I’m looking at everything I use and wondering; Where did this come from? How was it made? What did I kill for it? So maybe I didn’t hold the knife but as a consumer, I am what feeds the system to continue doing what it does.
If you go deep enough into one thing, you will reach the infinity of existence within it. This is true of all fields. A musician touches the infinite connection when touched with inspiration. Tunes are given, just as words to an inspired poet. Given from where?
The self is an imaginary identity just like most others (just as people now acknowledge that nationality and religion are not real) in the world. Identity itself is only a means by which you reassure your existence.