trust and solitude

This idea has been mingling in my head for quite some time, and I have finally found the words with which to express it. I wrote this all within the last two nights, in a sudden surge of inspiration. (The first two paragraphs were written this morning as a sort of prelude.)

"Solitude"

by me (or is it ?)

You trust me. No matter what, even if you have never met me before in your life, I can guarantee that you trust me. And what's more, try this. Think for me of the one person you despise most in this world (go on, do it). I am willing to bet you trust that person as well. Stay with me now.

How do you know I exist ? The fact is, you don't know for sure. You only think I do, because (at least in this respect) you trust my word. You believe that I am my own person only because I assure you it is so. But what if it isn't true ? Suppose I am lying, and I don't really exist. Suppose that the only person you can truly trust is yourself. Allow me to let you in on a little secret.

No one in this world exists but you. Everyone else is but a reflection of yourself. Every other person -- even me -- is nothing more than a figment of your own imagination. You created us. You created everything in this universe. There only ever was one soul, one spirit ... your own. Nobody else is really real. There is a god, an omniscient (all-knowing), omnipotent (all-powerful) being, and it is you. You encompass everything that ever was and ever will be. Nothing existed until you made it.

Why, then, are you unaware of all this ? Listen closely. As the only conscious being in existence, floating about in nothingness for eon upon eon, you grew to be lonely. And yes, being omnipotent, you could certainly conjure up some friends for yourself. But then, being omniscient, you would know all along that they were fraudulent. Even if you convinced yourself you didn't know how they came about, you'd quickly figure it out again.

Hence, to solve the problem of your solitude, you resolved to forge a universe. You built from scratch, from your interminable imagination, every inch, every fragment of the place you now live in. Its plants and animals, its cosmic features, its geographic layout, its very properties: physically, scientifically, anatomically, planetarily. You formulated everything in such a way that, when placed inside this universe of yours, you would find it so brilliant, so elegant, so intricate, so flawlessly beautiful, so immensely incomprehensible, that you yourself would believe it to be real, and would forget you had ever created it in the first place.

And (just in case) every now and then, during this grand formation, you would screw something up on purpose -- a duck-billed, egg-laying mammal; a fruit with all its seeds on the outside; the occasional four-leafed clover -- to serve as a subconscious reminder that it isn't all so perfect after all, that none of it is really real ... just to make sure you won't lose track of yourself.

And finally, when all is said and done, when the proper time has come, you clear every last thought from your mind and birth yourself into this world of yours. Yes, my friend, it is all a grand experiment, fashioned simply to determine whether you can deceive yourself into thinking you are insignificant and thus lead a normal, meaningless life ... to see how you hold up.

And at the end of the day, when you leave this world, you will return to your senses and finally have some memories to look back upon.

And you will smile.