Right. Wrong.
That was the flavor of my life, up until a few years ago.
And I – I was always right.
How I feared being wrong. Terrified of it. Dreaded it. I could hang onto my right, with all my might. Not budging a centimeter, at least, not let on, that my inner conviction was falling away, crumbling to pieces. Must not let on, must not admit to being wrong. It’s dangerous. Lethal!
I’ve even stopped using the words, to a large extent. I avoid talking about right and wrong, and rather talk about what serves me.
Now. Don’t misinterpret me here. I’m not saying I can do whatever, if it serves me. I’m not letting myself off the hook, going all mayhem, lying, stealing, hitting, killing. No. Of course not. But I am saying, that the notion of a universal right and wrong is a scam.
It’s wrong to kill, yeah? Yeah, I agree. Except, perhaps, in cases of euthanasia, where a soul has suffered for years on end, and the only other future ahead, is even more and worse suffering? Is it still wrong to kill then? I don’t know. Honestly. But this just proves my point, it’s not all clear cut. This might be an extreme example. But really, it depends upon the circumstances.
Becoming more aware of my notions of right and wrong, what serves and what doesn’t serve, has made me more aware and open to the nuances of life, to a more philosophical outlook on life. The richness of the grey scale wasn’t available to me before, when I lived in a black and white world, a world of right. And wrong. Grey, in all nuances. Grey, the color of wisdom.
