Once upon a time there was a planet where one species dominated. When I say dominated I mean they believed it was their duty to be in control. Other species had to be cared for until the dominants wanted to eat them, then they were stored in sheds and killed as required. This worked fine for the dominants as long as they controlled all the other dominants on the planet. Trouble arose when different tribes competed for the dominant position.
It might seem obvious that if all the dominants were able to find a way to get along, to share the goods and responsibilities. The strange thing is - it was not those who had the least power who fought the most, it was those who were raised as the most powerful and their families.
It could be that those who were poorest couldn't fight because they were serving those at the top. And worst of all those at the bottom, the most abused were grateful for survival. But those at the top or near the top were anxious about losing any little part of their power - mostly the imagined superiority they clung to.
Whether in the court of Henry VIII or the Government of USA, the obsession of its members was the amount of control they owned personally. For slim comfort they believed if they could create tensions among the others, if they could make them feel insecure, they could be in control.
Control was a dream, a fantasy, which did more harm than good because people who feel insecure don't problem solve, they create more problems. They don't use the gifts of the heart in wisdom to care for one another rather than compete.
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