Lately I’ve been feeling I am, and in fact we all are, characters upon a stage playing out our little lives amongst ourselves. To what end I’m not sure. But from within our own perspective’s our lives are all encompassing – everything we have. Yet when seen from without, we are bit players in a vast drama. The stage – large to us – but in reality, not so large – the life raft upon which our drama unfolds is floating through the cosmos, on a journey with no particular destination like a ship of fools cast adrift at sea. The fools have seen the walls of their cage and have begun to rattle the bars in anger.
We fools collectively and individually suffer from a peculiar delusional fugue state. We all know the finite bounds of our raft. We’re beginning to appreciate the limits of the systems that make up our raft – systems we have and still take for granted. Yet we continue to abuse, systematically dismantle and otherwise destroy the essential underpinnings of these systems. Why?
We all recognize the damage we are collectively inflicting and some of us (maybe even all of us) understand the damage we are individually inflicting yet somehow we are able to divorce ourselves from it – justify it – excuse it, in the name of necessity. We say to ourselves – its necessary for me to do these damaging things in order to survive – in order to have a good life – in order to be happy.
We don’t worry about the consequences because the systems involved are so large and the damages are incrementally very small – so small that they can’t possibly add up to anything of consequence and besides everyone else is doing them too. When visible, undeniable damage does occur, we are sorry to see it happen – we are able to plausibly deny it’s connection to our inconsequential actions – we are sorry for the poor buggers it affects and thank god it doesn’t happen here where we live. We are far enough away that it doesn’t affect us. We deny the connections that show how it does affect us.
However, we are all precariously balanced on a seesaw upon the precipice of a smoldering caldron of our own devising. Those of us hanging over the stench, having our tails dipped in the cesspool, are screaming bloody murder to those of us balancing the other end of things, still safely hanging out in the fresher air, out of sight of the awful steaming mess. The ones on the good end of the seesaw are still in denial, telling themselves – they’re exempt – lucky for living where they do – how they do – with the wealth they have – for their fortunate birthright.
As I said, we’re deluded. Because we can’t see it – because we don’t directly experience it – because we’re able to deny it – it doesn’t – it hasn’t – happened.