Whenever you do something good, of course, your heart rejoices that someone is feeling better, that someone received help. Then, of course, it rejoices because the help came from you. And somewhere in the depths of your soul, a little black man ticks off a box in his little black notebook and says, “Come on, well done, do more good deeds, this will count for you, you’re better than everyone, you’re kind, you’re so great!”
Pride. I don’t like it. It’s in everyone. And it always wants to rise to the forefront. “Does someone need your help? Be great, help them, and you’ll instantly raise your self-esteem!” – it whispers.
I don’t want to help just so that their words “You deserve a monument!” will spread through my soul like thick syrup. I just want to help so that someone’s life becomes a little easier because of my help, whether it’s for days, hours, minutes, or maybe even moments, when their life becomes a bit brighter, or maybe even sparkles because something positive entered their life unexpectedly, like a gift from fate…
I know that we shouldn’t reject any part of ourselves, even if it’s pride. I let it be. Let it be – fine. It’s also not harmful to praise yourself. But motivation is more important. Why help? For yourself? In essence, we all do things for ourselves – even if we want to see the light of joy in someone’s eyes – it’s selfish altruism – and that’s okay. For good people, there’s no greater joy than giving joy to others… But…
I don’t always help in situations where I can help. Even in those where the help could only come from me. Sometimes I’m lazy, sometimes my own matters seem more important to me. Of course, I have the right to that. The right to be myself and live my life… My own – but what kind of life is it… I have refused help many times when people needed it. For different reasons. Sometimes because I didn’t want to get off the comfy chair, sometimes because of greed, sometimes from simple revenge (Someone once did this to me, and no one helped me, so why should I now?!). It leaves a bad feeling in my soul.
Conscience. The criterion of internal morality. Was it raised in us, or do we already have it? Who knows… It seems to me that I wasn’t raised to help, to empathize… It seems so. But what if it’s not? What if it was actually instilled by my parents’ behavior, their attitude toward people, life, situations? But I don’t remember. And maybe this morality – in its best, untainted, non-stereotypical understanding – is the same for all of us, given to us from above… But I won’t delve into such matters…
I’m just saying that, if we take the assumption that morality, the pure criterion for evaluating deeds, understanding of truth and kindness, empathy and sympathy, is the same and given to all of us, then perhaps the degree of difference in people’s behavior is determined only by the strength with which each of us suppresses Conscience – the voice that regulates our level of kindness. This resonates with something I once heard and firmly believe: “We are as kind as we are able to tame the animal within us…”
Why am I saying all this? The last few years of constant work aimed at shifting consciousness toward the positive, or rather, away from the negative evaluations of reality, have borne fruit – and very sweet fruit at that! It’s probably like with training – your body seems unchanged as long as you work on it persistently, and then suddenly – suddenly! – it changes and becomes obedient, strong, flexible, and toned.
The same goes for consciousness, for the soul… You can work for years, thinking that there’s no result. But there is! Here it is! You just need to want it very strongly, and most importantly – to clearly understand exactly what it is that you want…