Compassion

I become compassionate when I allow reality to press in with such force that it bursts through all my protective skins of comfort and self-concern, and enters my flesh and bones. I then support the world with my presence rather than my concern (which is always self-concern) or pity (which is always self-pity). Real compassion, like a real fight, is too immediate for either thoughts or feelings to have any direct bearing. By the time they enter the picture the event is already over. In this sense thoughts and feelings are always from the past and always about the past – lingering like a bad smell.