The old man was finally dying.

The old man was finally dying.  On his death bed he said, “Finally it’s time for me to quit pretending that I am just a human.”

“What do you mean, “Asked the nurse?”

“I am life.  I was just in this human coat for the fun of it, for the experiences.  It’s the same reason I am in your human coat.”

“You mean I’m not really me?”

“You are really you, a human.  It’s just that it’s me being you.”

“Which means I don’t exist?”

“You exist.  Pinch yourself.  You’re real.  I’m just more real.  However, to humans, I seem unreal.”

“So you’re saying that every person, place, and thing is you, and everything is less real than you?”

“Everything is real enough, like a movie, a play, a dream.  They are all real, just less real than me being all of them.  When a movie, play, dream, you, and you die, play ends, movie over, they’re memories, but not appearing on a screen, on a stage, in your mind, not even your body.  They existed.  Records are kept.  But the only thing that is real, is me, the director, author, script writer, maker of dreamers.”

“Got any proof?”

“You are my proof.  You’re here.  Don’t know how you got here, why you’re here, or if you’re going anywhere, and you didn’t do it.  I did.  You’re on a planet you didn’t make, and it keeps you alive as long as you eat and get out of the cold, but when you get mortally wounded or old, you die.  You didn’t make your body, mind, emotions.  You didn’t make your IQ, stature, looks, ethnicity, personality, talents and abilities.  You just have all that, and you didn’t do any of  it.  How is that for some proof?”

“So I am life, you are life, and life is talking to itself when you and I talk?”

“Sort of.  My human named Max is talking to my human named Susie.  Max and Susie are characters in this story book of life.  Max and Susie show up in certain chapters, are not in other chapters, and show up, perhaps, again, in a later chapter.  Every Max and Susie are stories, personal Max and Susie stories within the story book of life, my life, or my story, or more accurately, or The Book of Life, or movie if you prefer.”

“Why did you do it?”

“For the same reason Max and Susie do things, for experiences, fun, joy, entertainment and pleasure.”

“Well I’m having no fun right now.  This is all kind of unpleasant news.”

“Your time will come.  Susie will wake up, realize she’s a character in a book, and actor in a movie or play, and then she’ll chill out and enjoy all of the rest of the book, movie or play.  Happens all the time, characters waking up to who the author or script writer is.  IT’S ME.”

“What about after we die, you know heaven and all that?”

“It’s part of the book, chapters of it, and other matrixes.  Just because you haven’t lived that chapter yet doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.  I create real physical, semi-physical, part-physical, holograms, dreams, etc.  They’re all real, just not REAL, REAL, but real enough for me to enjoy all my dimensions and characters.”

And with that said, the old man, Max, took his last breath and yelled, “See yeah later alligator,” and died, leaving me bewildered for a second until I gained clarity, woke up, and yelled, “You bastard.  You said you wasn’t gonna tell anyone.”

All I heard was the old man laughing.  And in my head he said, “I lied.  And now that’s part of the story.”