The world we see that seems so insane is the result of a belief

Host: The rain had just ended, but the city still glistened—pavement slick, streetlights blooming in golden halos across the wet ground. The sound of distant traffic was like an endless heartbeat, steady, tired, and real. In a corner café, its windows fogged with steam and breath, two souls sat at a table by the window, caught between reflection and reality.

Jack stirred his coffee without drinking, his gray eyes fixed on the window as though the world outside were a mirror he no longer trusted. Jeeny sat across from him, her hands wrapped around her cup, the warmth seeping into her skin, her gaze gentle but probing—as if she could see the storm still brewing behind his silence.

Between them, on a napkin, Jeeny had scribbled a quote in ink that had bled slightly from the humidity:
“The world we see that seems so insane is the result of a belief system that is not working. To perceive the world differently, we must be willing to change our belief system, let the past slip away, expand our sense of now, and dissolve the fear in our minds.” — William James.

Jeeny: “Do you ever wonder, Jack, if that’s what’s wrong with the world? That it’s not mad, it’s just… misled?”

Jack: (smirking slightly) “That’s the kind of sentence philosophers write when they’re too tired to fix anything. You can’t just change a belief system like it’s a coat, Jeeny. The world isn’t a mindset—it’s a machine. Broken, maybe, but still running.”

Host: His voice was low, measured, like a man balancing a blade of reason between his teeth. The café’s light trembled against the window, casting his shadow long across the floor.

Jeeny: “A machine, yes—but machines are built by beliefs, Jack. Every law, every system, every price tag—all of it starts with a thought. The problem isn’t the world. It’s the way we’ve learned to see it.”

Jack: “You think if we just believe differently, the wars, the lies, the greed—they’ll just vanish?”

Jeeny: “Not vanish, but transform. William James wasn’t naïve, Jack—he was brave enough to say that reality is what our minds consent to see. If you change what you believe, you change what you can.”

Host: A bus passed outside, its reflection shifting across their faces—like time sliding over glass. Jeeny’s eyes shone, not with naïve hope, but with quiet, stubborn faith.

Jack: “You talk like belief is a switch, Jeeny. But you forget—people cling to their beliefs because they’re the only walls that keep them safe. You start tearing those down, and you’ll see what’s underneath—fear, chaos, emptiness.”

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s the point. To see what’s underneath, to face it. That’s what he meant by ‘dissolving fear,’ Jack. The world doesn’t change because we’re too afraid to see it without our illusions.”

Jack: (laughs softly) “You sound like one of those spiritual YouTubers. ‘Dissolve your fear, expand your now, let go of your past.’ Easy to say in a café, Jeeny. Try it when you’re losing your job, when your bank account is empty, when your mother is dying and you can’t save her.”

Host: The words cut the air, sharp as rain on glass. Jeeny flinched, not from anger, but from the truth inside his pain.

Jeeny: “That’s exactly when it matters most, Jack. When fear tries to own you. You can’t control what happens, but you can choose how you see it. That’s what James was teaching. It’s not about escaping the pain—it’s about transforming the way we meet it.”

Jack: “Transforming? Or pretending? You think people can just shift their reality by thinking differently?”

Jeeny: “They’ve done it before. Slavery, segregation, wars—they all ended because someone, somewhere, believed differently. Think of Martin Luther King, or Gandhi. They saw a mad world and said, ‘It doesn’t have to be this way.’ That’s not pretending. That’s vision.”

Host: A pause hung between them, the kind that shapes the air. Jack looked down at his hands, the skin marked with small, invisible scars of work, of survival.

Jack: “You always bring it back to hope, Jeeny. But maybe hope is the biggest illusion of all. You change your beliefs, and the world kills you anyway. The system doesn’t care if your mind is free.”

Jeeny: “Then why do you still wake up every day? Why do you still try? You haven’t given up, Jack—you’ve just forgotten what you’re fighting for.”

Host: The rain started again, soft, delicate, like memory. The café filled with the smell of wet asphalt and fresh coffee, a strange, intimate comfort.

Jack: “I fight to survive. That’s all.”

Jeeny: “No. You fight to belong. To understand. To matter. You just don’t admit it.”

Jack: (quietly) “And you? What are you fighting for?”

Jeeny: “For the possibility that the world isn’t as broken as we’ve been taught to believe.”

Host: The words lingered, gentle, radiant, like a candle refusing to go out. Jack exhaled, a shaky, almost defeated breath. He stared out at the street, watching as a child jumped into a puddle, laughing, while her mother shouted something that dissolved into laughter too.

Jack: “Maybe the world isn’t insane. Maybe it’s just honest. Maybe it’s us who can’t handle the truth.”

Jeeny: “Or maybe it’s insane because we’ve forgotten how to see its honesty. You see pain and chaos; I see fear wearing a mask. Take the mask off, Jack. That’s what James meant. The world you see is the one you allow.”

Host: The rain intensified, beating gently against the window, blurring the lights into shimmering dreams. Inside, their faces glowed—two different reflections of the same longing.

Jack: “So what do you want me to do? Just… forget everything I’ve believed? Erase my past?”

Jeeny: “Not erase it—release it. The past isn’t a teacher anymore if you keep living in its classroom.”

Jack: “And the fear?”

Jeeny: “You don’t kill it. You dissolve it—by seeing it for what it is: a story your mind keeps telling you because it’s afraid of silence.”

Host: Jack laughed, not out of mockery, but from the strange, aching truth of it. The laughter cracked, then faded, leaving only a quiet that felt earned.

Jack: “You make it sound like the world is reparable.”

Jeeny: “Not reparable—renewable. But only if we’re brave enough to see it differently.”

Host: The rain stopped, suddenly, as if the sky had been listening. The clouds parted, revealing a thin, silver moon, reflected in the puddles outside. Jack watched it for a moment, then smiled, the smallest, saddest, but truest smile.

Jack: “Maybe that’s what insanity really is—refusing to change how you see.”

Jeeny: “And maybe sanity is just learning to love what’s real, even when it hurts.”

Host: The camera would have pulled back then, through the window, into the street, where the puddles reflected the city’s light like fragments of a new world—a world not yet fixed, but seen.

Inside the café, two voices, two hearts, still, soft, and awake—
changing the world, one belief at a time.