Thinking about my “subjective universe” theory that I wrote about last night, I thought of a metaphor. Here goes.
A man—let’s call him Jack—was driving home. He’d just been fired from his job and was ashamed to tell his wife. As he neared his neighborhood, one of his tires blew. He was a mile from home, had no spare in the trunk, and it was January. As he stepped out of the car in his suit, a passing car blasted its horn. Jack yelled an obscenity at the driver and walked straight into a puddle of slush. Now his Italian leather shoes were ruined, and his feet were cold.
A dog from a neighboring yard timidly made its way toward him. Jack shouted, “Go away!” and it did. As he walked home, he noticed that every mound of snow was tarnished with dirt and car exhaust. The sun’s glare was giving him a headache. Not even the blue sky was beautiful. To him, it echoed the coldness of the winter air. From Jack’s perspective, life was a series of difficulties.
An hour later, a school bus pulled up to the very same spot where Jack’s car had been before it was towed, and an eight-year-old boy, Oliver, stepped out of it right into the puddle that had ruined Jack’s shoes. It made a satisfying sound, so the boy jumped up and down in it until the bus driver prompted him to cross the street in front of the bus. As he did, he noticed the shivering dog.
“Here boy,” he said, and the dog wiggled over to him with his tail wagging. Oliver dropped to his knees and hugged the dog to warm him. He noticed his soft fur and how the dog seemed to smile. The sun glittering like diamonds on a snow pile drew his attention. He ran to it with the dog trotting joyfully beside him and climbed it. To the boy, it was a snow castle, and he was the ruler, King Oliver. The dog was his knight and above them, the sky was velvety blue, a perfect ceiling for his kingdom. From the boy’s perspective, all of life was magical, laid at his feet like jewels.
My point? Two souls heading down the same path at virtually the same time don’t share the same reality, and they don’t necessarily arrive at the same conclusions.
A man—let’s call him Jack—was driving home. He’d just been fired from his job and was ashamed to tell his wife. As he neared his neighborhood, one of his tires blew. He was a mile from home, had no spare in the trunk, and it was January. As he stepped out of the car in his suit, a passing car blasted its horn. Jack yelled an obscenity at the driver and walked straight into a puddle of slush. Now his Italian leather shoes were ruined, and his feet were cold.
A dog from a neighboring yard timidly made its way toward him. Jack shouted, “Go away!” and it did. As he walked home, he noticed that every mound of snow was tarnished with dirt and car exhaust. The sun’s glare was giving him a headache. Not even the blue sky was beautiful. To him, it echoed the coldness of the winter air. From Jack’s perspective, life was a series of difficulties.
An hour later, a school bus pulled up to the very same spot where Jack’s car had been before it was towed, and an eight-year-old boy, Oliver, stepped out of it right into the puddle that had ruined Jack’s shoes. It made a satisfying sound, so the boy jumped up and down in it until the bus driver prompted him to cross the street in front of the bus. As he did, he noticed the shivering dog.
“Here boy,” he said, and the dog wiggled over to him with his tail wagging. Oliver dropped to his knees and hugged the dog to warm him. He noticed his soft fur and how the dog seemed to smile. The sun glittering like diamonds on a snow pile drew his attention. He ran to it with the dog trotting joyfully beside him and climbed it. To the boy, it was a snow castle, and he was the ruler, King Oliver. The dog was his knight and above them, the sky was velvety blue, a perfect ceiling for his kingdom. From the boy’s perspective, all of life was magical, laid at his feet like jewels.
My point? Two souls heading down the same path at virtually the same time don’t share the same reality, and they don’t necessarily arrive at the same conclusions.
