This empty world obtrudes upon our senses so persistently and with such regularity of effect that thoughts about how real it could be hardly gain purchase. A material world has no trouble getting the attention of a material man. It punches us hard in our eyes and ears. One must retreat from the multiplicity-positing diaspora of the senses by taking thought in order properly to doubt its ultimacy. But how gossamer is thought as compared to the rude impacts of sensory reality!
And so we impute to this passing scene more reality and importance than it has. Its reality is in part our projection. Teetering on the brink of eternity we take time and its fleeting blandishments to be the end all and the be all.
Here is an old man, a flight of stairs away from a major coronary event, lusting after more loot and land. Hanging by a thread, he is yet convinced that he is securely suspended.