Human. What does it even mean? This is my story. I am me; I know who I am. I know I am alive. I know my thoughts. I live in my world; I am comfortable in my world. In my world, in my story I am the hero…hero? No, in my world I am the protagonist. Things happen to me, for me and everything is about me. The rest of you and everything else are just background noise. I cannot think about you and your problems because I am the center of my world. I may call you friend; I may say I love you but that would be a lie. Don’t get me wrong I need you. Every hero needs supporting characters. Expendable people. Someone needs to be sacrificed and cast away.

But then you are exactly like me. You are me. My desires are yours; my fears keep you up at night, my dreams bring you elation and my failures tire you down. We are brothers. No, we are more than that. We are light and dark; we are day and night. I cannot live without you nor you I.

You have your own world. You are your hero. I am a supporting character to you. I live to serve you, to be sacrificed and discarded by you. This is your story, your world and yet it is still my story. The stage must be shared. The chaotic order of two worlds phasing through each other, of two stories merging and changing and evolving into something wondrous and totally different.

This must have been what the great sages talked about. Living. Living is the merging of your world with as many worlds has you can. I see it now. I know it now. I am not me; I am you and you are me.