The Everything Box

Exploring the Gaps in Knowing, Believing, and Becoming

This, like all of Seed Scapes, is not meant to dictate how you should view religion. Over the years, we’ve seen a steady decline in religious affiliation in America—a shift that mirrors broader cultural and philosophical changes. Religion, like politics, is one of those delicate topics you’re advised to avoid at the dinner table, right? Instead, this post is simply an exploration through the lens of “the world according to me.” If something resonates, plant it and let it grow. If not, feel free to move on. (Last minute update: “Publishers attribute a 22% jump in Bible sales this year to rising anxiety, a search for hope, or highly focused marketing and designs.” Sure, one or the other, I find that wording humorous!)

Yes or No: The Foundation of Belief

Over a decade ago, I attended an intimate salon in New York City—fewer than twenty people gathered in a cozy setting—where Andrew Cohen was interviewed by Daniel Stone. The theme of the evening was change, but Cohen’s distillation of it cut straight to the heart of existence: a simple binary question—yes or no?

At first glance, it felt almost too reductive. But Cohen elaborated, framing the question as an invitation to examine the essence of everything. Is the totality of existence inherently good or bad? If the answer is no, there’s no foundation upon which to build a deeper inquiry. However, if the answer is yes, it opens a door to boundless exploration.

Cohen described evolution as a progression from nothingness to the material, to the biological, to the mind, and ultimately to consciousness itself. He framed consciousness as the universe awakening to itself, a purposeful trajectory pointing toward growth and awareness. For Cohen, the journey is not passive but participatory—a realization that aligns us with this evolutionary impulse.

For me, his question of “yes or no” distilled into something both personal and practical: live a life that leans more toward yes. Choose actions and decisions that bring more affirmation, light, and positivity into the world.

Cohen’s reflections resonated deeply, and they invited a reconsideration of how we engage with life’s unfolding. In the sections ahead, we’ll dive into what I call “the everything box” and examine how this concept manifests in three practical examples, showing how even small decisions can tilt the balance of life toward yes.

The Everything Box: What We Can Never Know

At first glance, this might seem too simple an approach. After all, humanity has over 2,000 years of philosophical and theological history filled with increasingly complex ways to examine existence—ways that, paradoxically, all claim to be correct simultaneously. Yet, for me, the basis of belief often circles back to the simplest of truths: acknowledging that I cannot truly know the ultimate answer.

To grapple with this inherent limitation, I lean on a thought experiment I call “the everything box.” This experiment underscores the gap between what we think we know and what may ultimately be unknowable. Science—through physics, chemistry, psychology, and countless other fields—has given us remarkable insight into individual pieces of the puzzle. But even with all these parts, we still lack the ability to see the whole picture. The box serves as a metaphor for this limitation.

Here’s how it works: imagine a box that can hold everything you know or believe. Start with the Earth, the solar system, the universe, and then add concepts like consciousness, infinity, and even God. Whatever comes to mind, just keep putting it in the box until there’s nothing left.

You might protest: “You can’t put infinity or God into a box.” Well, this is a very special box. It’s not constrained by six sides or traditional boundaries—it simply becomes what it needs to be. Still doubtful? Fine—put that doubt into the box, too.

Now, here’s the pivotal question: what is the box for? What purpose does it serve? And no, you can’t cheat by saying it’s meant to “contain everything.” Even if that were the answer, you’d still be left with the question of why. Why does such a box exist?

To me, this exercise reveals the profound truth that there are limits to what we can comprehend. It forces us to confront the possibility that there is something beyond our capacity to grasp—something outside the boundaries of human understanding. For me, this realization serves as proof of the gaps in our perception. It’s a humbling reminder that, for all our knowledge, the universe retains mysteries that defy our mental constructs.

Thin Walls: When Reality Bends

At times, the walls of reality seem to thin, offering fleeting glimpses of something beyond the ordinary. I long for those moments—for the chance to bear witness to the extraordinary. Sure, you could argue that miracles happen every day: improbable coincidences, moments of serendipity, the so-called “signs” that some people swear by. Living in a world of infinite possibilities, even the improbable becomes routine if we attune ourselves to it. By focusing on such moments, we can even train our brains to find more of them. This is the everyday magic of life.

But that’s not what I’m talking about here. I’m talking about the moments where reality itself seems to bend—Stephen King moments, where the edges of existence melt into something other, something deeply strange.

When I was in elementary school, we lived in an old farmhouse. Late at night, as I drifted off to sleep, I would experience something that defied explanation. My perception of distance would warp. The space between my bed and my night table—just a few feet—would feel unnervingly wrong, as if the world had tilted out of alignment. It wasn’t terrifying exactly, but it wasn’t comforting either. It was… other. I never mentioned it to anyone back then, and this is probably the first time I’m putting it into words now. The experience faded when we moved, and I’ve often wondered: was it the place? Was it just something I “grew out of”? Or was it something else entirely? The memories are vague, but the strangeness of it has lingered all these years.

Other moments stand out, too, not just from my own life but from the lives of those around me. There was the time, about three decades ago, when a high school acquaintance—once the class troublemaker, to put it kindly—showed up at my door with a Bible in hand. Back in the day, he’d been the kind of person no one expected to change, but here he was, transformed. His story was surreal: he’d stumbled upon a key near his storage unit, tried it on several locks until he found the match, and discovered a stash of coffee barrels inside. A friend mentioned that coffee was sometimes used to conceal drugs, so he returned, searched more thoroughly, and found kilos of cocaine.

It could have been a payday—or a disaster. Instead, it became the catalyst for something profound. He used the drugs, sold some, spiraled downward, until one day, staring into the beam of his flashlight, he heard what he believed to be the voice of God. The message? Flush the drugs. Start over. And so he did. That’s how the troublemaker became the man standing before me with a Bible. Was it God in the flashlight? Was it something in his own mind? Does it even matter? What struck me was that he’d achieved something almost impossible: he had changed the essence of who he was.

More recently, I attended a fundraiser for Rupert’s Kids, an organization founded by Rupert from Survivor. Its mission is to help those with no one else to turn to rebuild their lives. At the event, one participant shared his story—a life marked by 30 years in prison, family abuse, false starts, dashed hopes, and chronic, debilitating back pain. Even after surgery, the pain returned following an accident. Life offered him no relief—no magic fix. Then, through his reconnected faith, a different kind of moment arrived.

After a church service, a little girl approached him and handed him a rock. She didn’t explain, and he didn’t know her. But at that instant, his back pain vanished—and it hasn’t returned since. A rock? Really? But who’s to say what carries meaning and what doesn’t?

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These stories, whether miraculous or improbable, remind me how deeply personal our connection to the unknown can be. Whether we call it God, the universe, or something else entirely, there seems to be a momentum—a quiet nudge in the right direction if we choose to listen. Sometimes it’s a warning; other times, it’s an invitation. For some, it may be the chance to start over. For others, it may be the moment to act.

Above all, strive to be an example for others, not a cautionary tale. Know your body—fix it when it’s broken and fight the challenges that come. Risk enough to stay young, but not so much that you leave this world too soon. Don’t Die (/dd). Keep enough irons in the fire to create your own luck; after all, Powerball isn’t the only lottery to win, and winning isn’t always about money. Find a way to love life, to embrace the improbable, and to rewrite the story of your past if you must. Perhaps, in doing so, you’ll find that the walls of reality aren’t so thick after all, and that a small part of the future of the universe truly rides on what you choose to make of it.