The Sky That Remembered: Black Holes, Forgotten Voices, and India’s First Dawn of Freedom

 

1. The Rooftop and the Silent Sky

The night was humid yet liberating, filled with an air of restless expectation. The city of Kolkata, once the epicenter of India's freedom struggle, now stood on the threshold of a new dawn. It was August 14th, 1947—the final night of British rule—and a strange silence loomed over the city.

In the distance, the Howrah Bridge stood tall, its steel frame reflecting the flickering oil lamps from boats drifting along the Hooghly River. The air smelled of burning incense, damp earth, and old books, the kind of scent that carried memories. The Maidan, which had witnessed countless protests and marches, was eerily quiet, as if the very ground held its breath for what was to come.

Yet, there was a whisper of revolution in the air. The streets that had once echoed with slogans of independence, the trams that had carried workers and students protesting against the British, were now preparing to witness history. The city, tired yet hopeful, was waiting.

On a modest rooftop, under the vast Bengali sky, a father and son sat together. The father, a schoolteacher in his late 50s, had seen colonial rule, famines, and movements unfold before his eyes. He sipped his tea slowly, gazing at the distant horizon of history. His son, Riju, no more than 14, leaned against the parapet, staring at the sky, trying to count the stars that had watched over Kolkata for centuries.

The boy had heard his grandfather’s stories of the Swadeshi Movement, of Khudiram Bose, of the revolutionaries who had walked these streets, whispering in hushed voices about freedom. Yet tonight felt different. The revolution was over. The war was won. India would be free in just a few hours.

"Baba, are those stars really millions of years old?" the boy finally asked, breaking the silence.

The father chuckled, setting down his cup. "More than millions, Riju. Some of them might not even exist anymore. What you see now is just their light, traveling across time."

The boy frowned. "So we are seeing ghosts of stars?"

The father smiled, nodding. "Yes, in a way. Light takes time to reach us. Just like how history takes time to become a story. By the time we hear about it, the moment has already passed."

Riju thought for a moment. "Then, Baba… what about those who fought for our freedom? What about the people who were forgotten? Do they also become ghosts in history?"

The father sighed, looking at the boy with a deep, knowing gaze.

"That, my son, is why we must remember."

2. The Darkness That Eats Everything

Riju remained silent for a while, his eyes tracing the distant lights that flickered in the dark alleys of Kolkata, where revolutionaries once whispered the language of freedom. Tomorrow, India would be free, but tonight felt strange—like the quiet before a storm, like the moments before a deep, irreversible change.

Breaking the silence, he asked, "Baba, I read about something in my science book today—Black Holes. It says they eat everything. Even light. Is that true?"

His father nodded slowly, sipping the last of his now-lukewarm tea. "Yes, Riju. A black hole is a cosmic trap. Anything that crosses its boundary—stars, planets, even time itself—can never return. It is the most perfect prison in the universe."

The boy frowned, his fingers tracing imaginary patterns on the rough rooftop surface. The idea of something that could erase even light sent a chill down his spine.

"But… Baba, if nothing can escape, what happens to the things that fall inside? Do they just disappear forever?"

His father sighed, gazing at the sky, where the stars seemed eternally trapped in their own silent battle against darkness.

"That, my son, is one of the greatest mysteries in physics. It’s called the Black Hole Information Paradox."

The boy sat up straighter, intrigued.

"Imagine this," the father continued, picking up a piece of Riju’s discarded notebook. "If I tore up your notebook and threw it into a fire, you might think it's gone. But in reality, the ashes, the heat, and the smoke still carry bits of its existence. Even if we can’t reconstruct it, the information is still there—just scattered."

He paused, letting the thought settle in before continuing.

"But in a black hole, things don’t leave any trace. Not a single clue. They vanish—completely. It’s as if the universe swallows them and never tells anyone where they went. And that… that should not be possible."

Riju’s brow furrowed. "Why not?"

The father leaned in slightly, lowering his voice as if he were revealing a secret. "Because the universe follows rules. One of them is that information cannot be truly destroyed. It can be changed, hidden, or transformed—but never erased."

Riju looked up again, this time at the towering darkness of the Kolkata night, where shadows stretched across the old streets. The city had seen so much—famine, revolts, betrayals, sacrifices. How many stories had been swallowed by time?

