ANALYSIS: A higher perch yields a kinder view

Who can fathom the depths of the sea?

Any bright morning, animals gather by the waterhole.

Giraffes venture into knee-deep water, their necks gliding on the surface, calm and confident.

“Come in, friends!” they gesture with the shrug of a shoulder. They signal, “The water is shallow and warm!”

The bears dubiously exchange vacant glances. The rabbits balk.

Mice stand trembling at the water’s edge — staring at the waves, towering walls to trepidation.

To the giraffes, the waterhole is calm and shallow as gentle splashes kiss their knees.

But to the mice, it’s a fierce ocean — vast, dark, and terrifying.

The giraffes, oblivious to the plight of others, hum and ply deep waters as tranquil as a warm bathtub to us.

Giants don’t callously mock and jeer the small. How could anyone see an invisible threat?

Our life of ease blinds us to the perils that confront others.

Do we tell others — “It’s not that hard.” “Just get over it. Move on.” “Why are you overthinking the situation?”

Often, what feels small to us is another man’s tempest.

We easily remain calm during what others see as the eye of the storm. We stand stoically serene while others face a raging windstorm.

They’re not weak, and we aren’t strong. Is it the chasm that blinds us to the suffering of others?

The afflicted carry weights we cannot see, smell, or taste, though ponderous and crushing they are.

Before we repeat the worn-out maxim, “It’s not that bad,” pause and ask ourselves. Could we be giraffes exhorting mice?

Empathy begins when judgment ends.

We seldom feel the pain of others; we too often only see the ripples, remnants of the crashing tsunami beyond the horizon, miles away at the heart of the sea.

So speak softly. Act kindly. For the storm we call mild threatens to sweep another away.

Ponder what turn of events can abruptly cause us to swap places with sorely distressed souls.