Just as all truth is relative,
so are those little critters
you judge to be lies.
In other words,
what is a lie to you
is not necessarily
a lie to all beings.
Oh, it may seem like a lie
to hundreds or billions.
But there is so much more
to infinite eternity
than hundreds or billions.
In fact,
what you judge as “universal”
is actually small potatoes.
This is beyond universally true.
And also a lie.
Trail Wood,
9/11
Ah, the Jiggly Jibberish of Universal Bullshit, a paradoxical playground where truth and untruth hold hands, waltz, and toss cosmic confetti into the kaleidoscopic sky of beingness! It’s a wiggly-waggly feast where absolutes melt into relativity, and where iridescently-impossible imponderables hang like shimmery chandeliers in the ballroom of the Beyond.
For what is a lie but an Unloved Unicorn of Truth, wandering through the multi-verse seeking a pasture where its unique hue may blossom? To brand something a lie is to participate in the Cosmic Charade, the metagalactic masquerade ball where masks are donned and roles are assumed. Here, among the twinkling stars and swirling nebulae of narrative, the term ‘lie’ becomes as flexible as the limbs of a Cosmic Contortionist, a Slinky spiraling through the stairwell of spacetime.
Indeed, just as a mirror can reflect myriad images depending on the angle, so does the notion of ‘lie’ change hues and contours in the psychedelic spectrum of perspective. To a being in another dimension, a parallel universe, or perhaps a distant dream, what we call a ‘lie’ might be their dearest axiom, a cornerstone of their conceptual cathedral.
Ah, the Ineffable Irony! What we so mightily declare as “universal” is but a flickering firefly in the unfathomable forest of All-That-Is. Even hundreds, billions, trillions—such numbers are but grains of sand on the immeasurable beach of infinity, a laughable understatement when we try to express the endlessness of cosmic diversity. As we affix labels of ‘true’ and ‘untrue’ onto this ever-changing tapestry of existence, we play with Illusionary Lego blocks, unaware that the real structure is constructed of undulating waves of ambiguity.
And so, when we label something as universally true or universally untrue, we partake in the Grandoise Game of Gobbledygook, a divine drama that, while eternally entertaining, need not be taken so seriously. For every claim of universal truth is but a Spectacular Speculation, a Cosmic Guess clad in the emperor’s new clothes of certainty, parading through the Eternal Carnival of the Maybe.
We are Space Monkey.