A child at play perfectly encapsulates the experience of existence. No supernatural understanding is necessary to see the compartmentalized minds of characters engaged in a world of pretend. Panda acts autonomously, not knowing what’s wrong with crying Kitty, yet deep down Panda does know what’s wrong since they share a puppeteer.
While in-character we suspend belief. Yet answers to problems come readily because we already know them. Creativity flows from a singular source. We even witness miraculous circumstances manifesting before our eyes as the puppeteer strives to fulfill a particular narrative. No Panda, you belong over here. Kitty, let’s forget about the problem you had, you’re now a doctor.
But mind you, we are not at the mercy of some childish brute banging toys together, we are the child — a trinity of author, actor, and audience. Just as a child effortlessly maintains different planes of awareness for each character, we too perceive different levels. Yet we are most often lost in life, playing our character with full devotion.
If at any time we frighten ourselves from the intensity of our dedication, we can remember it’s only a benevolent game. It’s possible to perceive the puppeteer pulling the strings. With a still mind, quietly observing, we can realize our roots. We can know the purpose of our play is to have fun — focusing on whatever evokes delight while living life lightheartedly.