The quest for the Truth
Imagine the quest for truth as climbing a mountain. When you stand at the base of the mountain you only see a part of reality. You see rivers flowing, but you don't know where they come from and where they are going. You see birds flying until they disappear behind the massif. You see clouds appearing from behind the mountain and feel the wind blowing, but you don't understand where they come from. About these questions you invent many theories, but you never can prove them.
As you leave the herd at the base and climb higher, at each new level you take a new point of view and see more, but not all, and you realize many people have preceded you in history, have rested or died there and shared the same point of view, and so had the same outlook; they wrote about it, and you recognize what they saw. You pass philosophers and theologians, proclaiming their own truth, and great men of the world proud of their shortsightedness. Everywhere on the mountain are people all from their own point of view theorizing about reality, but they only see part of it and they don't realize.
Everywhere, you encounter the luggage left behind by those who preceded you, for it is impossible to reach the top burdened. But you have to go on, and the higher you struggle to climb, and the more people you leave behind, the more complete your view becomes; the more lonely your expedition is, the more you become aware of a bigger sense of reality, and the last meters are the most laborious. There you meet Heraclites, Plato, Spinoza, Rousseau, Thoreau, Nietzsche, Wittgenstein and many others who perished in sight of the goal.
And then you take the most fantastic step man can take, and at once you are at the top and you can overlook all. You don't need any more theories; you look upon reality and realize you are the center and king of your own world. You can say you share all points of view or you no longer have a point of view. You see where the rivers come from and where they end in the sea. You understand how and why the winds blow, where the clouds come from and how they dissolve again into rain. You don't need any more theories to fill your limited field of view. You understand everything because you know nothing and you have no more opinions. You have entered the Kingdom, Nirvana, paradise, Erewhon, Shangrila, Utopia, or any of those other names people at the base of the mountain have given to it and desire to reach, but consider unreachable.
But most surprising is that the whole plateau is crowded with an uncountable crowd of little children and just then you remember you have been here already long ago. And there you find the guest-book and you read: "Buddha was here"," Chuang Tzu was here", "Zarathustra was here", "Socrates was here", "Jesus was here" , “Killroy was here” and many, many other names of all those who are laughed at, murdered, ignored, called heretics; those who were exiled and died at the stake after they went down again to tell the others the route to the top. Everywhere below you see people on their standpoints, ventilating their opinions about reality, every standpoint a different opinion, as many opinions as there are standpoints; and they struggle and fight for their own right. You are astonished if you hear their discussions about the route-maps, which they call the Holy or Secret Books to the top. But all those opinions tell nothing about reality or the route-maps, but only about their distance from the top. Spinoza would say: "What you tell about reality tells more about yourself than about reality, and what you tell about the other tells more about yourself than about the other". 
So be very careful when you have been to the top and have returned. Be sly as a snake and harmless as a dove.