And yet life goes on.

I am the universe? I accept it at a working hypothesis. Lots of people whom I respect have ended up there, each taking his own route; and it seems to make sense of more of the facts on the ground better than other theories and metanarratives I've encountered: those of exoteric religion, materialism, &c. For me, the question has shifted to what you do with that information once you've had enough of reading Ken Wilber waxing rhapsodic about it, and Alan Watts making incisively clever observations about it, and Zen Buddhists coming up with striking metaphors about it. To notice what actually seems to be going on, and how life is, and is experienced. I mean, at the end of it all, I still live my life, Tuesday follows Monday, and Wednesday Tuesday, as Woolf writes in "The Waves," and I have no interest in simply shouldering a belief for its own sake, or in replacing one dogma with another. What do I actually experience when I drop all givens and preconceived notions, and simply experience whatever I happen to be doing in the moment, whether cutting the skin off a piece of slimy raw chicken or sitting at the computer or running on the treadmill? That's what I'm interested in, and then, by extension, in what conceptual framework makes the best sense of it; and in what enhances it (the preference for beauty over ugliness, for creativity over stagnation, for intelligence over stupidity, etc.). One still has to get up every morning, work, interact with people, etc. Make decisions about how to invest, what to be when one grows up.

Somebody else's words, title mine, emphasis mine. Mind the important part: the rest can flesh out the thought, or may distract from it.