"So, Baba…" Riju hesitated, forming the question in his mind. "Does that mean the past is never truly lost? Even if we can’t see it?"

His father smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Exactly, Riju. Just like scientists believe that maybe, just maybe, black holes don’t erase information but scramble it so much that we can’t recognize it. That means, one day, if we find the right way to look, we might be able to retrieve what was lost."

He paused, his gaze drifting toward the city below. "And just like that, history also finds a way to return. Some people, some stories, may have been swallowed by time—but they are never truly gone."

Riju swallowed. The weight of his father’s words settled in his chest. Tomorrow, the country would wake up free, but how many names had disappeared into the black hole of history? How many unsung revolutionaries had fought for this moment, only to be forgotten?

"Baba… do you think the people who died for our freedom are also lost? Like things that fall into a black hole?"

The father’s expression turned serious. He turned to the boy and spoke with quiet intensity.

"No, Riju. They are not lost. Just because history has forgotten them doesn’t mean they do not exist. Their sacrifices, their words, their dreams—they are still out there, waiting to be rediscovered."

The boy exhaled, looking at the stars again, imagining them as the silent witnesses of time, of forgotten battles, of unsung heroes.

"Then, Baba… I will remember. I will find their stories. Just like scientists are trying to find what’s hidden inside a black hole."

His father smiled. "And that, my son, is the only way to fight against the darkness that eats everything."

3. The Forgotten Stories of a Nation

Riju’s fingers absentmindedly traced circles on the dusty rooftop floor. The air was thick with humidity, yet it carried an unsettling chill. He looked up at the night sky, feeling small beneath the infinite stretch of stars. He wasn’t sure why, but his father’s words about black holes swallowing information forever left him uneasy.

"Baba, does that mean we lose information forever? That once something falls in, it’s as if it never existed?"

His father leaned back against the parapet, exhaling deeply. The distant sound of a conch shell being blown in some faraway alley mixed with the lingering echoes of a city that refused to sleep.

"That’s the paradox, Riju. Our universe follows rules—nothing should be completely erased. Energy transforms, matter shifts, and information, no matter how hidden, should never truly disappear."

His eyes lingered on the stars above, as if searching for something invisible.

"Yet black holes defy this logic. They take in everything—light, time, knowledge—and seemingly erase it. Scientists like Stephen Hawking believed that maybe black holes don’t destroy information but scramble it beyond recognition. Like a lost history book whose pages have been torn apart and scattered across the wind, impossible to piece back together."

He paused, then turned to his son, his voice dropping into a somber tone.

"And you know, Riju… this reminds me of something else—something much closer to home."

Riju raised an eyebrow, confused. "What do you mean?"

His father’s gaze drifted beyond the city lights, toward the unseen past.

"Tomorrow is our first Independence Day. The British are finally leaving. But do you think we truly remember every story? Every sacrifice?"

Riju frowned, unsure where his father was going with this.

"Think of the great revolutionaries we celebrate—Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose, Bhagat Singh, Mahatma Gandhi, Khudiram Bose—but what about those we don’t remember? The nameless men and women who were imprisoned, who died in protests, who were shot in the streets? How many freedom fighters fell into the black hole of history, their names erased simply because no one was there to carry their stories forward?"

The boy shivered. The thought of people vanishing from history, just as stars disappeared into black holes, sent chills down his spine.

"But, Baba… doesn’t that mean we can never get them back? That they are lost forever?"

His father sighed, brushing his fingers along the rim of his tea cup, lost in thought.

"That’s the tragedy, Riju. Some stories may never be found. Just like in a black hole, they may be too deeply buried, too scattered. But…" he looked at his son with quiet intensity, "that doesn’t mean we stop looking."

Riju swallowed hard. The weight of history—the history they were not taught, the history that was erased, the voices that were silenced—felt heavier than it had ever been.

"So… how do we bring them back?" Riju asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

His father smiled sadly. "The same way scientists search for what’s hidden inside a black hole. We keep asking questions. We keep digging. We refuse to let their names be forgotten."

He pointed toward the sky. "You see those stars? Even if they no longer exist, their light still reaches us. Maybe some stories are like that too—waiting to be discovered, waiting for someone to notice their glow before they fade away completely."

Riju sat silently, staring at the sky. He knew then, at that very moment, that he had a duty—not just to understand the mysteries of the universe, but to uncover the forgotten voices of the past.

