Embracing Reality: A Parable

***The following is a parable of One Person’s subjective experience of reality. It is not intended as a template for others. However a person comes home to their true self in love is worthy of celebration.***

There once was a child who was born in a box. The box was in a tree house high off the ground. The child grew up in the box feeling safe and loved. One of the reasons for this is that the grownups in the box told the child that it should feel safe and loved because it was with them. In the box.

There was a story in the box that everyone knew. It was the story that defined the people in the box. (There are about two billion people in this particular box.) There are other people who are not in this box. The people in the box talk about themselves as “us” and the people outside the box as “them”. They talk about “us” being “saved” and “them” being “lost” or worse, “damned”.

Some of the people outside of the box live in other boxes. The tree house is filled with boxes. Big boxes and little boxes. Boxes of all shapes and sizes. Actually, inside of every box most of the people think of themselves as “us” and anyone outside of their particular box as “them”. This is how the tree house continues to function throughout the ages from one generation to the next.

The tree house of boxes plays an important role in growing human beings. The box provides parameters for making sense of the world. Language and story. Rules and rituals. Politics and economics. Science and religion. Metaphysics and mystery. Ethics and morality. Terms of group-think and confirmation bias. Lenses for viewing everything inside the box. Blinders for whatever may be outside the box.

Many people are born, live, and die within the confines of the box. To them, the box is reality. It includes life, the world, god, the devil, heaven, hell–everything. (Well, maybe not hell, because hell is for “them” not “us”.) They cannot conceive of anything outside the box. A main use for gods and the supernatural inside the box is to provide explanation and assurance about the unknowns beyond the box.

The box is not reality. Reality is reality. The box exists within reality. And as life goes on, reality has a way of breaking through the walls of the box.

Coming of age inside the box the child went to live inside a tiny-box that was inside the box. The people in the tiny-box thought they were even more “us” than the rest of the “usses” inside the box. They took the rules more seriously, and held themselves to a “higher standard”. In fact, to the people inside the tiny-box inside the box, the rest of the people in the box took on the identity of “them”. They might as well have been outside of the box altogether, for all the people in the tiny-box cared. Because the only people the people in the tiny-box really cared about were themselves.

The child-coming-of-age did its best in the tiny-box. Kept all the rules. Lived by the higher standards. Looked down its nose at outsiders. Felt superior. And had a sense of safety, but knew very little of love.

Over time the cracks in the tiny-box became obvious to the child-coming-of-age. It began to realize that living by sheer effort and force of will was impossible. And exhausting. And according to at least one of the stories in the bigger box, the tiny-box way was not the only way. The child-coming-of-age began to experiment with cutting itself some slack (box-dwellers call it “living by grace”) instead of white-knuckling everything. The child came out of the tiny-box and back into the box. The child was now a young adult. Getting a job. Finding love. Starting a family. All still inside of the box.

But its time in the tiny-box inside the box had changed the child-now-young-adult. Something still felt missing. The child was still looking for love.

So the child-now-adult entered seminary in order to become a professional teller of the stories of the box. At some level, the child wanted to become an official representative of the box’s religion, culture, values, and god. The child’s unconscious hope was that if it filled a sacred role in the center of the box, maybe then it would be loved.

Along the way life happened in the ups-and-downs way life always happens. Reality began breaking through the walls of the box. Here and there the child-now-adult glimpsed the world outside of the box. Even so, the box still felt real enough and the child could still make reasonable sense of life in terms of the sacred stories and sacraments of the box and the people in it.

One day in the box, the child-now-adult had a new-child in the box. The new-child was born prematurely and had special needs. At less than a year old, the new-child’s heart stopped; was restarted; and the new-child lived two more years in heart failure. During the new-child’s life, the child-now-adult tried to keep making sense of these new difficult experiences in terms of the stories of the box.

Just before its third birthday (and three weeks after the child-now-adult was ordained as a professional teller of the stories of the box), the new-child died.

