There is such a baffling contrast between a person's external and internal effects on the world and on themselves. I'm not explaining it right. The chain fell off; no, it got stuck on something. No, it snapped into a thousand little pieces!
Boogalecki!! Swissssh....
Why do any of us do anything that we do? Is it because we want to or because we think we have to because of who we think we are? I'm a singer so I must sing.
I'm smart so I must tell the world what I know.
I like to help others so I must help them.
I know what to say so I must say it.
Where does this leave our free will? If we are all just an endless series of self upon self fulfilling prophecies where is truth about ourselves actually to be found? In others also battling their own self imposed identity delusions? Their knowledge of our identity would be based off our very own projections of what we think we should be, plus perhaps whatever unconscious elements squeak out of us here and there.
Again the only solution is an alien one...
What importance is an identity anyway? Long term, it's not important. Long term, a tiny ant is just as meaningful as a fiery gas giant billions of light years away...
And why is it all important? Because God made it all. Ultimately the only thing that can ever distinguish itself above any matter or non matter is the one who made it.
Two tiny words to convey what is, to me, an enormous emotion:
How splendid!!
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