“Do my pants make me look fat?” (Identifying self with body) “Stop looking at me like a piece of meat, I’m not only a body!” (Identifying with feelings) “I don’t think we can date, as our views are so different.” (Identifying with thoughts) Ideas of what is the self and what is criticized evolve. Body, rules about how to control body, rules about how to think, ideas, the creative process itself, the wider processes of mind that include both conscious and unconscious thought, and. And. And who knows.
Identity is not only a fluid perception, it is a statement of organization. What we care about reflects our development, socially, cognitively, among more than ten lines of how people develop.
We develop as data puts itself into categories, and categories place themselves into categories in concert with other categories. Data makes sense of itself, and that is called evolutionary biology. Your thought processes, what you care about, is a reflection of your evolutions.
Are you the muse? Are you your fat ass?
My ego wants to control your life, to alter your life, to influence it. Like a kiss, or a smile. Or a party invitation. We can expect better, and to work for it, and we can expect pain of growth.
In last nights dream, I was forced to join a room of trapped people on the top floor of a big building. Guns held us in that boring room, a prison, a limbo. “You idiot! Death is not a bad thing. Pain is bad. Pleasure is good. I’m not staying here in this room, even though guns are outside. I’m taking my chances.”
Death has its virtues. It accepts us, and gives us alternatives. Better to face death of our current ideas and grow up, than to be stuck in a body only self, or a head only self. Or anywhere. Death is what we routinely die to, if we throw ourselves into love and growth.
Am I the gun? The bullet? Something is moving, regardless. Always part of us is a crying lonely aching virgin. A fearful change calling to us.
Update: In last nights dream, I was flying around, and wondered why I found it so difficult to fly through objects. My habits of mind make it very difficult to alter the basic fabric of reality, even in something so plastic as a dream. My sense of self accompanies me there, and there is always a sense of center. That was the obvious answer: I’m too lazy to really dig into relaxing the mind, in a routine of meditation that can re-shape my minds habits and abilities. I’m stuck in being me, all the time, and embody me-ness and concreteness when I could relax and be wider.
Update: There have been a few occasions, while on long meditation retreats, where a sense of self was not the constriction to awareness, and while drifting to sleep vast decentralized panoramas were. Such experience is talked about and written about enough. That mind is habitually constrained is usual, but that sometimes it is not, and that there are steps that can be taken to be more likely to let usually-unconscious parallel processing powers be conscious is uncommon enough to seem mystical.