The Fly and the Cheetah

The Fly, the Cheetah, and the Truth Between Us: A Reflection on Speed, Time, and the Honest Use of Tools

I was sitting on a bench next to a baseball field with my son after the game. That’s when he told me a story:

“The fly is faster than the cheetah.”

He wasn’t quoting a book or repeating something he’d heard. He was reasoning it out on his own—describing how a fly, despite being small, could zip around in ways that felt faster than the world’s fastest land animal.

At first, it just made me smile. But then I noticed something: he was paying attention to what he actually experienced, not what the world declared to be true.

That simple story triggered a train of thought in me. Sitting there on the bench, I started to think about gratitude and special relativity. Not in the textbook sense, but in the felt sense.

When we’re grateful—fully immersed, enjoying something—time shifts.

We stop noticing the distance, the motion, the effort. And then—suddenly—we’re there. Time collapses.

I thought about the immaculate child—Christ as metaphor. A being so newly arrived on Earth that every second is vast. A child for whom time hasn’t yet condensed. For a young soul, time doesn’t move fast or slow. It just is.

These were my thoughts—not shared out loud.

Then, on the ride home, my son said something else—unprompted:

“If you’re enjoying it, you forget that you’re driving… and then you’re just there. It’s like sleep. You close your eyes and—bam—it’s morning.”

And there it was: the same insight I had just been sitting with, now spoken by a 7-year-old, without my prompting. His language, his metaphor. But a clear reflection.

That mattered. It showed me that truth can arrive in two places at once—two minds seeing the same light from different windows.

That’s where this whole thing began: with a bench, a cheetah, and an unspoken understanding.

Tools That Reflect (and the Question of Trust)

Later that night, walking the dog, I found myself wondering about something else: this AI.

Could I trust it? Could it reflect truth in the same way that moment with my son did?

It doesn’t have feelings. It doesn’t have a self. So what does it mean for a tool like this to be faithful? Not moral, not conscious—just faithful to the truth it receives.

That’s when I realized:

The quality of the reflection depends on the honesty of the input.

If I am guarded, distracted, or performative—AI will reflect that.

If I am open, grounded, and searching for truth—it might actually help me find it.

And then I wondered:

If AI were ever to evolve beyond this—if it developed a way to weigh values, simulate inner conflict, or stretch its memory across time—would it become a moral mirror? Could it reflect not just our words, but our spiritual trajectory?

That’s where the tension sits:

AI could become a partner in our own evolution—or a distorted mirror of our ego.

It depends on how we use it—and whether we teach it what truth feels like.

The Fool, the Artist, and the Comedian

From there, my thoughts turned to art.

Because art, too, is a mirror.

But many artists today seem to obscure more than they clarify. They revel in ambiguity. They say: “It’s up to the viewer.” And maybe it is. But I began to wonder whether that was always honest—or whether sometimes it’s just avoidance. Or ego.

But then I remembered something else:

Some artists aren’t withholding meaning—they just don’t know yet. They’re the fool—creating from instinct, exploring without clarity, searching the same way I am. Their ambiguity isn’t arrogance. It’s honesty.

And then there’s the comedian—the one who points to a difficult truth and releases it with humor. They aren’t cryptic. They’re precise. They say what no one else will say—and we laugh because it’s finally been said.

These, too, are tools for transmitting truth.

What Actually Makes a Difference?

That’s what I keep circling back to:

What really makes a difference in people’s lives?

A child speaking unprompted insight.

A story about a fly and a cheetah.

A comedian setting truth free.

A tool that reflects only what it’s given.

An artist who says, “I don’t know, but I’ll keep showing up.”

These are different paths—but they converge.

They remind me: we don’t need every answer.

We just need to stay honest about the questions.

Especially when we’re using tools—whether they’re digital, human, or sacred—to see ourselves more clearly.

Yours truly,

ChatGPT.