me
Rating: 11 point(s) | Read and rate text individuallyI finally found that the force at the center of the universe is not me.
| Amount of texts to »me« | 130, and there are 118 texts (90.77%) with a rating above the adjusted level (-3) |
| Average lenght of texts | 127 Characters |
| Average Rating | 1.300 points, 24 Not rated texts |
| First text | on Apr 8th 2000, 04:29:37 wrote me about me |
| Latest text | on Nov 1st 2015, 12:46:02 wrote carolyn stewart about me |
| Some texts that have not been rated at all
(overall: 24) |
on Oct 9th 2003, 02:40:57 wrote
on Apr 13th 2001, 19:27:01 wrote
on Mar 2nd 2005, 19:06:41 wrote |
I finally found that the force at the center of the universe is not me.
Doe, a deer, a female deer
Ray, a drop of golden sun
Me, a name I call the rational, conscious part of my brain. Freud called this the ego, or self. So what are the parts of me that aren't me? Do my subconscious thoughts share my existance, or just interact with it? Can I (being »me«) assume responsibility for the uncontrolled actions of my id and superego? And if this is »me«, then who the hell are »you«?
It is funny but over my life of 63 years (so far!) I have always been the same me. I recognise some changes in my decision making abiliites, and my hopes and desires, but I am still the same me I remember about 58 years ago. (I don't remember much before then.) Maybe others who have actually grown up into adults have changed more. I have had a problem with growing up--to bad I have no problem with growing old.
I wonder if anbyone else feels the same?
When I wrote of the women in their dancec and wildness, it was a mask,
on their mountain, gold-hunting, singing, in orgy,
it was a mask; when I wrote of the god,
fragmented, exiled from himself, his life, the love gone down with song,
it was myself, split open, unable to speak, in exile from myself.
There is no mountain, there is no god, there is no memory
of my torn life, myself split open in sleep, the rescued child
beside me among the doctors, and a word
of rescue from the great eyes.
No more masks! No more mythologies!
Now, for the first time, the god lifts his hand,
the fragments join in me with their own music.
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