"Then, Baba… I will remember. I will ask. I will search for the stories lost in time."

The father placed a gentle hand on his son's shoulder. "And that, my son, is how we fight against our own black holes."

4. The Faint Echoes from the Past

The night had grown heavier, the air thick with humidity and the weight of history. Below them, Kolkata stirred in anticipation, its streets whispering the last echoes of British rule, preparing to embrace the dawn of freedom. August 15th, 1947, was only hours away.

Riju sat still, staring at the sky where stars shimmered like distant memories, some long gone, their light still traveling through time. His father’s words lingered in his mind like an unsolved mystery.

"So… Baba, do you think there’s a way to bring back the lost stories? Just like scientists are trying to figure out if information can escape a black hole?"

His father smiled, his eyes reflecting a wisdom that came from years of watching history unfold. "Maybe, Riju. Some scientists believe that black holes aren’t completely silent. That they do, in fact, leak information back into the universe—very, very slowly, over billions of years. They call it Hawking Radiation."

Riju’s brow furrowed. "Hawking Radiation?"

His father nodded. "It’s as if the black hole, before fading away, whispers back the secrets of everything it swallowed—bit by bit, piece by piece. It doesn’t happen all at once, and it’s not easy to decode, but the universe never gives up its stories completely."

He turned to his son and spoke with quiet reverence.

"And just like that, history, too, finds ways to whisper back. In old letters hidden in attics, in forgotten diaries tucked away in the corners of dusty libraries, in the memories of people who still remember but have never been asked."

Riju listened intently, a strange chill running down his spine.

"As long as we tell stories, as long as we keep asking questions, nothing is ever truly lost."

The boy exhaled, his gaze drifting toward the city below. Kolkata—once the beating heart of revolution, once a battlefield of voices—was now waiting for its new dawn. Tomorrow, flags would wave, speeches would be made, and India would celebrate its first morning as a free nation. But what about those who had vanished into the cracks of history?

Riju realized, perhaps for the first time, that the world—much like the universe—was filled with stories that risked being forgotten. Stories that must be found before they faded into silence.

"Then, Baba… I will remember. I will tell stories."

His father smiled, a proud grin spreading across his face.

As the night stretched toward the moment of independence, the stars above shimmered—not as ghosts of the past, but as faint echoes still waiting to be heard.

5. The First Rays of Independence

The night had deepened, wrapping Kolkata in a quiet anticipation. The humid air carried the distant whispers of change—an occasional burst of laughter from the streets below, the rhythmic clanking of tram bells, the hushed murmurs of families gathered in their homes, waiting for midnight.

On the rooftop, Riju and his father sat side by side, looking at the vast night sky. The conversation had faded into silence, but the air between them was thick with thoughts, unspoken yet understood.

From somewhere far away, the first signs of celebration began—a sudden burst of firecrackers, echoing slogans of freedom, the sound of the conch shell, and voices breaking into patriotic songs.

Riju rubbed his sleepy eyes, still staring at the sky. The stars looked different now—brighter, as if they too were waiting for something.

"Baba," he asked, his voice soft with the weight of half-formed thoughts, "do you think light will ever escape from a black hole?"

His father smiled, running a hand through Riju’s hair.

"Maybe, Riju. Maybe one day, scientists will understand black holes enough to decode their secrets. Just like one day, we’ll find every missing piece of our history. Maybe nothing is truly lost—not in space, not in time, not in the hearts of people who remember."

Riju thought for a moment before whispering, "Science and stories… they are not so different, are they?"

His father exhaled slowly, a quiet pride in his eyes.

"No, my son. They both try to bring back what’s lost."

And then, it happened.

The clock struck midnight.

A wave of cheers erupted from the streets below. Fireworks illuminated the night, painting the sky with bursts of orange, gold, and green. The sound of bells from temples, the azaan from mosques, the ringing of church bells, and the beating of dhak drums—it all blended into a single, unified sound.

The first official dawn of an independent India had been born.

Above them, the sky over Kolkata shimmered, as though the universe itself had joined in the celebration—bright as a thousand stars, stars that had not yet fallen into darkness.

