The young me is dead.
The me now has flashing memories of who me was.
The who me was is not necessarily the who me really was.
I have created a personal mythology about me to sustain a continuity, to keep a fragile link between yesterday and today, to pretend to myself that I'm the same person.
In reality, the who me was is dead. My personal mythology is just that, myth, and now I just believe my own propaganda.
Historical revisionism is all too easy as you progress in age. There's something seductive about it, pretending to be something you weren't, something you wish you had been.
As witnesses disappear, my version of events goes unchallenged, my version of events grows warped, my version of events becomes the only version.
My history is written by me, not so much a victor as a survivor, but you can trust me to tell it like it was because me was there...
The thing to notice about the previous me being dead is that the current me is also a construct, a transitory impression that is becoming the past me every moment. But the one who sees all these moments of me, that's the real me, and doesn't change.
ReplyDeleteBut who is the one who sees all the moments of me? Are you talking a me me or an outside of me me?
ReplyDeleteIt's the one who sees the one seeing. There is no outside to that one, because inside is everything and outside is nothing, meaning that the one is none. That one. Just me. Me-me is a panda.
ReplyDeleteHmm, I think we touched upon this in the pub once... And I think we have an Eastern v Western philosophical clash... I also think you will dispute this... For any one else reading, some interesting -and raw- posts on Biroco.com under Journal...
ReplyDelete