Still on the Subject: A Spark of Divinity

If I examine my own impressions, the self feels like a sovereign unity. This feeling arises when I attend to it, thus in quiet moments. In the midst of action I am the action; I’m attending to reality out there. In times of conflict, indecision, or in a vortex of emotion my self is submerged, carried along like a body in a raging flood. Such times are rare, to be sure. The feeling of unity returns in times of calm. I can also forcibly summon it up in the midst of action if I have to. It is also, generally, the state when I am in repose.

The characteristics of the self remain constant over the years so that, looking back, it seems to me that I felt exactly the same at age seven as I do today. My self doesn’t seem to age. My knowledge has grown, my experiences have multiplied—but I treat both as possessions, not as the self.

To define what the self actually is is best done using negatives. It’s not my body, not my thoughts. The same applies to my emotions, to my memories. Thoughts are constantly in motion, emotions come and go, memories can be lost, found, made. Body, thoughts, emotions, memories are all phenomena I think of as possessing or experiencing. I experience them as external to me. The self, by contrast, is a constant. I can at least imagine losing body, thoughts, emotions, and memories and yet still imagine being there. What I can’t imagine is nonexistence. The concept falls apart. How can I imagine if I am not there?

I also experience the self as seeing, grasping, attending, and as acting. Seeing and grasping signify a power of perception—be that intellectual or sensory. Attending and acting are functions of the will. I comprehend and act out of the self itself, but understand fully that other functionalities are present; they facilitate this activity. Information comes through the senses and by means of memory. My actions are expressed through the body; my decisions guide bodily actions and, even if they’re not outwardly expressed, I still store them away as memories of having decided something in such and such a context. Not that I do anything to store a memory. I don’t. The brain does that for me and automatically. Recovery of that memory will also take place automatically if stimulated by the right experiences.

This then is a brief and relatively complete presentation of the subjective and thus the introspective view of the self. I am neglecting certain aspects—dreaming, intuitions, and what are called paranormal experiences. Just the above suffices to show that the core of being—and it happens to be accessible—is something very strange indeed. In its bound form it is nothing. In its fragile body, seemingly vulnerable. In its essence, indestructible.