If I squint my inner eyes and remain very still I can slightly make out an indeterminate space at the deep root of thoughts where tiny, nearly invisible beings are feverishly reproducing. Even as they do, their spawn instantly wriggle loose from their flimsy egg sacs and, like an army of industrious architects fully committed to the project, carefully fashion a credible personality for me to inhabit, as if it were my actual identity.
They ask for no thanks, they are selfless in that regard, and so we tend to overlook their amazing contributions that craftily replicate, from moment to moment, the apparent sense of self which we subsequently assume to be concrete and continuous. If there were some kind of industry award for outstanding technical achievement in the field of illusion, they would be the clear winners.
It’s unfortunate that some preachers want to condemn these innocent critters for alleged grievous crimes. Producing a villain to blame, no matter how imaginary, seems to be a critical element to their stories. A skilled forensic scientist, however, would simply observe without arriving at the easy but premature conclusions that so often trick people into those futile internal conflicts which have (as a side effect) given legitimacy to the major pharmaceutical cabals.
The truth of the matter is that there is really no blame to be cast. Instead, we can simply recognize that every being has its job to do. Moreover, if those little guys happened to slack off for a while, we would probably suffer some sort of identity crisis and maybe end up joining one of the numerous cults which promise to repair our edifice according to the sacred transmitted instructions of this or that dead holy man. This can be costly in many respects, buyer beware!
On the other hand, we could be humble and grateful that we have a costume to wear, and one carefully crafted to our individual specifications. If we are going to play our role on this moveable stage, we may as well dress for the part. The only problem arises when we take our roles so seriously that we forget we are merely actors, and not the virtual characters we are playing.
The costume department crew are not the bad guys. There are no bad guys. We came to this playground to have some fun pretending to be whomever we want to be, and they just oblige us by providing the props. If you don’t like the way the story is going, don’t blame the props. Turn around and go straight to the screen writer. Guess who you’ll find!