Empathy for the Devil

The easiest practice of the human being is to prove his difference from other human beings. Ask anybody on the street, "hey, can you think of a way that you could hurt yourself, like physically?" and I am positive that everyone has an answer. Now ask them the opposite, "hey, can you think of a single way you could help yourself? physically or otherwise?" At that, people are more apprehensive. The risk of failure exists when one extends themselves in that way. As if to say that one's effort to help someone else is only effective if it's a sensationalized warning to caution one from some danger, but few people have any advice on how to achieve a happy life.
For me, this essential weakness drove a wedge into my skull from a very young age. It's part of what made me rebel from all of the catholic guilt I initially felt with religion. I don't need to be told how I could hurt myself, I have that part down. I need to know how to get above zero, how to actually improve on myself, how to be happy, rather than how to avoid sadness. This pursuit led me to one final arena in which few people can refute the following necessary action: to relate to other human beings in an effort to prove their belonging. Loneliness is the true culprit of most depression and horrible feelings. So, how does one combat loneliness? Make friends? No. Friends are cool, and they help, but there's a whole lot more people out there then you can ever be friends with. So, how can one find a way to relate to everyone simultaneously? Extend the branch of yourself and it's non-judgmental shade to all of the people that exist in this world as best you can. Meaning, more specifically, stop judging people.
Those who hate you, those who you hate, those who you can't stand to even look at...are you. Essentially, you bear the same human burden of existing until you die. You bear the burden of requiring food and nourishment, both of the soul, mind and body, to continue that existence. The best interest of the individual is the unique pursuit of each of us and I feel confident that we're all acting in what we believe to be our best interest, no matter how much I may need to remind myself of that on a regular basis. The disregard of a pedestrian as he lackadaisically meanders into oncoming traffic on his cell phone has to do with his own self-involvement and callousness: a trait that is sadly revered in the capitalist democracy. Other first-world countries, primarily lead by the cynical french, tend to criticize this trait of americans with all of our sue-proof redundant warnings like, "careful, this escalator will escalate at a manageable speed," or "this hot coffee is extremely hot and may hurt your mouth as hot coffee is hotter than you can comfortably contend with," but these warnings are merely a semblance of the freedom that is engendered by the american spirit. We don't want people to not have the ability to burn the shit out of their mouths, we just want to give them a heads up. Most singular traits can be explained in a similar manner such as the french propensity for smoking, which really is just plain cool and you're denying it if you think otherwise.
My brother was severely hurt this evening by a young lady who had no intention of doing so. He felt unsure and didn't pursue his own goals to the extent that he felt most comfortable and was burned for allowing her the comfort of pursuing his goals for him. He was severely hurt in much the same way that I'd let myself be hurt for years on end, and still occassionally allow myself to get hurt. He got hurt by trying to being too sensitive in a callous world, feeling misplaced and alone as the only injured soul by this callous facade that we all create. The pain's real though, the pain is more real than I'd like to admit and that's precisely the point.
Nobody admits that their in pain any more. Nobody admits that they can't do something. Nobody admits that they don't want to do anything. Nobody admits that they are merely human when it is the most obvious truth that we all share. As much as I am assured of my inability to percieve the greater universe or understand the theory of relativity or any other incapacity that I am mostly unwilling but probably just unable to wrap my brain around, that incapacity is what links me to all of the world. There are six billion people that are unable to wrap their minds around it all. This is the fault of the human condition--its finite nature. Sherlock Holmes once told a man that he couldn't remember his name because he may forget one of the thirty eight varieties of cigar ash that allow him to solve a case and the warehouse of his mind is just too full. The warehouses of our souls are overflowing by nature, spilling the wreckage onto our hearts in a moment of vulnerable fulfillment or raw unadulterated failure. Those should be the most treasured moments of our lives. Those are the moments that prove we're not alone. Those moments mean you are alive in a way that only god could prove for you. Those moments don't make you like me, you don't waste your time with sympathy in those futile seconds, you are me in those moments, as you have been all along.