I had a night horror last night. Seriously. The worst one of my life. I got into bed and the full force of just how synthesized my “childhood” was hit me. I’ve been aware of it, but not to the full force of the depth of the total illusion and deliberate delusion.
I realized that we don’t need to just think out of the box. We need to think out of the Cracker Jacks box, the dry cake mix box, the box that Jello came in, the box that every “gift of love” that we got for our birthdays and celebrations came in and the jack-in-the-box box.
Then, of course, there’s the box that all of the cartoon characters and TV show characters that we loved and identified with were beamed to us through. Even though even as a kid, I thought the old ladies sitting on folding chairs talking about the latest installment of Peyton Place were nuts to be talking about a show instead of reality; I wonder how many times flickers of the TV I stared into hypnotically.
Then I thought about the Aboriginals and tried to imagine what is it to be Natural Man – to sleep in nature and awake in nature. And I realized I have only seen them on a square, flat, flickering screen.
It all hit me at once. I totally freaked. When we really awaken from the boxed dream – only to find we are still in a square room on the 10th floor of a rectangular structure made of concrete slabs – we freak.
When we die, we will be put into another box.