THE ARKADEMY · ORIGINAL VITALOGUE · PLUM’S PARABLES & FABLES
Captain Northman Plum · First published 2026-06-09. Preserved original text from the Lifeology archive.
The Parable of the Broken Glasses
A man broke his glasses.
He wanted to fix them, but the moment he took them off, the world became blurred. He could not see the tiny screw, the bent hinge, or the crack in the lens. He fumbled with the frame in his hands, knowing the problem was there, but unable to examine it clearly.
So he put the glasses back on.
Now he could see the room again. He could see the table, the lamp, the tools, and the world beyond the window. But there was another problem: while wearing the glasses, he could not properly inspect the glasses themselves. They were now the instrument through which he was seeing. He could look through them, but not at them.
And so he sat there, puzzled.
With the glasses off, he could not see well enough to repair them.
With the glasses on, he could not see the thing he needed to repair.
This is the difficulty of consciousness trying to understand consciousness.
Consciousness is not just another object sitting on the table. It is the lens through which all objects appear. We use it to study the world, to measure the brain, to form theories, to doubt, to reason, to imagine, and to ask questions. But when we turn consciousness back upon itself, something strange happens. The observer and the observed are no longer cleanly separate.
We are trying to use the lens to inspect the lens.
This does not mean the task is impossible. It means it requires humility. The man may use a mirror, another person’s eyes, a magnifying glass, or careful touch. Likewise, consciousness may understand itself indirectly: through neuroscience, philosophy, meditation, art, language, love, suffering, memory, and relationship.
But it must never forget the central difficulty.
The mind is not standing outside the mystery, looking in.
The mind is inside the mystery, looking through it.
The Parable of the Bad Glasses
Two people were each given a pair of glasses.
The first put his on and found that everything looked smaller.
The mountains looked like hills. The ocean looked like a pond. Other people’s pain seemed minor. Their dreams seemed childish. Their fears seemed exaggerated. Their needs seemed easy to dismiss.
Because everything looked small to him, he treated everything as small.
He ignored warnings. He laughed at suffering. He underestimated danger. He dismissed love when it came to him, because even love looked little through his lenses.
Over time, he became careless. He stepped where he should not have stepped. He broke things he did not know were precious. He hurt people without understanding the size of the wound.
The second person put on her glasses and found that everything looked bigger.
A small insult became a great betrayal. A minor inconvenience became a disaster. A shadow became a monster. A stranger’s glance became a judgment. A difficult day became proof that life itself was against her.
Because everything looked large to her, she treated everything as large.
She feared what did not need to be feared. She ran from what could have been faced. She defended herself against people who meant her no harm. She suffered not only from the world, but from the size her lenses gave the world.
Over time, she became exhausted. She carried pebbles as if they were boulders. She mistook passing clouds for permanent storms.
Both people were sincere.
Both believed they were seeing clearly.
But both were wearing bad glasses.
One made the world too small and became cruel through dismissal.
The other made the world too large and became trapped by fear.
Neither needed to be mocked. Neither needed to be condemned. They needed better lenses.
So it is with consciousness.
A warped consciousness does not merely see the world. It changes the size of the world. It shrinks what deserves reverence. It magnifies what deserves perspective. It makes monsters of
shadows and toys of sacred things.
Wisdom begins when we ask:
Are my glasses showing me reality?
Or are they changing the size of what I see?
The Dirty Lens
A man was angry at his phone.
It would not recognize his face. Every time he tried to use it, the machine failed him. He had to type in his long password again and again, growing more irritated each time.
He checked the settings. He asked for help. He wondered if the software was broken. Perhaps the facial recognition system had failed. Perhaps the device was defective. Perhaps technology itself had once again found a way to make life more annoying than it needed to be.
Then he looked closely.
There was dirt over the camera lens.
So he wiped it clean with a little spit and a cloth.
The phone recognized him again.
This is a small story, but it carries a large lesson.
A person with bad glasses may believe the whole world is distorted. One pair makes everything too small. Another makes everything too large. One person dismisses what matters. Another magnifies what should pass. Both suffer because their lens is warped.
But sometimes the lens is not even warped.
Sometimes it is only dirty.
And because the lens is the thing we use to see, we may forget to examine it. We may blame the room, the machine, the other person, the system, the day, the universe — when the real problem is a smudge between ourselves and reality.
So it is with consciousness.
Consciousness is our lens. Through it we see the world, interpret others, judge danger, remember pain, imagine the future, and decide what is true. But consciousness can be scratched, warped, tired, frightened, proud, hungry, overstimulated, or simply dirty with the dust of the day.
Wisdom does not always begin with a grand revelation.
Sometimes wisdom begins by cleaning the lens.
Before declaring the world broken, ask:
Am I seeing clearly?
Before condemning the machine, ask:
Is there dirt on the camera?
Before assuming reality has failed, ask:
What is between me and what I am trying to see?
The man did not need a new phone.
He needed a wipe.
And sometimes the soul does too.
