Fickle as the human heart of the average strolling pedestrian is, that it weakens the mind’s ability to conceive in terms of context, history, and so the big picture that colours one’s understanding of what is actually happening in reality. Instead, childish as it has been conditioned to be, the heart can find insult and injury in any number of trivial ways and sullies itself to a low state of negativity whenever the wound is cause to take place. For the sorry state of projection demands that a man be always secretly ready to find fault in others before any faults even come to notice. The lights turn off and the canvas of this larger context of who someone is in their totality is lost in the darkness of the narrowing lens this mind is convinced to look at life through. The line of history and a tallied feeling that takes into account all of the goodness of the man or woman in question is therein smudged, and only the point of the present moment, with its bitter topic of the day, seems to shine out clearly on the headers of the whiteboard. The senselessness and utter stupidity of such a spoiled sense of self applies to the least influential of working men as well as the most powerful. A failure to be aware of this, and by some discipline work to develop the muscles of this tender beating organ which brings vital emotion to the living experience of reality, is the most fatal mistake a man can make.