Some historians say that there is a striking similarity between today’s wars and rumors of wars and the events that led up to the First World War, a hundred years ago. But does history really repeat itself that way? On the surface history seems an endless cycle of empires that shoot up like tall trees and then are blown over by the storms provoked by their own insatiable greed. So, always the same thing? Or like Schopenhauer said: always the same, but different?
“I pour a drink, I need one.” Sometimes even the finest of whiskies don’t ease the pain and anger. But doubt is already raised with the first word of that sentence: “I”. Do I really know who that “I” is? Of course, when I talk to my chief-executive or the lady next door, I maintain some consistent convictions and opinions of which you may contend that they belong to a more or less clear cut identity. But when I’m alone, those consistent convictions and opinions sometimes disappear like snow in summer. As soon as another light falls on them they tend to evaporate, change into anything but cohesion. Inside me there’s really nothing that is cohesive or consistent.
If you learn to accept that identity is merely a means to communicate with others rather than an end in itself, you’ll create room to breathe, to be human. Realizing your own condition humaine, you can accept the absence of cohesion and consistency in others more easily. You’ll stop judging and experience oneness and openness in an instant.
So let your identity be free-flowing. Surrender to the Big Painter in the Sky. And let Him, using a palette where the grimmest grey of war and depression are joined by the brightest sunshine colors of your heydays, paint His masterpiece.