It is not too little knowledge, but too much. This is the Gnostic folly: To doggedly hound at the heels of a spectre proclaimed Truth, and when It escapes such pestering through the nearest wall, to draw upon the depths of knowledge to demonstrate--to one's own satisfaction--that the wall, and not the ghost, is insubstantial.
It is through the process of such "knowing" that all the problems of a purportedly illusory world are assigned to those who would presume to be in, rather than know of, that world. Yet, if there is an illusion, it is the mirage seen every so clearly by those who would deny the desert and dismiss their thirst as a passing fancy.
Lest you mistake any resonance in the above observation for the ring of Truth, take heed that this too is a spectre, although perhaps less heavy with the chains of cliche that so limit the vision of the Morley that is Maya. The world Is, and we are, and so are our ghosts. Exit your meditations, look the world in the eyes, see that which Is. Leave talk of illusion to fiction and fantasy, stagecraft and showmanship.
We see. We think. We feel.
Heel now. I grow weary of such peripheral phantasms. I shall rest.
Do not mind me... I am just holding up this wall.

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