A stranger is shot in the street, you hardly move to help. but if, half an hour before, you spent just ten minutes with the fellow and knew a little about him and his family, you might just jump in front of his killer and try to stop it. really knowing is good. not knowing, or refusing to know is bad, or amoral, at least. you can’t act if you don’t know.
It is because we don't know who we are, because we are unaware that the kingdom of heaven is within us, that we behave in the generally silly, the often insane, the sometimes criminal ways that are so characteristically human. We are saved, we are liberated and enlightened, by perceiving the hitherto unperceived good that is already within us, by returning to our eternal ground and remaining where, without knowing it, we have always been.
What was love, really? flowers, chocolate, and poetry? or was it something else? was it being able to finish someone's jokes? was it having absolute faith that someone was there at your back? was it knowing someone so well that they instantly understood why you did the things you did—and shared those same beliefs?