Posted by: Xhyra Graf | 12 July 2006

The Specious I

Who is more delusional? Someone who is convinced that the apparent is not real or someone who knows that the apparent gives clue to the real where the real is beyond the scope of a current human understanding?  Is the person who has the conviction that the mind does not exist aware of the necessary outcome of that kind of eventuality?  We then are “dead” matter; not alive.  At least not alive in the sense we have become used to in everyday living.  Not alive in any sense I wish to exist.  However, I suppose it would be better to accept this form of understanding.  It seems that this would be the only way to get the soulless bastards to the realization that everything is one.  Except I don’t believe it would and there is no place for I in the one.  In any case, this does not mean that there is no place for mind in the one.  If only they weren’t so abrasive in expressing their convictions.  I know it doesn’t matter.  I know all roads lead to Rome.  It is my pride that holds fast ‘I and I’ just hate the attitude that accompanies certain types of ‘isms’.  ‘But’, said derisively, “why is it necessary to postulate…” mind, feelings, emotions, devil possession, Thor, Kali.  [I’ve always liked her, especially right now.] 

I digress before I’ve even begun.

So what is this? What is happening right now in these moments?  Neurons firing, electrochemical configurations, molecules, quarks, quantum processes?  In these moments I am agitatedly writing and it seems-thinking, albeit obtusely.  Where does this thinking happen really and how does it come about from purely physical matter?  How are thoughts and the process of thinking to be reduced to a simple physical state of my brain or a brain process that we are able to pinpoint, duplicate and possibly transfer as knowable fact?  Can we come to know the mechanism of knowing?  Am I just afraid of the sterility I believe comes with denial of irreducibly mental states?  I am afraid.  I fear becoming a soulless bastard.  Locking the memory of standing at the cliff of I looking out into the abyss of One into the set of neurons I hope are eradicated with each day I continue, I tiptoe toward the thing I already know in most senses, careful of losing my mind in all senses of that possibly non-existent concept.



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