If you would only allow holes in your story, you would understand that your reality need not be so clearly defined. Thus it would become infinitely malleable and perhaps more to your liking. But you do NOT allow holes. You INSIST on filling them. So you give yourself the sensation of wearing a tight-fitting straight jacket and not being able to breathe. This is the blessed trap of what you call “learning.” Only when you seemingly kill the organism with “knowledge” will you realize that all is imagined, and that you are IMPOSSIBLE to kill.