A friend asked me to visit his son, who was having a hard time. Sitting with the young man, I could see he was depressed, going through the kind of existential trial most of us experience in our late teens and early twenties. He said he felt like he was shedding his skin. I thought this was a good metaphor for the coming-of-age ordeal afforded by nature to give birth to one’s individuality.
I invited the boy to visit, to sit on my couch and share a bowl of soup.
“But what could I give in return?” he asked. “I see that I am just a taker in so many ways and I would want to do something, help out in some way.”
I could see he was worrying and assured him the invitation was given freely, without any need for payment.
“But why would you do that,” he persisted, “if there’s nothing in it for you?”
I pondered this question for a few moments, at the same time keeping some attention on him and the atmosphere between us. And then I understood.
“Because I am you,” I said.
There was a long silence. Finally, he spoke.
“I don’t believe you.”
Another long pause.
“I mean, I don’t understand that,” he said. “What do you mean, ‘I am you?'”
With a sense of the living atmosphere we shared in that moment, I knew precisely what I meant.
“We are part of the same body,” I said. “Inasmuch as I am offering something to you, I am also aware that there is a greater whole of which both of us are a part and which our lives serve. This larger body has its own economy.”
A few points of meaning and inquiry have emerged from this exchange.
In the second act of “As You Like It,” Shakespeare writes “All the world’s a stage.” This pithy formulation of course evokes the image of a theater: “All the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances.” This image is itself illuminating but he goes further, saying “And one man in his time plays many parts,” which expands the meaning to point out the roles we all play in the course of life’s drama. But the next line hints at a different aspect of the meaning of the word “stage”—”His acts being seven ages.”
In this sense “all the world’s a stage” implies that whatever is arising is a stage in a process. Nothing is fixed, change is constant. But more important than this cliche is the sense that each stage represents a meaningful moment in an unfolding experiment of transformation. If the conditions are right, a process will unfold to completion and open the possibility of a new beginning. A snake will successfully shed its skin. A caterpillar will emerge as a butterfly. Flowing water will transform into a cloud. A teenager will blossom into a man who has humility, self-awareness, and a degree of genuine individuality.
These processes of transformation are continuously unfolding within and around us. Everything we call “life” is a manifestation of overlapping processes of various duration, even and including our own bodies, which are not anything fixed but are a manifestation of thousands of processes unfolding all at once. What we call “my body” is a swirling hive of smaller beings (cells and biome) and a vortex of processes, transforming food into vital and psychic energies. We are not anything fixed. We are more like tornadoes.
If the fixity of things is a hopeful projection of minds seeking to manufacture moorings in the midst of a vast and turbulent flow, how does one go about being helpful? We all want to be of use, to make things better, even if only for ourselves. How may we be of help?
First, I think, is to recognize the larger process unfolding in and through someone (including oneself) or a situation. Something is developing, and each moment or day or year is a stage in a larger process. Different forms of assistance are helpful at different stages of a process. At one point encouragement is needed. At another stage, one is ready to make use of new knowledge or new tools. And there are points in which a person or process needs to be left alone so the process can conclude with a graceful death and be born again in a new form. It is important to see that each process of transformation is sacred and it is not a small sin to interfere.
In the days following our conversation, the young man emerged from his cocoon and accepted the offer to visit. We ate together and talked. We watched the fire in the woodstove. He admired the cat, perched elegantly on the back of the couch.
This article appears in March 2025.
