I don't usually like to talk about the things from that world by their names. Not while I'm here. This is my place of sublimation, abstraction. But there was a man called William Blake, back in the place I came from. He was not one who walked away, I believe, very much the opposite, although he was like us in many other ways.
There was another man called Chesterton who said many things that were wise, and others perhaps not so much. Do you hate the world enough to want to change it, but love it enough to believe that it is worth saving?
Hate the symptoms of the disease, but do not blame the sufferer. Do not hold them in contempt. This is the difficult part. This disease is a cancer; the body attacks itself. Cannot distinguish its corrupt, damaged parts from its healthy parts so does not know how to fight it without self-destructing.
It is very difficult to love one who is suffering, when their suffering must become yours. When it leaves them often at their worst. I have not abandoned him forever, I tell myself, I tell myself.
He does not deserve this. He is so much more complex than that. All of them are. This resentment at his unfair treatment was driving me so mad. It was like a curse on me, because to fight for him I had to become aware of how we are a part of each other. So I walked away, pulled myself away. I am not strong like that. Defensive anger weakens me, it doesn't strengthen me.
We shape this world, and we shape it from the stuff of our starting-worlds, in sublimated, abstracted patterns. It is the raw material and it is who we are, so let us not think it does not matter. Without it there would only be formlessness. We depend on those worlds.