Margaret Thatcher died this morning following a stroke, her spokesman Lord Bell said.
One of my neighbours, who was not divided in her opinion about Margaret Thatcher, and arguably less eloquently, declared ‘Thank God That Bitch Is Dead.”
Wherever my own politics lie, I found that latter sentiment extremely sad because of what it takes away from us when we hate to that degree. And hate is the only word that can adequately describe what many felt (feel) about Baroness Margaret Thatcher.
I once felt that black, inky hate for another individual who walked this earth and the strength of the emotion I felt shaped me negatively f
or a long time. May still have left its mark on me.
That was until I freed myself from its jealous grasp.
Jealous because I eventually realised that hate would never let me be happy, and itself only content when I was writhing with it’s poison coursing through my body and every waking thought.
I do not say RIP Baroness Margaret Thatcher because I necessarily agreed with her policies or views, but because I fear the death of my compassion more.
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