We belong only to everyone and only to ourselves

I am, of course, alone in this world, my mind suggests to me every morning. When it wakes up, it analyses the state of the body, usually forgets to tell me about it, probably keeps the best of it to itself. When I swell my lungs, I only perceive my presence there, when I am hungry, it is for my only interest.

When I lean against one skin, when I discover the presence of another, it is necessarily foreign. This is how love and friendship are ignited; this is also how hatred arises, from these sparks caused by differences. The other is hell, Sartre said, and hell has its source in ignorance. When we broaden the circle of our considerations, the geographies of the battle water down. We belong to everyone and to ourselves, this is the contradiction to cherish. Becoming aware of our belonging to others, knowing that we depend both on the heavens we love, but also on the ravines we fear, is a gigantic task. We survive on this Earth because our species works for us.

Should we then love everyone? In a way, yes, even if that is impossible. There are still too many jerks on this planet, so don’t ask too much. However, haven’t our certainties caused more bloodshed than our questions? If, at daybreak, our spirit tempered its desires a little bit, even for a few moments of dreams, that it dressed humbly for a pure gratitude and if, all day long, it took care to keep, well protected in its lantern, the little flame of goodness, wouldn’t our people be revolutionarily colored and changed?