Okay, I wrote a poem a few years ago about this subject; with all this talk I expanded into a story a few days ago. In it I try to explain ethics and the tolerance of ethics. I sincerely hope, it will mean as much to you as it did to me. I didn't want to share it on a forum, but I also don't want it to go to wast. In it you'll find I advocate as much for circumstance as for abuse of circumstance. I hope you enjoy it.
One day a man came to the Dragon Oracle and asked: “Sir, tell me about the brokenness of the world.” And The dragon said: “Two worlds have to be broken of two different things or people for brokenness to be just, else the one will never understand the other one... Listen to this parable.”
There was a master potter, who was working on two clay pots. When evening came he was finished and retired for the night; but while he was sleeping an enemy came and broke the two masterpieces. The enemy said to himself, “I will not leave all the shards of the two clay pots behind, else this master repairs them and shames me; I will leave just enough to drive him mad.” When the master potter woke and saw the damage, he was grief stricken and wept bitterly. But he didn't give up, he took the shards, which the plunderer left behind and combined the two pots together. He loved that new pot so much, and wanted a special purpose for it; so he watered his garden each day with it. But there were holes in this new combined pot. In the beginning he tried to put his finger in these holes, but they cut him badly. But the potter didn't get angry with the pot, because he knew it was broken. He stopped putting his fingers in the holes and after a while he saw weeds springing up. He realized that this is the route where the pot was leaking; so he started pulling out the weeds. However one day when he was pulling out the weeds, the weeds asked him, “why are you pulling us out? No one has ever given us water before, but the injury of your pot had mercy on us.” The potter's wife came and said, “my husband: some weeds are herbs, let me pluck these and see what they are.” They put the herbs in their food, and suddenly they had compassion and understanding for evil men. And the potter said to his wife, “It's good to put one's laws and judgments away, even if it's just for a day. I never could understand the sinner, until my pot cut me and I ate the weeds. I also didn't know that some weeds are herbs; their suffering is the herb for my sickness, I was ill with pious judgment.” From now on the potter walked slowly, while he was watering his garden, and on some days you can find him standing still.
But one day when the potter wanted to water his garden again, he found that some weeds have made their homes in the cracks of the pot. He wanted to pull them out, but his wife said, “leave them, your pot is whole again.” However now the other weeds weren't getting anymore water and the garden plants were getting too much. The potter didn't know what to do; but behold the cracks eventually cut off their stems and they withered away... You can't live in a crack. And where those weeds fell from the pot, the lizards ate them up.
There were some other pots in the potter's place, whom were whole; they never liked the new pot, because they couldn't understand the cracks. The whole pots loved each other, but they could never love each other completely, because they were apart from one another; the new pot, however, was sacred, because their joys and sorrows were sliced into each other like a jigsaw, and they are one to the bone. Lets take an example...
That's why a man and a woman can't understand each other before they both have been broken, have lost a few pieces; and admit they must slice themselves into each other. If this does not happen a man and a woman will only exchange pleasantries, and their marriage will be dead. So many are afraid to break, so many are afraid to share their broken pieces as it is cutting them on the inside. What is best? To be tortured inside, having many secrets; or to exchange torture, AND joy; only so will you become completely one and free, and you won't have to seek freedom and understanding in dark places.
Right and wrong is a cracked clay pot, Leaking water neither yours, nor mine: Water over which you and I cast lot. Its shabby shards precariously combine, Over which saints, harlots and fools do pine.
We are a frozen spirit; our thoughts a cloud of droplets; different oceans and ages brood inside – where spirit sublimates. To some our words, an acid rain, to some it is too pure, to some infectious, to some a cure.