When we are engaged in blind compassion, we rarely show any anger, for we not only believe that compassion has to be gentle, but we also are frightened of upsetting anyone, especially to the point of their confronting us. This is reinforced by our judgment of anger, especially in its more fiery forms, as something less than spiritual; something to be equated with ill will, hostility, and aggression; something that should not be there if we were being truly loving.
In blind compassion we don’t know how to — or won’t learn how to — say “no” with any real power, avoiding confrontation at all costs and, as a result, enabling unhealthy patterns to continue. Our “yes” is then anemic and impotent, devoid of the impact it could have if we were also able to access a clear, strong “no” that emanated from our core.
When we mute our essential voice, our openness is reduced to a permissive gap, an undiscerning embrace, a poorly boundaried receptivity, all of which indicate a lack of compassion for ourselves (in that we don’t adequately protect ourselves). Blind compassion confuses anger with aggression, forcefulness with violence, judgment with condemnation, exaggerated tolerance with caring, and spiritual correctness with moral maturity.
Robert Augustus Masters
Art by Bohemiart (Jillian Schneider)
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