Take a look at your life. What do you see?
Nothing, right? You can see nothing at all. Oh, sure, you think you see a series of flashes and flickers, of shapes and shades of color. You think you see familiar things like faces and letters, and walls, and your own hands.
Those aren’t familiar at all.
You’ve never seen any of that before. Your hands aren’t even your own. Whose hands are they? Who are you? Is this what it is like to die? Are you dying? If not, when? And where will you die? Where and when were you born, even?
Wait – how did you forget your place and date of birth? I understand you can’t comprehend the relentlessness of existence, but your own birthday is pretty easy to remember!
You’ve got more problems than we thought, listener.
OK, fine. You’re birthday is July 3rd, and your birthplace was Tulsa, Oklahoma. Feel better?
You don’t, actually. You feel nothing, because your hands were never your own. You are imagining everything, and perceiving nothing.
At least you smell nice. We can at least tell you that.
Irish Spring. Whose hands are these?"
Welcome to Night Vale
Episode 46 - Parade Day