Check more on my blogs:

1) https://statisticalmultiversebysohom.blogspot.com/

2) https://ai-statistician-by-sohom.blogspot.com/

Exploring the Bhagavad Gita and Quantum Physics: Maya and Quantum Superposition

The Mighty Interaction of Bhagavad Gita and Quantum Physics

Is reality as we perceive it the ultimate truth, or is there something deeper beyond our senses? This question has perplexed philosophers, scientists, and spiritual seekers for centuries. While classical science presents reality as a fixed, objective existence, both quantum physics and the Bhagavad Gita suggest otherwise—revealing that our perceived world might be nothing more than a grand illusion. The Bhagavad Gita, one of the most profound philosophical texts, introduces the concept of Maya (illusion)—the idea that the world we experience is not the absolute truth but a fleeting manifestation of a deeper, hidden reality. Krishna explains this to Arjuna in Chapter 7, Verse 14, saying:

"daivī hy eṣā guṇa-mayī mama māyā duratyayā

mām eva ye prapadyante māyām etāṁ taranti te"

(This divine illusion of Mine, consisting of the three modes of material nature - Sattva (Goodness, Purity), Rajas (Passion, Activity), Tamas (Ignorance, Darkness),is difficult to overcome. But those who surrender unto Me can easily transcend it.)

Here, Krishna suggests that the material world is governed by Maya, an impermanent illusion that binds human perception, making it difficult to decode the true nature of reality. Most people remain trapped in material desires, ego, and illusion, believing the temporary world is the only reality. Only through higher knowledge can one break free from this illusion and see things as they truly are. 

Modern quantum physics presents a similar paradox through the principle of superposition, where a particle exists in multiple states simultaneously until measured. The act of observation collapses the wave function, determining a single reality from a range of possibilities. This suggests that reality is not fixed but shaped by observation, an idea that aligns with the Bhagavad Gita’s assertion that the physical world is merely a reflection of a deeper, unobservable truth.

Imagine you have a spinning coin on a table. While it is spinning, the coin is neither heads nor tails—it is in a superposition of both states. It exists as a combination of possibilities until the moment you stop it by placing your hand on it. At that point, it "collapses" into either heads or tails. This is exactly how quantum superposition works. Before observation, a quantum particle (like an electron) exists in multiple states at once. But the moment we measure it, the particle “chooses” a definite state. 

Understanding Maya: The Illusion of Reality in the Bhagavad Gita

Krishna states that Maya is a cosmic illusion that binds living beings to the material world through the three Gunas (modes of nature)—Sattva (goodness), Rajas (passion), and Tamas (ignorance). It creates the perception of duality, making individuals believe that the material world is absolute, when in reality, it is temporary and ever-changing. 

Two most important verses that I personally feel is very relevant in the real world are (2.16) and (8.15).

Krishna repeatedly emphasizes the impermanence of the physical world and urges Arjuna to look beyond sensory perception:

Bhagavad Gita (2.16):

"nāso ’sti satō bhāvo nābhāvo ’sti asataḥ

ubhayōr api dr̥ṣṭō ’ntaḥ tv anayos tatva-darśibhiḥ"

Translation:

"The unreal has no existence, and the real never ceases to be. The seers of truth have concluded the same."

Let's not keep this as a mystery and decode the meaning. Everything in the material world is temporary (Asat) – things are born, change, and eventually fade away. For example, our body, wealth, relationships, and even emotions like happiness and sadness keep changing. The true reality (Sat) never changes – this refers to the soul (Atman), which is eternal and beyond birth or death. Krishna is telling Arjuna that instead of worrying about temporary things like success, failure, or even life and death, he should focus on the unchanging truth—the divine self.

Bhagavad Gita (8.15)

"mām upetya punar janma duḥkhālayam aśāśvatam

nāpnuvanti mahātmānaḥ saṁsiddhiṁ paramāṁ gatāḥ"

Translation:

"After attaining Me, the great souls never return to this temporary world, which is full of suffering, because they have reached the highest perfection."

A simple explanation of the above verse is that the material world is not permanent and is full of difficulties, struggles, and suffering. People chase after temporary pleasures like money, power, and status, but these things don’t last. The only way to escape this cycle of constant change and suffering is to seek a higher truth—one that goes beyond material desires and connects with spiritual wisdom.

