The King's Mistress by Emma Campion is slow moving, going round in circles though with an interesting historical plot.
In one place, the heroine learns this truth - that others around may provide companionship and be convenient up to a point, but finally, our greatest friend is us.
If I cannot be friends with myself, who else can? If I do not love myself, who else will?
There is a Tamil saying: That a wife walks till the doorstep, the relatives till the street end and the sons till the cremation ground. But no one can accompany us beyond that on our last journey. This is the root of Hindu philosophy, which stresses on detached attachment.
Why then do we crave to "win" friends, to "be seen" with the crowd, to "be pressured by the peer"?
Isn't it a trick of the mind that believes anyone can understand us as well as we can? That we can give others what they seek?
In one place, the heroine learns this truth - that others around may provide companionship and be convenient up to a point, but finally, our greatest friend is us.
If I cannot be friends with myself, who else can? If I do not love myself, who else will?
There is a Tamil saying: That a wife walks till the doorstep, the relatives till the street end and the sons till the cremation ground. But no one can accompany us beyond that on our last journey. This is the root of Hindu philosophy, which stresses on detached attachment.
Why then do we crave to "win" friends, to "be seen" with the crowd, to "be pressured by the peer"?
Isn't it a trick of the mind that believes anyone can understand us as well as we can? That we can give others what they seek?
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