Maybe

If there is real reality in the world, it needs reality. 

It needs pain. 

It needs pleasure. 

It needs a soul. And a mind and a body of flesh and blood, to think, feel, and do all of those things in. It needs to look at the world it created with wonder. And horror.

Maybe we are it.

Maybe the first thought of a cosmic mind was, “Let there be light.”

And there was light. 

And it immersed itself in that light. All of it. Every particle of it. Totally and completely.

And the world, and meaning, and a soul to find itself in, and to express itself in, and to find a way to experience what it means to be a thing and what it is while it is being that thing. And it becomes what he is. It is?

"I am," it says of itself.

Why is that?

Why are we us?

Why are we it? The only, 'It,' there seems to be?

The Fermi paradox remains unanswered.

Why just us?

Maybe it just needs to create itself? To recreate itself? And to see what, ‘Itself,’ does? What it means? What it is? What it can be? What it will be? What it is now? Is it happy with what it is? Is it happy with what we are? 

Is it?

Maybe it has plans for a future world and we are just a trial run?

"We are the Universe trying to understand itself," or so I've heard.

What if we are God doing the trying? And the questioning? And the same?

What then?

What if?

Maybe we are God.

And he is experimenting on himself?

And we are it?

We were made in God’s image, after all.

What, exactly does that mean?

God is infinite, after all. Surely he can spare several parts of his infinite personality for people on earth.

Food for thought.