And the walls of the box came tumbling down. The stories rang hollow. And they didn’t work anymore. The god and devil, the heaven and hell of the box had proved imaginary. With the death of the new-child, the child-now-adult newly minted as a professional teller of the stories of the box faced a dilemma.

The child-now-adult clung to the bare floorboards of the box for six more years. Going through the motions expected by box-dwellers of other box-dwellers. Observing the feasts, the festivals, the seasons of the box. Telling the stories and celebrating the sacraments of the box. But its experiences with the life and death of the new-child had changed the child-now-adult forever. It had seen the wider world. The world beyond the box. And had discovered that it is filled with people who embodied and practiced the love the child had been looking for all along.

One of the curious features of boxes is that prophets arise within them. Prophets that speak of reality transcending all boxes. Some of the prophets in the child’s box were Francis of Assisi, Martin Luther King, Jr., Jesus of Nazareth, and Mother Teresa. Other prophets in other boxes in the tree house included Siddhartha Gautama, Rumi, Ram Dass, Carl Sagan, Hafez, The Dalai Lama, Mahatma Gandhi, Socrates, Alan Watts, and others.

In order to continue as authentically as possible as a professional teller of the stories of the box, the child experimented clinging to the floorboards of the box by speaking less and less about metaphysics, the supernatural, and a personal deity and speaking more and more about the historical box-prophet, Jesus of Nazareth, his words and actions, and how he treated people.

This experiment worked for awhile. The box-dwellers were comfortable with Jesus. They had made him into a god so they would not feel so bad about not following his example as a human being. As the six years drew to a close, the child’s experiment telling stories about the human Jesus was about to run its course. The matrons and patrons of the box-congregation concluded the child was not aligned with box-priorities, box-culture, box-religion, and box-mores. So they pushed the child out as the professional storyteller of their box-congregation.

And the child experienced sadness and hurt and immense relief. It had been looking for a way out for awhile. The floorboards of the box in the tree house finally fell away and the child landed freely on the ground of the big wide world.

The ground of love. The ground of compassion. The ground of reality. Outside of the box. And the child began to experience more fully the love for which it had been searching its whole life. Many of the people outside the box are naturally welcoming having discovered that real human nature is grounded in love and compassion. They have learned this by embracing themselves as part of the interconnected web of everything. They were not welcome in boxes anyway.

The child didn’t reject the box outright, it just didn’t need it anymore. Whatever was true in the box is true in every other box and is still true in reality. Its just that what the box people think is true about the box are the things that make the box the box. Box truth is circular and designed to keep people imprisoned in the box. This constriction is not in harmony with an expansive reality.

No one really knows if there’s a god or goddesses or what will happen when they die. A personal deity is primarily a psychological device upon which people project their hopes, dreams, anxieties, and fears. Heaven and hell are not geographical locations in an afterlife; they are two ways people experience this life. Reality invites people to live with what is–as it is–recognizing that pain is a given; suffering is a choice.

In reality everything and everyone is sacred. Reality is always changing. Clinging to permanence is a source of suffering. The stories we tell ourselves in our own heads and in our collective boxes are just that: stories. They may be more or less useful as we use them in life-affirming or life-limiting ways.

Now the child practices living in the world as a beloved adult human being. Not knowing answers to ultimate questions; showing up with other people as they are; and acting with compassion. Being fluent in the language and story of the box it grew up in (as well as knowing some about several other boxes) serves the child well in its work of companioning people during difficult times.

But reality is not reducible to a language or a story or a box. Reality just is. With all its beauty and pain and mystery and uncertainty, reality is whatever happens. Reality is here for the embracing. Jump!

Love One Person

3 thoughts on “Embracing Reality: A Parable

  1. nonniesstory August 31, 2020 / 3:07 pm

    Reblogged this on Nonnie's Story and commented:
    A friend wrote this. Much of it I resonate with. I’m struggling with the “box” I’ve belonged to all my life and desire to be not only open to other boxes, but free of the box itself. It’s a very poignant parable.

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s