Have you noticed the rise of the Victim mentality? We have SO many victims nowadays – when Mr Furlong and I were young, I didn’t notice them.
There is in-you-face victim hood everywhere. Even the Oscars celebrated victims!
A few years ago, whilst working at the local Tourist Information Centre, a customer diddled me out of £10 in a clever scam. Within days, the police offered me “counselling” because I was a victim of crime. For goodness sakes! For £10!
Victims are just people. People do have power just to get over things. Our generation and all our ancestors, got over things.
Do we take away the power of overcoming by our new thought that victims are poor suffering people? That WE don’t know what it feels like? That they need help?
This is Madonna’s song from the celebrating victims Oscars.
You tell me “hold your head up”
Hold your head up and be strong
Cause when you fall, you gotta get up
You gotta get up and move on.”
Tell me, how the hell could you talk,
How could you talk?
Cause until you walk where I walk,
It’s just all talk.
Till it happens to you, you don’t know
How it feels,
How it feels.
Till it happens to you, you won’t know
It won’t be real (how could you know?)
No It won’t be real (how could you know?)
Won’t know how I feel
Ha! Something’s seriously wrong with our current thinking.
IfIf you can keep your head when all about youAre losing theirs and blaming it on you,If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,But make allowance for their doubting too;If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;If you can meet with Triumph and DisasterAnd treat those two impostors just the same;If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spokenTwisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winningsAnd risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,And lose, and start again at your beginningsAnd never breathe a word about your loss;If you can force your heart and nerve and sinewTo serve your turn long after they are gone,And so hold on when there is nothing in youExcept the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,If all men count with you, but none too much;If you can fill the unforgiving minuteWith sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!