As I see it, the only way we can grasp the nature of anyone or anything around us is through an inner image that uniquely resides within each of us. Carl Jung referred to that inner representation as the imago. What really fascinates me is how imagoes develop. What is the mechanism by which an inner image evolves - or sometimes seems suddenly to appear - so that we can project it on an outer person (sometimes referred to as the "object") and experience them as an 'other?' It is as if an inner sculptor (like the Egyptian god, Chnum) creates in us what we can come to believe truly represents the personality of the outer person. But does it? I wonder if it ever does.

            I recall sitting in a car with my two brothers driving back from my father's funeral. We got into a discussion about how we perceived our father. It was mind-blowing to discover that each of us saw a different person in the man we called our father. We may as well have been talking about three different men! We agreed very little on how we experienced him as a father and as a personality. We hardly agreed on many aspects of his character as well. That discussion became quite heated, until we concluded that we simply had different perspectives. We had not really known that man. (How could we? He had a mind and history that was totally outside of us.) We could only talk about the image that each of us carried.

            What we experience within ourselves enables us to grasp meaning and form in the world. Consequently, that experience is our subjective TRUTH and is the only knowledge that we can have. If we tend to be egocentric, our personal, individual experience - the only vivid clarity available to us -- can be interpreted as absolute truth. However, if we recognize that each of us is in the same boat, so to speak, and each person experiences a unique subjective truth, it seems to me we must conclude simply that I know what I know and you know what you know. Our experiences might be similar, or they may utterly differ. Which of us is right? In my view, the answer appears to be simply that we are both right ... and we are both wrong. Since I only know what I experience, it is right (or truth) for me - for me personally. But your experiences may be different from mine, and each person has his or her unique experiences -- just as I do. To assume that my reality is the only TRUE one, or that it should be, leads consequently to the assumption that everyone else's divergent reality must be inaccurate -- unless, of course, I happen to be God, and have, therefore, absolute universal knowledge. But how can I be God? Put another way, if I can be God, why cannot every other person on this Earth as well? That idea doesn't hold water because we will disagree on what is absolute. So I can only conclude that if there is an absolute truth, we humans don't have access to it. At least that is how it appears to me.

            If my argument is acceptable or even valid, then what does it mean when, in speaking with another person, we begin our sentences with "you" or "I think that you?" The following examples of comments can be commonly heard in conversations, discussions, and arguments between people: "You didn't mean what you said." "You are lying." "You think I'm stupid." "You overrate me." "You feel angry (sad, happy, anxious, excited, etc.)." "You don't respect me (her, him, them)." "You like her/him better than you like me." "You can't do anything wrong (right)." "You weren't enjoying yourself." "You want to make me feel guilty."

            All of these statements can be translated into statements beginning, "My inner image of you...." These are all projections from the inner image. And because the immanent experience of the inner image is so immediately vivid, we assume that our inner experience corresponds to what must certainly be happening in the "object." And that, of course, may not be true at all!

            I find especially interesting statements that refer to how another person feels or thinks or what the person wants, sentences that begin with "You feel...," "You think...," and " You want...." - or "I think that you feel....," etc. How does one get into another's insides to know what they actually feel, think or want? Often, we don't even know what we ourselves feel, think or want!

            These images can become traps. For example, you and a friend go to a movie. Afterwards, the friend says, "You didn't like the movie, did you?" There is no way to answer the question without making waves. If the friend simply wanted to know what you felt about the movie, she would ask, "Did you like the movie?" If you felt free to express your opinion, you would answer affirmatively or negatively, according to your reaction to the movie. But in the first question, a bias has been established, and there may be no way to answer without making waves. You may feel obliged to answer, "You're right, I didn't" to satisfy the friend's supposition. But that answer (1) supports the friend's thinking that she can read minds and (2) may cause a feeling of alienation, if the friend did enjoy it and needs both of you to be in agreement. If you actually liked the movie, your friend's question might arouse a feeling in your inner child of having been misunderstood. Moreover, your friend could interpret the contradicting answer, "Yes I did," to be defensive or argumentative. It might even lead to the childlike, but commonplace, interaction that essentially goes: "No you didn't." "Yes I did." "No you didn't." "Yes I did." And so on. In that case, the situation becomes one in which each person strives to be "King of the Mountain." Somebody has to be "right," and the relationship experiences a breach -- until someone pulls back and realizes what is going on.

            When that kind of "fact not in evidence" question is directed at me, I cannot answer it directly, because I sense the other's question reflects issues that may or may not have anything to do with me. For example, for reasons explicable only by analysis of our past relationship, some complex inside the other person must have brought up the idea that I felt a certain way in a particular situation. Since I experience that I did nothing to arouse the statement, I would likely respond with a question, such as "What gave you that impression?" or "Where did you get that idea?" And I try my utmost to be conscious of using a voice of puzzlement and curiosity.

            These questions can sound attacking unless they are presented innocuously as purely inquisitive responses. It is hurtful and challenging to respond in such a way that sounds like, "That's ridiculous; what the hell gave you that idea!?" This latter kind of reaction implies another "You...." It means, "You are wrong," or "You have no right to tell me how I feel." This kind of response can become another situation in which the relationship can suffer.

            If we disagree with another's opinion or statement, it is not necessary or accurate to say, "You're wrong." (Or if we agree, to say, "You're right.") We can't know right and wrong in an absolute sense. We can only know our own attitudes, experiences, perceptions, and ideas. Of course, these may be molded by social, cultural, religious, or other group influences, but whatever images or ideas are adopted become incorporated into one's psyche in a uniquely personal, individualistic way.

            Even well known facts, such as twelve inches make a foot or 2+2=4, are potentially arguable. Someone - let's give him a name ... say, Joe -- could easily aver that fourteen (or any number) inches make a foot or that 2+2=anything. The inner child's reaction is, "No, Joe, you are wrong." But definitions are created, I believe, to establish order and a bridge for consistency of communication and other forms of interaction. Anyone is capable of defining anything as anything. Granted, chaos would probably reign with a multitude of definitions, but my point is that there is no inherent reason that there could not be more than one definition for something. If Joe defined a foot as having fourteen inches, I would either have to avoid talking with him about feet and inches or I would try to understand what he meant by "foot" and "inch." But would Joe be "wrong?" He would be contradicting the common definition as I understand it, and with that caveat, I would perceive Joe's definition to be unconventional or collectively inaccurate. Rather than "Joe, you are wrong," my response would be something like, "My definition of 'foot' is different from that, Joe. For me, a foot comprises twelve inches."

            If our goal is to maximize harmony in relationships and consciousness of ourselves, our thoughts and communications will focus on what is going on within ourselves, not interpret (project) what might be transpiring in others. Consequently, instead of starting sentences with "You...," we will likely begin talking about "I..." or refer to what is going on in "me." If we care about someone else, we probably will be curious to find out what they feel, think and/or want, but even when they tell us, we shall be interpreting what they say in our own minds - and we are capable of interpreting incorrectly. That is a human quality, and if we accept the fallibilities in each of us, we can remain open, thereby allowing for a continuation in the communication until a point is reached where both people are satisfied and indicate that they feel understood. I like to think that we can ultimately reach that kind of happy ending through continued effort and patience with one another.