Hiding behind a shield of glass, electrons pulsing within, ablaze with sound and color, polluting space and time with images and stories of experiences of life and LOVE not our own, we live vicariously, illusions within illusions, reinforcing the delusion that we and we alone are somehow separate from all creation, in control of it's systems and processes, that the enlightened remembered spirit knows they are but the caretakers, the preservers, pre-servers of, but not we this version of the dream of man, who believes falsely they are the source, the cause of this experience, this snapshot of life and not the effect, we wallow in our fairy tales known, not allowing ourselves the awareness to embrace that we know not, better to imagine a universe in which we are alone haplessly struggling in vain, than embrace the incomprehensible, unknowable truth of our forever connection, our eternal embrace, with and of the infinite oneness that is. Is this life not glorious fantasy enough, that we must manifest from madness our own, convincing ourselves it is truth?