Power

Spake Phaol: "We sin and do good blindly. Some solicitor rode a bike and suddenly, passing by Kazan cathedral, disappeared. Did he know what was his destiny: to do good or evil? Or take such case: some artist bought a furcoat, and supposedly did good to the old lady that, due to poverty, sold it, yet to another old lady, namely his mother, who lived with the artist and normally slept in living room, he apparently did evil, for that furcoat smelled so unbearably with some kind of formalin and camphor, that the old lady, the artist's mother, one day failed to wake up and died. Or else: some graphologist got soused with vodka so bad, that even colonel Custer wouldn't tell good from bad in it. It is very hard, to tell sin from good".
Mousley, reflecting on Phaol's words, fell off his chair.
---Ho-ho!--said he, lying on the floor.--Wa-wa.
Phaol went on: "Let's take love. Seemingly good, yet seemingly bad. On one hand, it is said 'thou shall love", and on the other, it is said 'Do not do mischief". Maybe it's better to not love at all? But it is said "thou shall love!" Yet if you love, you'll do mischief. What to do? Maybe, love, but differently? But then why all peoples describe with the same word all types of love--both 'right' and 'wrong'. Here's an artist who loved his mother, and also a young, chubby girl. And he loved them in different ways. He gave the girl biggest chunk of his earnings. Mother often went hungry, while the girl ate and drank threefold. Mother lived on the lobby floor, while the girl had two splendid rooms at her disposal. The girl had four coats, while mother only one. And then the artist took that one coat and made out of it a skirt for the girl. He did lots of mischief with her, yet with the mother he never did any mischief, and loved her purely. Yet he feared mother's death, but he did not fear the girl's death. So when the mother died, he cried, whereas when the girl fell out the window and also died, the artist did not cry but called another girl. So it appears that a mother is valued as unique, sort of like a rare post stamp that can't be replaced.
---Wa-wa--said Mousley, lating on the floor.--Ho-ho!
Phaol went on: "This is called 'pure love'! Is such love good? And if not, then how to love? One mother bore a child. He was two and a half. She brought him to the playground and set in the sand. To the same place came other mothers with their children. Sometimes sand gathered up to forty children. And then one time a rabid dog broke into the playground, dashed at the children and started biting them. Weeping mothers reached for their kids, and so did our mother. Sacrificing herself, she came up to the dog and tried to pull out of its jaws her, as she thought, child. But, having plucked the child out, she saw it was not hers, and she threw it back to the dog, so as to grab and save from the death her own child, laying right next there. Who's to say, did she sin or commit kindness?"
--Chum-chum--said Mousley, rolling on the floor.
Phaol kept on: "Does a stone sin? Does a tree? A beast? Or does only man sin?"
--bloop-bloop--said Mousley, heeding Phaol's words.--sough-sough.
Phaol kept on: "If only man sins, then all the world's sins are in man. Sin does not enter man, only comes out of him. Just like food: man eats good stuff, and then emits bad stuff. Nothing bad is in the world, save but for what's gone through man."
--Smarph--said Mousley, trying to get up from the floor.
Phaol went on: "So I spoke of love, i spoke of those states of ours that are called by the one and same word 'love'. Is it a language flaw, or are all these states one and the same? Mother's love for child, son's love of mother, and man's love for woman--perhaps, all this is one love?"
---Certainly,--said Mousley, nodding his head.
Phaol said: "yes, i think the essence of love changes not depending on who loves whom. Each person has certain amount of love accorded them. And each one seeks where to apply it, without losing their hulls. Revelation of mysteries of exchanges and small traits of our soul, like a mash of sawdust...
---NUFF!--yelled Mousley, jumping off the floor--OFF!
And Phaol dissipated, like low-grade sugar..