Another Ramble on Self.

I’ve referred a lot lately to the question: Who am I? I’ve talked about grappling with the notion that what I see in the mirror isn’t me, but simply a vehicle in which the real me travels the road of a material life. I’m more or less of the opinion that the sense of self is effectively flawed, or at least incomplete, since I’m very nearly convinced that none of us are what we see in the mirror. What we are is mind, nothing more and nothing less.

Perception is the whole of the life experience. Everything of value in this life is ultimately traceable to the mind and is therefore abstract. Maybe I’m stating the obvious.

But let me for a moment expand the sense of self to include that which we see in the mirror. I can accept that, but in my case there’s more. My sense of self does include what I see the mirror, but it also includes my environment – my house, my garden, and the landscape beyond – and it does so at a surprisingly deep level. They are a part of me just as my body is a part of me. When I stand on the lane beyond the bottom of my garden at twilight when the atmosphere is just right, I don’t merely enjoy what I’m seeing, and neither do I simply feel connected with it. I feel an integral part of it. I think it would be impossible to describe the feeling further.

I had a visit today from Mel, my ex and best friend. It was pleasant sitting outside in the gentle September sunshine with tea and cake, talking over matters of current interest to us. And yet after she’d gone I experienced something that I’ve experienced a few times lately. I felt uncomfortable, and when I investigated the feeling I realised that my sense of self felt fractured because another entity had been sharing its space and shaking the components about.

And now I really don’t know where I go from here because I seem to be contradicting myself. It's that old business of logic reaching the edge of a continental shelf...

I just noticed that the first line of another favourite song by Daiching Tana is translated as: The moon rises in the silent sky. Does it rise? Or does it hang, or does it float, or does it sail, or does it take up station? It’s all about perception because none of them are literally true. And so the coming of full circle confuses me.

The priestess told me recently that she became aware of other layers of reality co-existing with the one we take for granted as the real one. She felt herself dissolving and saw life as death. I was quite envious. And now I need a drink.