If you want to change the world...
19 September 2007
Changing the world is not about isolating everyone who doesn’t correspond to your
ideal and to feel happy about your “immaculate” life principles. Changing the world
doesn’t mean shouting that people are lousy, illiterate, weak, confused,
inconsiderate and you are exactly their opposite.
Changing the world is doing something that counts. It means showing someone he’s
wrong and taking him by the hand the moment you show him he’s wrong. It means
crying for those who don’t understand what love for humanity means. It’s forgiving
and waiting for that moment given by God, that will show you the good you have
done by forgiving. It’s changing something inside of you when you feel you are doing
wrong.
Changing the world starts with changing yourself. Human nature is so corrupt and
little that most of the time you succeed in convincing yourself that you were right
even though the evidence is bitter.
Someone once told me that inside you, there are flaws, inherited from your ancestors,
that are struggling to come out on the surface and you have to fight them, to grow
better, to consciously reject the slippery paths of your true self.
Most of the time, you hear a little, humble voice, that tries to worn you, and this is
exactly what irritates you. Exactly this voice, the one you should listen to, the “inner
voice”, is so similar to your parents’ voice, and you become this rebel adolescent who
claims he know all life’s mysteries. You could use plenty of wisdom to figure out
what to do.
The clichés of thinking are the worst ones. The whole world is built on them.
The principles of life are interpreted in so many ways by those who metamorphose the
Ten Commandments according to their will, giving them a personal approach: “I
believe in God but the world has changed, 2000 years have past.” We all do that
sometimes.
I tried to understand the bitter and the unforgiving ones, who are spilling ideals,
manufactured from their own frustration.
I tried to understand those who swear and scream from their car at the old lady
crossing the street slowly – not to annoy them, but because of the pain that years have
laid on her back.
I tried to understand those who blame their parents for their own failure.
I tried to understand and forgive the ones who deliberately hurt me. I wish I could
show them that I’m not angry. It’s up to them.
I tried to understand the self-conceited people who are ignorant to consider
themselves special because they were born in a more friendly, more permissive world,
that they had the chance to learn sophisticated words while others were forced to work
just to earn their bread for the next day.
I understood that pride is a big guilt.
And I still fight, every day, to understand.
There are many things I would prefer not to feel. I would like to put aside every trace
of fury, contempt, wickedness, lie, envy, pride, fear, humility, despair. I wish I knew
exactly what I have to do, for myself and the ones who trust me. But then everything
would be much too easy.
I wish I could feel the truth, the exact amount that won’t paralyze me.
