How is it that people being ordinarily moral cause universal suffering? I have been the recipient of those looks implying I hold all real virtue in the room and, frightened, I excused myself by running in terror through any open door I could find. Indifference to the fate of self is one way to seek the welfare of others. Another is to challenge the pride that tends to grow when in the midst of a group. What is rare, not at all normal or to be expected, if found, should make things easier. At least that is what I have been told. How can the words of a poem be sinful, as in missing the mark, while alleviating the suffering of another? So many point their fingers at the greatest immorality of society without any sense of ought or thou shalt. Their versions of harmony come before me bland and without reason. Give me instead a note from a daughter thanking me for taking her out to lunch or to live again the morning when I lay on the floor with a baby resting and drowsing on my chest as I rubbed her back, both of us tired from waking before the sun came up to lighten the day.