Compassion

There was an altercation in my office yesterday. We know both men involved and it was a silly spat, involving a few bad words and ugly looks. The cause was absolutely trivial and if I didn't know the two I would have laughed out loud at their behaviour.
The younger of the two, probably in his mid forties, looks fit and well with the almost outdated shaved head. But you see, his head isn't shaved, he recently underwent chemo after surgery for a nasty form of cancer. During the course of treatment his partner suddenly died, of an anurism or some such thing. How cruel life can be sometimes.
The other man is a little older. I don't know much about his home life, but I know his past has been rough and his business life is stressed and worrysome.
I don't justify their actions, I just try to understand. You see, it's easy to feel compassion for a photo of a sad "aids baby" or starving village somewhere we haven't heard of and no doubt will never see for real. But how can we judge the actions of others when we don't know their story.
A friend sat at my desk today, his house almost burned down a few months back, his wife was trapped inside and suffered burns and damage from smoke inhalation. She's struggling to cope with life. I've suggested and offered Reiki, I hope to see her soon.
I don't feel for the man who's been at the traffic lights for 5 years, wagging his finger at us when we don't offer him money. I feel for the young girl at the same intersection, selling newspapers with little hope of ever improving her lot. Some days the burden of wealth must be great if you have lots but can't decide who to help. Other days the wealth must wonderful, who am I kidding! I worry about the child, un restrained in the front seat of a car, standing while her mother talks on her 'phone and weaves around. I'll feel no pain for the mother when her car's gone, just sadness for the child.
After yesterdays spat, a regular appeared in the office doorway, smiling and asking for a little cash to buy some food. He comes to the area abour 5 or 6 times a year, always smiling despite the fact that his legs don't work too well and his crutches are old. He defies us to feel sorry for him, he has a handle on his life and he's coping.
Don't expect me to be all do-gooder when a child's molested or an old couple killed for R5. I won't care about the perp's upbringing, no excuse. But, I do care for the millions of people the world over who have to carry their pain, loss, fears, whatever and still put on a brave face so that they won't be judged.
So, next time the sullen cashier with the bruise over her eye can't be bothered to say hello, don't judge, try a little compassion instead.