationships.
Economist and philosopher Adam Smith said:
Let us suppose that the great empire of China was suddenly swallowed up by an earthquake, and let us consider how a man of humanity in Europe would react on receiving intelligence of this dreadful calamity. He would, I imagine, first of all express very strongly his sorrow for the misfortune of that unhappy people. He would make many melancholy reflections upon the precariousness of human life, and when all these humane sentiments had been once fairly expressed, he would pursue his business or his pleasure with the same ease and tranquility as if no such accident had happened.
If he was to lose his little finger tomorrow, he would not sleep tonight, but provided he never saw them, he would snore with the most profound security over the ruin of a hundred million of his brethren.
Without the idea of participation, we lose the more compelling aspects of sharing in common humanity and that is cognitive empathy. We miss the understanding piece, and thus we fail to use reason for we never engage the conscious ability to understand someone else’s perspective. We don't really “know” what it feels like because we don't internalize the thought, we don't participate.
Philosopher Rebecca Newberger Goldstein says:
Reason has muscle. It's reason that provides the push to widen that circle of empathy. When thinkers through the ages give reasons for why some practice is indefensible, they demonstrated that the way people treated some particular group of others was logically inconsistent with the way they insisted on being treated themselves.
[...]
Contradictions bother us, at least when we're forced to confront them, which is just another way of saying that we are susceptible to reason. And if you look at the history of moral progress, you can trace a direct pathway from reasoned arguments to changes in the way that we actually feel.
Time and again, a thinker would lay out an argument as to why some practice was indefensible, irrational, inconsistent with values already held. Their essay would go viral, get translated into many languages, get debated at pubs and coffee houses and salons, and at dinner parties, and influence leaders, legislators, popular opinion. Eventually their conclusions get absorbed into the common sense of decency, erasing the tracks of the original argument that had gotten us there.
Few of us today feel any need to put forth a rigorous philosophical argument as to why slavery is wrong or public hangings or beating children. By now, these things just feel wrong. But just those arguments had to be made, and they were, in centuries past.
It was John Locke who argued that slavery was inconsistent with the principles of rational government. Once that movement for the expansion of rights was in the public domain, it inspired another with the same logic. Which is how reason provides the push to widen our circle of empathy.
Literal thought, which has gotten muddled in with participatory thought, sees individuals by their function — we say “I'm a banker,” “they're an accountant” and so on — and thus separate them into a hierarchy where we have people as objects. Eventually that tendency becomes self-inflicted, where we say, “I must fit here, and I must do this and that and become better.”
“But society is not an objective reality,” says Bohm. “it is a reality created by all the people through their consciousness.” It's the same with physics, when we try to measure an atom exactly, we can't, because it participates. We can get average behaviors in society, even predictable ones, though not significant, but we don't have an average person.
The things that really move us, we don't look at those. And we don't take into account the context and experience in which these things happen in relationship to each other. That's what art expresses, the connection. Science tries, it succeeds in some limited ways. Which is how we lost the bond with nature as we try and fail to manage it as an object.
So we have reason to help us with cognitive empathy, and we have thought to direct our attention. Here's where we want to make a distinction between two kinds of attention:
limited — what we call concentration, the brain is occupied by it. This is useful to earn a living.
unlimited — the fundamental kind we tap into when we're in silence and lack occupation. This is important to participate at a higher level. Bohm notes how the root of the word “leisure” means “emptiness, and empty space of time or place.”
To be productive in making use of reason, we want to think of thought as a process. When things don't go as we anticipated, maybe they're going to pieces, we want to identify the distractions. That's part of the learning process. This is how we connect to everything.
“Reason is intelligence taking exercise,” said Victor Hugo. In a letter to Grand Duchess Christina, Galileo Galilei wrote, “I do not feel obliged to believe that the same God who has endowed us with sense, reason, and intellect has intended us to forgo their use.”
Making good use of this tool means having a glimpse of the daily illusion — that objectifying, separating, and fragmenting are the answer when there is so much more we can work out for ourselves through reason, and find those commonalities we often hold in contempt.
from DIYS http://ift.tt/2nrsfbU
0 notes
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