“We are greater artists than we know.” Nietzsche.
Everyone has their personal version of reality and everyone believes theirs is not only the best version, but the only one that really counts.
Our version of reality is dependent on our physical, emotional, psychological imprinting as infants, and has little or nothing to do with conscious processes.
It never seems to occur to us, however, that our version of reality is built up from material that comes directly from other people’s versions of reality (the books we read, people we respect, and so forth).
We cling to our version of reality as if our life depends upon it. Maybe it does. Yet we know that any version of reality is incomplete, and never can be complete.
The way we view the world defines who we think we are, our constructed identity. We cannot see ourselves from the outside, except through the eyes of another.
We agree the sky is blue without ever wondering if we are seeing the same color, knowing only that we have agreed to give it the name “blue.”
We all desperately need others to agree with our version of reality, even while we insist that we are special and unique.
Does anyone ever really upturn their version of reality in a way that is meaningful? It is akin to identity-suicide.
Our versions of reality are our defense systems, our armor, against an incomprehensible, and probably hostile, Universe. It began as a necessary survival response to those first childhood experiences, the ones which presented the original threat to our well-being, so shaping the identity-armor that was later fully consolidated as a version of reality.
Parents are the first to override our sense of reality by telling us that monsters do not exist and that our invisible friends are imaginary, that we are not hungry when we say we are, and so forth.
We are looking for allies, most of all in our illusions. Complicity in denial. The rejection of conspiracy “theory” (a telling term, since it is often as fact-based as anything in the consensus realm) perhaps stems from our unconscious awareness that we are all conspiring, all of the time, to keep ourselves in the dark about this one, all-consuming fact: that we are the authors of our own beliefs.
Friendship is opposition.
When worldviews, versions of reality, go to war, the potential for breakthrough is great.
What we believe to be real becomes real. We forget that we chose to believe a version of reality because we had to. It was a necessary illusion.