I woke up again with strange questions in my head. What if we were just cells inside a giant man? They say that God is everywhere. They also say that God is in each of us. And that each of us is God. That everyone is unique in their own way, but that we are all the same. That we each have our own purpose, our role. That we are all special, but that we function as a unitary whole.
And man is made up of cells. So then God, the universe, whatever you want to call it, is made up of cells also? And sometimes my brain short-circuits, and I wonder: what if God is literally a man? What if this universe we live in is actually a giant man, the earth is just an organ inside it, and we are poor cells in that organ?
And I look at my hand, I see my veins, and I imagine millions of cells doing their job there, for me to function completely. And then I imagine the giant man I am inside of with you, and I know he doesn’t see me, but I probably have my role in helping him function. That, although for more than half the time, I wonder what my role is. But I will certainly never be able to go outside the giant man, dissect him, and find out my exact role. But I know we can’t all be Fred Astaire, just as the body doesn’t have only muscle cells. And I know that everyone has their own inner rhythm. And I know that if you don’t stubbornly try to stick yourself to cells that don’t have a similar role to you, it will be fine.
Then I go back to my world and look at other cells like me on the street. Some nervous in traffic, honking their horns, agitated not to lose their jobs, to grow the small cells they have made, to get what they set out to get, counting over and over, crying, leaving, screaming, lying, killing, starving; and others, on the contrary, maybe serene, maybe loving, laughing, caressing and soothing.
It’s funny if you look at the world this way. It doesn’t make any sense, and yet it does. You are neither lower nor higher, neither the same nor different, neither more beautiful nor uglier, neither more stupid nor smarter, neither better nor worse, and if you start to compare… what reference system should you take?
And sometimes the cells multiply abnormally, and we call it cancer. And we try to fix it with radiotherapy or chemotherapy. But that doesn’t also mean that sometimes the giant man we are inside of (for the sake of theory) may have been to his doctor and noticed an abnormal multiplication or maybe he’s a kind of Angelina Jolie who got scared of her family history and decided to remove a piece of himself preventively? Maybe he was taking some drugs and had an adverse reaction or drank too much, and his body reacted by killing some cells. And if you think like that, can you still judge that Hitler was bad or that the terrorists are bad and the Americans are good or vice versa, can you still judge? Do you know what the disease is and what the medicine is? And maybe this earth is an organ without which the giant man can live, and one day he will decide to eliminate it completely. To get an “earth” transplant.
We fight just to fight and put obstacles in our own way; we stop so we won’t embarrass ourselves, so we won’t make mistakes, so we won’t be judged, so we won’t disappoint, we stop ourselves from giving so we won’t suffer, to protect ourselves, we are so arrogant even though we are so small, we hate each other meaninglessly, we search ourselves, we doubt ourselves, we shrink ourselves when all we have to do is to exist. With gratitude that we are. Let’s stop for a second and look fondly at the man in front of us and say: Yo, cell!