Imagine going to a theater to watch Fighter on the big screen. The intense action scenes, where Hrithik Roshan, portraying a fighter jet pilot, skillfully takes down the enemy along with the Vande Mataram background, feel incredibly real and evoke a sense of excitement and joy. However, in reality, these visuals are nothing more than light and shadows projected onto a screen—an illusion that disappears the moment the movie ends. Similarly, the material world appears real to us because of Maya (illusion), making us believe in its permanence and significance. However, just like the film on the screen, it is merely a projection of the ultimate reality (Brahman)—an ever-present truth that exists beyond the transient experiences of life. This aligns beautifully with quantum physics, where reality is not absolute but dependent on the observer—a topic we will explore further.

Quantum Superposition: The Fluid Nature of Reality

In both quantum physics and the Bhagavad Gita, reality is not as straightforward as it appears. Just as Maya (illusion) veils the ultimate truth, quantum mechanics suggests that reality exists in multiple potential states until it is observed. This concept is best understood through quantum superposition and the famous double-slit experiment.

Understanding Quantum Superposition

In classical physics, objects exist in a definite state—a ball is either here or there, but never both at the same time. However, quantum superposition suggests that until a measurement is made, a quantum system exists in multiple states simultaneously.

Quantum superposition can be intuitively understood by comparing it to a spinning coin. In classical mechanics, a coin can either be in one of two definite states : Heads (H) & Tails (T)

However, if you spin the coin, it is neither strictly heads nor tails but in a state that includes both possibilities at once—until you stop it and observe the final result. In quantum mechanics, the state of a system before measurement is represented as a linear combination of possible states. If we use quantum notation for a coin, we can represent its two possible states as:

$$|H\rangle \quad \text{(Heads)}$$
$$|T\rangle \quad \text{(Tails)}$$

Before measuring the coin, its quantum state can be written as a superposition of both:

$$\mathrm{\mid }\psi ⟩=c_1\mathrm{\mid }H⟩+c_2\mathrm{\mid }T⟩$$

where:

• $c_1$ and $c_2$ are complex probability amplitudes,
• $|c_1|^2$ is the probability of measuring heads,
• $|c_2|^2$ is the probability of measuring tails,
• The total probability must sum to 1:

$$\mathrm{\mid }{c}_1{\mathrm{\mid }}^2+\mathrm{\mid }{c}_2{\mathrm{\mid }}^2=1$$

This is analogous to a spinning coin where the final outcome is undefined until the coin lands and we "measure" it.

This is much like the Chapter 7, Verse 14 saying "Daivī hyeṣā guṇamayī mama māyā duratyayā; Mām eva ye prapadyante māyām etāṁ taranti te." Much like Maya, which projects an illusionary world, quantum superposition suggests that until an observer interacts with reality, it remains undefined.

The Double-Slit Experiment: When Reality Becomes Definite

The double-slit experiment is the most famous demonstration of quantum superposition. Imagine you have a small gun that shoots tiny bullets (like electrons or photons) toward a barrier with two slits. Behind this barrier, there is a screen that records where each bullet lands. If we shoot actual bullets (or even small balls), each bullet goes through one slit or the other and hits the screen. After many shots, we see two bands on the screen, directly behind the two slits. This means each bullet acts like a tiny object that follows a clear path, and there’s no interference. 

Now, let’s replace bullets with water waves. If we create waves in a pool and let them pass through two openings, the waves will spread out from both slits and interfere with each other.

This interference creates: Bright areas (where waves add up, called constructive interference).Dark areas (where waves cancel each other, called destructive interference).

Instead of two separate bands, we see multiple alternating bright and dark bands.

Mathematically, the probability of finding a particle at position $x$ is:

$$P(x)=\mathrm{\mid }{\mathrm{\Psi }}_1(x)+{\mathrm{\Psi }}_2(x){\mathrm{\mid }}^2$$

where:

• $\Psi_1(x)$ is the wave function coming from slit 1.
• $\Psi_2(x)$ is the wave function coming from slit 2.
• Squaring it gives the probability.

The interference term ($2 \Psi_1 \Psi_2$) is what creates bright and dark fringes.

Now, let's shoot electrons, one at a time. If we don't observe them at the slits, the electrons behave like waves and go through both slits at the same time. This creates an interference pattern (many bands) on the screen. If we place a detector at the slits to check which slit the electron passes through, the interference pattern disappears, and we get only two bands, just like bullets.  This means that before observation, the electron exists in a superposition of passing through both slits simultaneously. After observation, the electron collapses into a definite state (one slit or the other).

