There’s a moment after watching Life of Pi when the story doesn’t end — it lingers. It sits with you, pokes at your understanding, and dares you to choose: do you believe the logical story, or the one with the tiger?
For many, the answer is easy — go with what makes sense. But for me, the choice is just as instinctive: I choose the tiger.
Why? Because life isn’t always a science experiment. Some stories, like some truths, are wrapped in mystery, and they don’t need permission to exist just because they don’t fit into neat categories.
As G.K. Chesterton once said, “The function of imagination is not to make strange things settled, so much as to make settled things strange.”
And that’s exactly what the tiger did.
When Pain Comes Wrapped in Stripes
Richard Parker, the tiger, wasn’t just an animal on a boat. He was tension, grief, and survival in one unpredictable body. Watching Pi wrestle with his feelings toward him — part fear, part resentment, part reluctant companionship — I saw parts of myself.
There was a goat Pi had loved that Richard Parker took — and though it was in the tiger’s nature, it still left a wound. I’ve had relationships like that. Ones where someone hurt me, even if they didn’t mean to, even if it was just who they were.
Like Pi, I distanced myself. I’ve pulled away from people who left me bruised, even as I longed for peace. I’ve said sharp things, written sharp words, and felt the weight of them after. “Death and life are in the power of the tongue,” Proverbs 18:21 reminds us — and I’ve seen how easily words can become weapons when not handled with grace.
In one particular situation, I found myself needing to make peace not just with someone else, but with myself. I had to forgive and be forgiven — not because everything made sense, but because peace was more important than certainty.
Solitude, Not Loneliness
One thing I’ve learned: I rarely feel lonely. That’s not because I’m always surrounded by people — quite the opposite. I cherish solitude. There’s a difference between being alone and being disconnected. True loneliness is when no one sees you, not even in a crowd.
Sometimes I emit so much energy trying to connect with others that I forget to leave light for myself. I become the lighthouse for others and forget to refuel the lamp. “Come to Me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28). That invitation from Jesus is more than comfort — it’s a reminder to pause, retreat, and receive.
The Sacred Role of Mystery
I don’t need every story to be rational. I don’t need every moment to be explained. I believe in the wildness of mystery — the kind that stirs the soul and expands the imagination.
As Anne Lamott once wrote, “The opposite of faith is not doubt, but certainty.”
To me, mystery is faith’s native language. It’s art’s favorite home. It’s God’s way of telling us: “You don’t have to know everything. You just have to trust Me.”
There’s peace in letting go of the urge to define, explain, or categorize. “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding” (Proverbs 3:5). I live by that — and sometimes, I write by that too.
Soul Insights
1. The most dangerous wounds come from those closest to us.
Because we let them in. We soften our edges around them, believing they’ll tread gently. But when pain comes — intentional or not — it cuts deeper. Like Pi with Richard Parker, we find ourselves facing the complexity of love and loss in the same breath, and sometimes healing begins only when we stop demanding clear answers for why the hurt happened.
2. Mystery doesn’t need your permission to be valid.
Just because something can’t be measured, doesn’t mean it’s meaningless. Near-death experiences, spiritual encounters, and moments of wonder often defy logic but pulse with life-shaping truth. We need to unlearn the reflex to discredit what we can’t explain — and instead, develop reverence for the stories that live beyond our understanding.
3. Solitude is strength, not weakness.
It’s in the still, quiet spaces — the ones we often fear — where we find the deepest clarity. Solitude isn’t a void; it’s a sanctuary. It’s where we meet ourselves without noise, without expectation. When we learn to sit in solitude, we gain the kind of inner rooting that no crowd or conversation can give.
4. Words build bridges or burn them.
We live in a world that often forgets the weight of language. But our words leave marks — sometimes unseen, sometimes unforgettable. To speak with integrity and intention is to respect the power we hold. I’m learning, sometimes painfully, that silence can be healing, and sharp words take longer to clean up than to release.
5. Faith isn’t found in answers. It’s found in awe.
I used to think that faith meant certainty. Now I know it often means choosing to stay, choosing to trust, choosing to believe — even when nothing makes sense. Awe doesn’t always come from mountaintop revelations; sometimes it’s in the quiet acceptance that we’ll never know the full story and choosing to worship anyway.
Final Thoughts
So why do I choose the tiger?
Because the tiger story doesn’t make sense — and that’s exactly why it requires faith.
Because Richard Parker was already there from the beginning, woven into the journey before the chaos even began.
Because his story carries emotion, tension, grief, fear, and wonder — all the raw, tangled threads that make a story true, even when it defies logic.
Because I know what it feels like to sit in silence with something that once scared you… and come out the other side changed.
Because I know what it means to make peace with what you can’t understand.
Because I believe in God — and if I’ve learned anything, it’s that He rarely explains Himself, but always reveals Himself.
So yes, I choose the tiger.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s the story that chose me.
Some stories aren’t told to be believed — they’re told to awaken the part of us that already does.
Your Turn
Which version of Pi’s story do you believe — the logical one, or the one with the tiger? And more importantly… why?
What draws you to it? What does your choice reveal about how you see life, truth, or even God?
Have you ever had a moment in your own life where you had to choose between what made sense and what felt true in your spirit?
I’d love to hear your thoughts — whether you’re Team Logic, Team Tiger, or somewhere floating in between.
© 2025 Amelie Chambord
Soul Path Insights 
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