I love Jim Carrey. I think my favorite movie, and this is a hard choice, is The Truman Show. It could be that I just finished watching it again but it feels like it is more than that.
When I look at the movie as an analogy for my life here on playground Earth it resonates, loud and clear, honest and undeniable. This time as I watched, I put myself in Truman’s place and felt into the powers that kept me locked into the game for so long, a playerless piece with the unquestioned belief in a self that doesn’t even exist. I wanted to understand the sleeping state better. For many years I wasn’t just a extra, I was in charge of my life. I had choices. I made decisions that impacted the trajectory of my life. What was it that created a willingness to play along, to be blind?
As I watched I realized it wasn’t as simple as an entire cast, crew and director keeping my true identity from me. I wasn’t an innocent victim. There weren’t sponsors paying for air time. People living in countries all over the world weren’t sitting in awe, watching my every move but somethings even more important were the same as the movie.
Like Truman I was granted the grace of glimpsing the production crews hiding behind the well-constructed illusion. I caught sight of fragments of programming that were making my decisions. And yet, it took many glimpses, most of which I discounted, before I was willing to tear myself away from this shared reality we call life and begin the journey.
Eventually, I began to openly question reality, allowing myself to slide down the rabbit hole with a willingness to get really muddy, to let the pain in, to stand steadfast regardless of what inner demons I unearthed. The further down the hole I went the less it mattered what the truth actually was. What mattered was I could not live the lie any longer. Like Truman, I reached the point of no return.
I too, had an Ed Harris. In the movie, Ed is the show’s Creator. He lives inside the moon watching every move, making certain that Truman doesn’t discover the joke, the lie of his life. Ed wouldn’t have called it that. He was convinced that what he was doing — hiding Truman’s real identity, usurping his entire life, controlling the totality of his experience with forged love and orchestrated fear, and stifling his spontaneous aliveness — was the right and kind thing to do. He thought he knew better, that he was more capable of keeping Truman safe in an unsafe world.
Harris is my sense of individuation, my ego. There is no difference between his role and the role the ego plays.
Seeing into the script, the design is what is called awakening. It is truly a heroine’s or hero’s journey. Whatever you fear, including death, is met along the way. Nothing can be avoided. Nothing can be kept. It’s impossible to exit the movie set while hanging onto a piece of the backdrop. Everything you’ve known, many things you’ve loved and trusted must be left on location, released to the gods of the game.
It’s not something you do, not something you can do. There is innate divinity in such a design for it could be no other way. The clear and total recognition of the rules of the game triggers a tsunami. It rolls through, upending your little boat and leaves nothing but a singular smooth sea in its wake.
Yeah. I love Jim Carrey. His movies get me.
“Heaven is already here on earth. Tenacious programming prevents you from seeing it. As you take the short journey from the mind to the heart and behold life as it actually is, life smiles back. It beholds you, seeing itself in the mirror of the pure willingness that your courage and tenacity brings forth.” Card #42, Seeing with the Heart — The Wild Child