I've been thinking about the mystery of how we claim ourselves in arrears and project ourselves into an owned future, whereas the truth is that our connection with some earlier version of "myself" is as happenstance as any claim of identity or knowing of any person. At certain moments we selectively remember some shape of our thoughts and expectations. Likewise, the imagining that we are moving toward some definable future version of ourselves— more accomplished and agreeable than our present sense of self— this, too, is a mirage. It seems to me that when we think we have arrived at a point of flexion, we are no longer the one who started out those years ago. We are all prodigal sons, or Maiden, Mother, Crone. As I enter my "crone" years, I am not the same person that I was. It's not a private failing. I don't believe anyone truly can claim their past or future, despite assertions to the contrary. Maybe a thing is only believable as long as one doesn't pay attention. As long as one doesn't listen carefully. Maybe the only thread that ties it all together is an insistence on suffering, an adherence to the tutelage and transmutative power of the Question we incarnate.
So much to love here.
I've been thinking about the mystery of how we claim ourselves in arrears and project ourselves into an owned future, whereas the truth is that our connection with some earlier version of "myself" is as happenstance as any claim of identity or knowing of any person. At certain moments we selectively remember some shape of our thoughts and expectations. Likewise, the imagining that we are moving toward some definable future version of ourselves— more accomplished and agreeable than our present sense of self— this, too, is a mirage. It seems to me that when we think we have arrived at a point of flexion, we are no longer the one who started out those years ago. We are all prodigal sons, or Maiden, Mother, Crone. As I enter my "crone" years, I am not the same person that I was. It's not a private failing. I don't believe anyone truly can claim their past or future, despite assertions to the contrary. Maybe a thing is only believable as long as one doesn't pay attention. As long as one doesn't listen carefully. Maybe the only thread that ties it all together is an insistence on suffering, an adherence to the tutelage and transmutative power of the Question we incarnate.