The strength of my power may be curtailed by what I do, and do not do, where I live, my age, health, gender, beliefs, my cultural, social and economic status, by love, by hate, by law and physical force.

When I resort to cruelty I abandon my efforts to resolve my differences through persuasion. When peaceful protest is met with violence, the aggressor yields authority.

Power that lasts comes only through peace, and peace comes only with respect.

At this very moment of my writing, at this very moment of your reading, someone loves, someone is loved. I may be hindered, hurt, or worse, but as I listen to my breath, and this the next I take, at each and every breath a child is kissed, a hand is held, the eyes of two become as one.

I am made stronger when my thoughts are of others. I grow weaker only as I think of me.

I observe, inquire, or sift through information to know. I sometimes come to know through sense and feeling. I rarely know with others. I know myself quite well.

Others often come to know me through my work. To know more, or for sure, is tantalizing, fleeting.