If one fancies me insane I would hope, at the very least, that they give me this: my fantasies are not ones consciously manufactured, nor are they ones that serve to uphold the ego. Take the apparent past life memories, for instance: first an alien on a dying world, then an orphan priest “unhappy” with his “work” and who seemed to have ended his life by means of a self-inflicted gunshot wound to head at what he considered a great age, then a man born in the fifties that died in poverty inside a mall in Florida.
Not exactly a high ranking official of Atlantis or a highly-evolved member of Ashtar Command or whatever, not in any incarnation.
Being an alien might be considered exotic, but given the apparent circumstances it was a species with issues exceeding that of present-day humanity, so not exactly a steroid injection into the ego inspiring some sense of relative superiority. I am no fucking god incarnate or a famous and successful person working out his karmic debt in a shit life and cesspool fast food employment. This is just a manifestation of the same old underling shit. I am who I have always been, for better or worse. Context only changes the particular manifestation, not the underlying patterns of dismal habituation. I am my cause, I am my effect, I am my freedom and responsibility, drawn to relations and circumstances with whom and in which I bear affinity.