Mathematically, the wave function of an unobserved electron is:

$$|\psi\rangle = \frac{1}{\sqrt{2}}(|\psi_1\rangle + |\psi_2\rangle)$$

where:

• $|\psi_1\rangle$ means the electron went through slit 1.
• $|\psi_2\rangle$ means the electron went through slit 2.
• Before measurement, the electron is in both states at once.

But when we observe the electron, the wave function collapses, and it takes a definite path:

$$|\psi\rangle \to |\psi_1\rangle \quad \text{or} \quad |\psi_2\rangle$$

This experiment shows that electrons (and all quantum particles) are not just tiny objects—they also behave like waves! The act of observing forces them to choose a definite state, just like the concept of Maya in the Bhagavad Gita, where perception shapes reality.

The Observer Effect: Bridging Science and Spirituality

The above experiment implies that at the fundamental level, reality does not have a fixed state until it is observed. The act of measurement itself determines which possibility materializes. This discovery revolutionized our understanding of reality, challenging classical determinism and suggesting that consciousness might play a role in shaping the universe. The Bhagavad Gita presents a similar notion through the concept of Avidya (ignorance) and Jnana (wisdom). Krishna explains that what we perceive as the material world is an illusion (Maya), shaped by our limited senses and mental conditioning. Only by transcending ignorance through wisdom (Jnana Yoga) can one perceive the ultimate truth.

Krishna tells Arjuna:

"Those who see with wisdom (Jnana-Chakshu) realize that all actions are performed by material nature (Prakriti) alone, and not by the self (Atman)." (Bhagavad Gita 3:27)

This is analogous to the observer effect in quantum physics. Just as our perception in quantum experiments dictates the behavior of subatomic particles, our limited awareness (Avidya) shapes our understanding of reality. Only by shifting our consciousness beyond sensory experiences can we grasp the ultimate reality. 

Several renowned physicists have drawn connections between quantum mechanics and ancient spiritual teachings, including the Gita and Vedanta:

1. Werner Heisenberg, who formulated the Uncertainty Principle, noted: "The reality we can talk about is never the reality itself, but only a reality our mind perceives."
2. Erwin Schrödinger, famous for the Schrödinger’s cat paradox, was deeply influenced by Vedanta. He once stated: "There is no multiplicity in us. This is merely Maya—not real."
3. Niels Bohr, one of the founding figures of quantum mechanics, remarked: "The great revelation of quantum theory is that an independent reality, apart from our observations, may not exist."

These physicists recognized that at the deepest level, reality is not objective but participatory—a view that aligns with the teachings of the Bhagavad Gita.

The Ultimate Reality: Beyond Perception

In the Bhagavad Gita, Krishna reveals that beyond the transient world of sensory perception, there exists an eternal, unchanging reality—Brahman. This absolute reality is beyond time, space, and the limitations of the physical universe. This suggests that what we perceive through our senses is not the ultimate truth, but merely a manifestation of a deeper, unseen reality. Our senses, much like scientific instruments, are limited in their scope, preventing us from perceiving the full extent of existence. Quantum mechanics echoes this idea. Physicists acknowledge that there is an underlying quantum reality that we do not directly observe. Quantum entities exist in a superposition of states, where multiple possibilities coexist until an observation collapses them into a definite outcome.

This leads to intriguing questions:

• Does the universe have an objective reality, or is reality shaped by our consciousness?
• If multiple possibilities exist at once, does that mean parallel realities are constantly forming and collapsing?

Is Consciousness the Key to Reality?

One of the biggest questions in quantum physics is whether consciousness plays a fundamental role in the collapse of reality. The Bhagavad Gita suggests that consciousness (Chaitanya) is the true essence of existence, and the material world is merely an impermanent reflection.

If our perception determines reality in quantum physics, and Krishna asserts that self-realization unveils the absolute truth, does that mean consciousness is a fundamental force in shaping the universe?

The observer effect and the Bhagavad Gita’s teachings both point toward an interactive reality—one that is influenced by perception, consciousness, and awareness. While quantum physics is still trying to decipher the role of the observer in reality, the Gita provides an ancient answer:

Reality is not just what we see—it is what we realize.

Your thoughts? 😊