One of my philosophies in life is that I may not agree with what you have to say, but I will surely defend your right to say it. (Well, just so long as 'it' isn't going to cause harm to others. That doesn't sit too well.)
This does not, however, mean that from time to time I don't resent the selected manner of delivery in sharing said opinion. If the content of the message, be it in line with my own views or not, is being etched into someone's metaphorical skin, then I would have to draw the line, and kindly request the orator back the heck off. Or at least adopt a less aggressive tone. Or maybe I would merely tut at them. Mentally. But you get the gist.
Well, the same situation played out today, on the metro. There we were, minding our own business, in blissful ignorance of each other's trials and tribulations, calmly respecting the codes of polite train conduct, when suddenly, a wild religionist appears. (Denomination shall remain un-stated, though feel free to imagine away and pin whatever assumptions you may choose to this scenario.) Needless to say, she had the faith. Up and down the carriage she went, preaching her morals, sermons, observations, and whatever else she fancied. Some folk turned away, some pretended not to hear, some turned a vaguely attentive ear. Headphoned-up as I was, I initially assumed it was just an unusually loud conversation within the carriage. Then, as it dawned on me that the voice was getting louder and seemed a tad pointed, I realised the source of the mêlée, and paid a little more attention. Not particularly because I was interested in what she was saying, but because there was something in her manner that implied she actually had so much faith in what she was saying that she really wasn't bothered what people thought of her and whether they were listening to her, she wasn't trying to convince us of nor sell her beliefs, she merely wanted to share them with us. It wasn't about her message, but her passion. That's the inspiring part here. She wasn't going about it in a harmful or offensive way, and we perfectly well had the choice to ignore her to our hearts' content. And as I stood up to disembark the train at my stop, she happened to be departing too. And do you know what? She carried on talking right the way through the door, and onto the platform. Off she shuffled, proclaiming away and quite happy to be doing so, thank you very much. That level of dedication and devotion was what drew me, not her words, and I think the lesson one could learn would be this: that if you're going to have a cause, a passion, a love, or even just a penchant for something, well then you might as well go whole hog and do it properly. There was no beating about the bush where this devotee was concerned, she just dove right in and got on with it. No need to worry about the impracticalities of orating whilst exiting a train, not when she had such conviction and movement to her cause that she wanted to offer its message to all and sundry. That, my friends, is the power of belief. And wouldn't a society without belief be a drab prospect indeed?!
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