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Pacman

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Do you remember Pacman? That little creature that you directed around the screen to collect pills? Of course, those pills weren't real, they were just coloured dots on the screen. And then, of course, (spoiler alert!) Pacman wasn’t real either.

But it was fun. Simple fun. Collect so many pills and you advanced to a new level. And at each level things got a little more difficult. That didn't matter, of course, because the point of the game was to advance through those levels.

I've never met anyone who got to the end of the game, who 'completed Pacman'
I'm not even sure if there was an end...

The thought occurred to me during a conversation recently that some of us see life a bit like the game of Pacman, with our self image playing the main character. Often we think that image is real and needs to be fed, so we direct it around looking for pills.

Pills for enlightenment, pills for freedom, pills for courage or vulnerability, pills for awesomeness, pills for anything and everything that the image of ourselves tells us we need.

We might move through supposed levels, but that self image is never satisfied. It always wants more and another level is necessary.

If we believed the game of Pacman to be real we'd suffer because at some point the character failed, got caught or eaten by ghosts, and we either started that level again or died.

Life really can look like that too. But only if we forget it is a game and none of the ghosts, levels or pills are real.

I loved playing Pacman, and always knew it was just a game. I got quite good at it because I played it for fun.

And sometimes I forget to play life like that too.
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