From within the bubble all sight is curved.
Men meet each other through the lens of time, not as it is measured as a full and whole expression of what each man is in totality, but simply by the weight of the passing moment. Imagine the line which stretches from birth to death and tally all events as equal units. Scores of actions, both inward and outward, convey themselves as aspects of fragments of who and what each man has been conditioned to be. He is one fellow to one person in one moment, and another to another. The situation shifts, the conditions change, the scene is set, and a man behaves as he has been designed. He is friendly now, indifferent in a short while, and then negative five minutes later. He is in constant rotation like a sphere, a globe, which at any moment in time has only one spot of it lit up and revealed.
The spotlight will convey the change, be it of weather like rain or snow or clear bright sky, or landscapes like the peaks and troughs of land and sea. One moment may reveal something to be cherished and loved, and the next might raise the brows of disapproval and discontent. A thousand good deeds will mean nothing when the dagger of judgment discovers an ugly feature. Men are left without the means to see beyond the present and will condemn friends as enemies, and then enemies as friends, all because they lack the clarity of vision which would otherwise reveal context to who they are dealing with — full-bodied men, not of one, but of many moments which cannot all be condensed and brought to life in a single event.
As in the archaic tales of life after death, where deities and gods pour white and black pebbles on an objective scale to measure a soul’s full value according to the totality of their deeds in life, so too must we take care to judge only by the fullness of the object in question. The whole cannot be judged, its worth cannot be valued, by the edge or surface of one aspect. This is the unintelligent approach, where since each man has one name, we believe accordingly that his psychology is equally singular. For a single name implies a single soul with a single psychology at the helm in deciding left from right and right from wrong. This is the wool that is wrapped over our eyes, deceiving us to taint our sight with shades and hues, rather than through white clear light.
Many men live within a single man and that is the truth. A singular psychology is a myth which hides the myriad of psychological activity that is otherwise in plain sight. One fear and anxiety which makes us act with reticence and cowardice in one moment does not reflect the whole. It reveals one jagged edge of a facade which on its other side, and perhaps not too far away, includes also confidence and bravery. All of these qualities exist but live inside us as creatures of various sizes and proportion, with bellies as pampered or deprived as per the amount of energy and attention we have fed them throughout the events of our past.
Men cannot therefore be judged purely by the bellies of psychological features and qualities viewed through a narrow microscope. They must be seen in totality, outside of the now, measured and weighed beyond the reach of the present moment. This is how ordinary men must be treated, with patience and care, as if dealing with children. Perhaps around the corner one might find a super-normal man, who reflects the potential of possessing a singular psychology which will represent in any moment the one and same psychology. Yet this rare and we must for the time being treat one another as flawed and erratic beings who must be forgiven in advance for the contradictions which reflect only one shade of who we are at any given moment of time.