I, the illusionist

What are illusions for?

We are all illusionist and great ones at that! We create the most marvelous illusions, for no worthier audience than ourselves.


We love and loathe them.

But what are they there for?

Illusions are there to be broken, some say.

But isn’t an illusion something like a dream, something you never want to wake up from? Isn’t it like heaven?

After all, we all know heaven is not real. Neither is hell.

We make our own heaven, our own hell.

So why not stick with our lies, our illusions.

One of the first rules we learnt in theatre class was that, so the play would work, people had to accept it for a sort-of-reality.

When we chose to stay within our bubbles, we are but part of an audience, watching the life we imagine pass by. But which one of us is brave enough to stand up and enter the stage – to burst the bubble and ruin your illusion?

But what then? What follows could be even better than you ever imagined. Or it could burn like acid.

I’m afraid of broken mirrors, flinders I can hurt my clumsy feet on. I’m afraid the rope I’ve been hanging on to will tear, that the ground will crumble. And I’m so afraid of heights.

My dear illusions. I wish they would last forever.

But sooner or later you will shatter. And I will have no other choice but to face the fall.


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