Sometimes I think we are all like Schrodinger's cats, little black blind things wandering in the dark. Sometimes I think we are like Mao's paper tigers, fierce and disposable and signifying nothing lasting. And then sometimes I think we're like ronin, bereft warrior-monks casting about for someone to fight with/for, hearts bursting with pride and sorrow. But I also happen to believe that we are like the Tibetan legend, the village that perished in a blizzard, whose souls are continually caught up with each others' cycles of redemption and rebirth,constantly replaying the last lifetimes' worth of rivalries and disputes, constantly having to wait for the others to catch up.
It's like an endless sitcom: there's the Pretty One and the Funny One and the Angry Guy and the Wise Mother, there's the One Who Always Messes Up and the One Who Keeps Hoping and Planning, and whenever one or several of them fuck up and kill something, they all meet in the afterlife, collectively smack their foreheads, and agree to wait around or keep going through the rebirth cycle until That One Guy Who Keeps Getting Reborn as a Tiger can catch up with everybody and then they can all move on to the next level.
The legend goes that, as time went on, the village kept unconsciously growing, until now it encompasses the entire world, and we're all getting reborn into the same world together, because we've all agreed to keep waiting and trying to live noble lives until we can all move on to Nirvana together.