do you ever awake wondering who you are? what you are doing in your body? which thoughts are yours, others? this happened to me this morning. i reminded myself of those fuzzy parts of old new york city apartments, moldings, plaster medalions, anything that once had detail but which over the years had been obscured and blurred by layer upon layer of paint. who painted me? did i paint myself? a lot of questions this morning. even my breakfast check seemed to ask. who is the "you're" that they're so glad is here? who does that check see? sitting on the toilet, i cracked open a magazine and the first sentence i noticed proclaimed, "the foundation of all lasting relationships is deep self-understanding." it's not as if this question of identity hasn't bothered me before. since i can remember i've noticed it hovering about me like a fly about a light bulb, buzzing me, irritating. my habit has been to simply turn out the light or run to a different place. perhaps the only way to find out what's chasing me is to stop, let it come, to sit still, let it approach me, join me, catch me, delight me, torture me—whatever it may do, i need to accept it.
2 comments:
the toilet's a great place to find it, that place of stillness which allows the heart (and other parts) to open and release the stuff that keeps you from knowing you, from touching you.
Who is the "I" that needs to accept it? (sorry) Sometimes it's more like, "What questions are useful?" Is a shovel answered with a hole?
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