Why is compassion, except in limited forms, so seemingly rare in our species?
It seems that our ingenuity without the presence of compassion has created unspeakable atrocities among our own kind and among our neighbors.
The fact that I am under the impression that reality is made out of a multitude of separate objects.
The fact that I consider my self to be vastly more important than all the other selves.
The fact that I am under the impression that my wellbeing is not dependant on the wellbeing of those around me.
All obviously wrong.
There is the view that love is all that romantic, emotional, sentimental, and sexual stuff. It is a difficult topic. Mostly people would be very annoyed to think what we call love is not love. But in a forum, questioning all our morals, etc, I might be able to raise this matter? It is when there is the quiet alert mind, and there is no division, this is love. Perhaps strange to consider it is not an action. It is not me doing something, giving something, not an activity, not me having an experience. Love is when there is that living with no separateness.
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If you do what your wife tells you to do, without suffering, this is compassion.
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