Slavery

Recently I’ve been reading “The Wine of Solitude” by Irène Névmirovsky, which was originally written in French. The author was born in Kiev in 1903 and immigrated to France during the Russian Revolution when Ukraine was still part of Russia. Before her death in Auschwitz in 1942 over a dozen of her books had been published.

On page 103 I read this sentence, which made me stop and think. Our young heroine, Hélène, is sitting in her father’s lap and kisses his slender, long-fingered hand. “He wore an old-fashioned, wide, round wedding ring, the symbol of slavery,” she wrote.

That seems rather harsh and judgmental, I thought. Then my mind wandered.

What am I a slave to? Bills, taxes, chores, earning a living? We all have those responsibilities, but is it slavery?

When I lived in Johannesburg, I was very friendly with my neighbor across the street. He was single and had no pets. Like everyone else his property was fenced in and gated with bars across the windows. (Were the buglers being kept out or residents imprisoned within?) His key ring had two keys: house and car. David’s objective was no attachments.

Consider: are your relationships bonding or expanding? Draining or supportive?