This realization then hit me so profoundly that I was nearly crippled by its weight: I am responsible for everything in my life. A reasonable person could find every occasion to argue with me. 'There's so little in life you have control over.' 'You must build from what came before you.' 'It's unhealthy to deny the past.'
I do not contend with any of these things. I understand full well that there is something before me which operates, and yet, it necessarily 'operates' only when I can perceive its having some affect on the space I inhabit. If it does not affect the space I inhabit, it is only an image. If only an image, only I see it. If only I see it, I have the choice to look away. Ultimately, no one can tell me that this is not a choice. To look or to look away is the bare minimum concerning agency.
Each moment, I make an agreement to remain the person I was in the last moment, even if that connection is feeble and, ultimately, illusory. I make this agreement with 'myself' regardless of who is with me, regardless of whether or not those I am with knew this old me I am trying to remain. But what I am holding on to is something which, at every turn, fails to satisfy the expectations of those for whom this old self is recreated. Every attempt to remain fragments one into a thousand and one directions. You become a thousand and one people by trying to remain; none of whom have the strength to bare the burden of re-creating this never ending copy of a copy. Ideally, it should be easier to let go. Nevertheless, the one who lets go faces a vertigo, a small taste of the abyss yawning before all of us. We are all falling into it, always, and yet we do not realize it.
Matter does not matter. Is it ridiculous to posit consciousness as the subject of matter, and not some late stage object in the history of being? Consciousness is needed in order to imagine that something else could even be the case - to imagine the world without us. And yet, conceptually, this doesn't match up with the matter of things... We only find evidence of a world without us as we dig for the past by way of the future. The future is where we discover our physical past and, incidentally, it is where our perception sees it possible to posit a world without us in the future. Both the past and the present, neither of which are 'real' to us in any way, save as ghosts or conceptual imitations of the present, are incidentally the only domains where it is possible to conceptualize the world without us.
Ghosts, ghosts... We live ever as ghosts to lives which never 'existed.' Even the root, the realization of the universal, is a nominal affair. No two lucid realizations of the nature of reality are the same, and are thus realizations of 'some' reality - not even necessarily an 'other' reality.