The most precious belongings are those attached to the straightforward “i”. I have, I want, I am. And conjugated enlargements of that “i”: My head, my hair, my team. My wife, my house, my iPad. Our children, our country, our religion.
How often have we justified hurting others who sleight the “Royally Majestic Highness of Me, Mine, and Ours”. The troubles and conflicts and miseries in the world begin with the false appraisal of that precious “i”: the Why Me Syndrome, the Anything But Our Prophet, the Brothers in Gaza…
(In fact, the prophet didn’t mind people calling him names, and (other than BIG talk) the immediate neighbors of Gaza don’t really care for Gazzawis.)
What if we remind ourselves that the “i” matters, but not THAT much? What if we learned to give up trying to become “i”mmortals? What if we value things and selves and relationships as they are? Not as we want them to be, or as we/they were once been.
It’s just a letter, man…if it’s so important, then it’d be understatedly and decisively working; whether alone or in a sentence or an epic.