We've all done it. We've all done it, knowingly or not; with the best, or the worst, of intentions. (As the aphorism puts it, "The road to Hell is paved with good intentions.") We've all done what? We've wrapped ourselves in munificent intentions as a cloak of armor against giving or receiving harm. You've gone on The Charm Offensive, haven't you? Be more specific, you say. "Give us some examples we can remember, that we can take to the metaphorical moral bank, the one that kept open our bankrupt accounts in the hope the tide would turn," the populace proclaims.
The Charm Offensive.
The Charm Offensive wears a multitude of disguises, a whole wardrobe of masquerades projecting delight or fright.
Such as what?
The compliment that distracts from a slight. The gift that's not a gift at all but a barter for something in return. A bouquet of penance or regret. The trinket of triumph over trouble, a trouble you inflicted. A totem of praise that diverts from the scars in the skin you carved. The ancient and venerable talisman that is in reality fake-shiny and store-bought, on sale. A poem that is a paean to their virtue or their pain (words you borrowed, copied, or rephrased without guile or shame). The fragrance of forgiveness, perfectly blended with its perfectly prescribed olfactory vocabulary. A portrait of her/him/them for the ages, commissioned by you and painted by a new generation of the Old Masters. An anthem of solidarity and compassion that you can hum--to yourself--on a starless, sleepness night in the small hours.
Yes, you know full well The Charm Offensive that serves as a juggernaut before which all negativity throws itself in abandon under the wheels of killing kindness, the juggernaut festooned with hibiscus and roses pulled by ropes gripped by all the devotees of your wounds, unstoppable as it cascades downward.
Is this what Planet Harm wants or needs?
