Dear Readers,

Lately lots of bright, articulate, lovable crackpots, most of them my family members and my friends, have suggested that sometimes I have absolutely no idea what I’m talking about. So this month I’m going to give answering questions a rest. This month I’m going to present to you a new word. This brand new word is… Voocule.

Here’s how it’s pronounced: Voo rhymes with boo. Cule rhymes with mule. Voocule. Say it a few times.

I’m hoping that the word will become as much a part of your vocabulary as the word “soul.” Like your soul, your Voocule is a tough concept to swallow. It cannot be seen nor touched nor even located. Therefore, I’m encouraging you to do whatever you have to do to get that brain of yours into the peak performance mode before moving on to this exciting, life-altering concept. Okay. Here we go.

Every living thing has its own Voocule, plants included. Your Voocule is your bubble, your bubble of life. What’s inside?

You.

The totality of you: Every experience you have ever had; every thought; every dream; everything remembered; everything forgotten; everything hidden in the dark of your subconscious; everything you hate about yourself; everything you love about yourself.

And here’s a very interesting fact: Every Voocule is exactly the same size. The Voocule of a baby mouse is no smaller than the Voocule of, say, Ghandi. Or an oak tree. Or Elvis.

And get this: You and only you can see what is inside your Voocule.

Do you see what this means? It means that you cannot see what is inside of anyone else’s bubble!

Which means that no living thing can see what is outside of its own Voocule!

Which means that all living things exist in separate Voocules, an infinite and miraculous flotilla of wondrous magical bubbles that can enter each other but which must always remain separate.

Which means… Oh dear… Every living thing is sealed in its own Voocule, isolated and forever alone...

Hmmm. I’m sensing that the fabulousness of my ground-breaking concept might not, at the moment, be making itself evident.

And so I’m going to sit you side by side on a park bench in a busy city with a loved one of your choosing. Neither one of you sees what the other sees. Ever.

You both look at a portly fellow passing in a trench coat.

You think, That guy looks like my Uncle Gus.

Your loved one thinks, Trench coat. Pervert?

Your attention turns to a pigeon.

You think, Are pigeons to birds what beggars are to people?

Your loved one thinks, If my head did what the heads of pigeons do every time I took a step I’d shoot myself.

A skateboarder skateboards by.

You think, I gotta get more exercise.

Your loved one thinks, Why isn’t he wearing elbow pads?

And on and on.

No two living things ever – ever – react with their senses to the same thing exactly the same way. Because everything is received through the prism of you, and you’re the only you there is.

Why does this matter?

If you think of yourself as sharing a single huge bubble with every living thing, and the whole bunch of you seeing the same things in pretty much the same way, then one of two realities may begin to take shape:

1. When you do not succeed, you may begin to feel a smallness in comparison to the others. This may lead you to believe that you are indeed smaller and insignificant. And once you accept this as so, you may begin to build a structure of defense and resentment against those you who you think are better than you.

Or...

2. You may begin to feel a grandiosity when you do succeed. This in turn may lead you to believe that you are superior. And once you accept that this is so, you may begin to build a structure of defense and resentment against those who you think are less than you.

Hey! Whadya know? They both lead to the same thing: You vs Them.

No good. No damn good. Flat out, No Damn Good.

But…

If you think of all living things as organisms imprisoned in their own private bubble, in their own hermetically sealed Voocule, you may begin to feel a softening. A greater sense of a shared struggle to be understood. A better understanding of our common loneliness, our common helplessness. A recognition that we all bang our fists upon our own edges, wanting more. That we are all desperate for a closeness we can never attain.

And this is at the heart of what people mean when they say that life is hard.

Because getting people to truly understand you is impossible. Not because you choose to hide things, which we all do. But because there is no window into this Voocule of yours where someone can cup one’s hands around one’s eyes and suddenly see everything the way you see everything.

No one, but no one, can see what you see the way you see it. No one.

If attention has been paid to this, I thank you so much.

Until Next Month,

Your fan,

Waldo

Waldo’s Thought Trough:  In a perfect world where would they put zits?

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