"It's Bigger on the Inside"

...notes from beyond time and space...

Phone booth - Glastonbury, England, 2007. Photo: Mary Scholz. Collage by Cliff Scholz

It was my daughter who got me into Dr. Who. I swear. Blame her, not me. I’m totally innocent. 

Ok, I kinda liked the show. But in fairness, she did fish me in with a few particularly good episodes. For a little while after that, I was hooked. This was just a few years ago. By which I mean, of course, if I actually piece the facts together: more like 10+ years ago. 

Anyhow, it was fun. And I learned about a few things, like for example what the ‘Tardis’ is. This is the name on the show for the thing the Doctor uses to travel throughout time and spaCe. On the outside, the Tardis looks like an old-fashioned red phone booth that you’ve probably seen in movies if not on this TV show or in person. [ADDED LATER - HELPFUL READER TELLS ME IT’S BLUE]

But here’s the funny thing about the Tardis: “It’s bigger on the inside.”  

That’s a standard, stock line that gets repeated by anyone the Doctor takes aboard his craft. Somebody will follow the Doctor into the Tardis at his behest and then discover there’s a whole expansive interior to the phone-booth-sized thing. 

“It’s bigger on the inside.”

I’m guessing that within the cosmology of the show this mismatch between the apparent outer dimensions of the phone booth and the spaces visitors discover within it is an artifact of the ability of the Tardis to warp time. If you can warp time, I guess space gets a little stretchy, too. Seems plausible enough on the surface. Good enough for a TV show.

Below that surface plausibility, however, lurks something bigger. Turns out — if you’ll follow me in for a minute — even the statement ‘It’s bigger on the inside’ is bigger on the inside. Why would I say that?

Well, if you must know. Ahem. Ready? Come on in. 

Comfy? Good. 

I’m gonna whisper this for dramatic effect: Everything is bigger on the inside. Including — and maybe even especially — you and me. 

But let’s start with an easy example: A book. Let’s say it’s a novel. You open it up. You start reading. Pretty soon you're “into” it. You discover a world in there. People, feelings, dramatic events, ideas. You start to see things and hear things, things you may recall later. From the outside looking in, maybe you’re just sitting there in a chair, “ordinary” you. Inside, your heart is racing, maybe you’re on the high seas, you’re tracking down the villain, you’re finding love. 

Then you close the book. And you notice you just went somewhere. It’s bigger on the inside.

 Now you open it up again. Just one more chapter.

From the outside, of course, you’re still sitting in a chair or leaning back on the headboard of your bed. You’re right there. Apparently.

“Hello? Hello?” somebody says.

“Huh? Sorry. Didn’t hear what you said,” you reply. “I was in a different world.” 

But really, it’s true of anything. Have you got a new interest? Then, people will say you’re “really into” it. Get into it and it gets bigger when you’re in there. 

Start learning about anything: carpentry, violin strings, broccoli, digital audio. Another person.

World. World. World. World…annnnnnd…World.

Everything’s bigger on the inside. Love, for example, looms larger and opens doors to more and yet more rooms — when you’re in it.

And even this essay. From the outside, looks like ordinary words on the screen, but I think you’ll find it’s bigger on the inside, too. So take your time with all this. You’ll probably be surprised how spacious it starts to feel.