Ok, here’s the deal. I am going to write some words, and you are going to read some words. There is no need to stop, or pause, but if you do stop, or pause, that is fine. There is a goal but no-one to claim it. The goal is to see that you are not who you think you are. To see that you neither think, speak, eat, fuck or fart. What madness is this? It is the madness of truth. Admittedly, ‘truth’ is a big word, but it about covers it.
It is stating the obvious that you are who you think you are. This being a fundamental of modern life. We receive a given name at birth, build a social identity around it, and hey presto, we make ourselves up. We become a Julie or John, Mark or Mary, or [insert name here]. From this point on, life is lived as if we are this made up character, confirmed daily by others in the same self-validating, self-referential game.
But you are not this made-up character – but if that is the case who are you? Is it not more than a tad scary to lose your identity? Does that identity not define who you are, and which groups you belong to? Does it not provide something precious – a way to think about yourself? And if its not true, why would it naturally happen? And isn’t the alternative, terrifying at worst, and troublesome at best? These are all good questions, good points. No-one aims for truth while the pain of being a made-up me is deemed less than the pain of escaping it. You’ve got to be willing to leave and not know where its headed. That is a tough call. Where you end up will not be what you expected. You’ll need to live with it. The alternative is not knowing. If you can live with that, good luck to you.