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We are, most fundamentally, survival machines. Our principle drives are toward food, security, and gene propagation. This agenda animates us with unrelenting, often covert, sometimes violent, sometimes traumatic emotional urgency - a force that can make us feel thrilled, doubtful, depressed, unworthy, lonely, meaningless, purposeless, unimportant, inadequate, jealous, and bewildered. A force that berates our failure in a cosmic contest we never signed up for. Curiously, and crucially, our intelligence provides a trap door - a means to see the Wizard of Oz in our own mind, and break his apparent spell. This anxious inner tyrant, it turns out, a mere kitten. What is our identity actually made of? What if our essence is something else entirely? [big bang lobby] “You could never convince a monkey to give you a banana by promising him limitless bananas in monkey heaven.”  “These minds, the faulty walnuts we interpret reality through, did not evolve in ways that render them easy companions in the harried conditions of modern life. And it’s not just we who are broken. We live in societies made up of entirely broken souls.” I am annoyed at myself on your behalf, I hope to a degree that satisfies you in advance. “So anyways… then the Buddha goes, form is emptiness, emptiness is form” Our time is hardly longer than the castle’s. Possessions, identities, dreams, feelings… ephemeral. Be easy. Hold loosely. Thoreau tried to warn us

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