Walking to The Manhattan Theater Club

"There's an old story," she starts, "that teaches that humanity is just one person."
"Oh, yeah?" I swing my backpack over to my left shoulder.
"Mhm. There's only one God, and one man, and God created this entire world," she pauses to wave her hand at the buildings towering over us, "just to teach, and the man has to live every life on Earth, through all history. Time is nothing, so he, well, we, are all the same soul. So every bad thing that's happened, he did to himself. He's Lincoln and John Wilkes Booth at the same time."
We wait briefly for the light to let us cross the street, and then continue.
"Does he know he's everybody?"
"Nope. Each time he dies, he comes back to the same misty abyss with God, and he can remember everything if he stays there long enough, but he forgets it each time he's reborn.
"So what happens once he's lived every life?"
"Then he's learned every lesson and is ready to move on. He becomes a God, and creates a new world with new lessons, and the whole thing repeats itself."
I chew on this as we walk. It strikes me as strangely plausible. We shuffle through dozens of people, lost in thought, lost in our own worlds, learning our own lessons as we go.

We are all the same person.