Friday, June 01, 2018

The old machine hums on

The way we're rigged emotionally, death and disease are inherently tragic. Yet at some level I am amazed by the durability and self-regulation of the human body. It seems very strange that I'm still in the same machine I was in when my consciousness emerged. On the whole, despite all the niggling pains and promptings that go on all day, I'd say the body interferes very little in that consciousness. Every waking moment you're thinking about something, and in most of that nonstop churning you forget you have a body. That's true even if bodily awareness breaks in every ten minutes for, say, five seconds.

That 's the case if you're lucky enough not to have been whomped by severe injury or illness. I recognize that that's a matter of luck and a blessed state that can end any minute. Ditto with causes of grief/mental anguish. In fact, consciousness of good luck and privilege makes me morbidly, superstitiously aware that the streak can end any moment. As if awareness can ward off the inevitable.

Intermittent musing on mortality also triggers pretty frequent awareness of the strangeness of life -- not only that the body ticks on, supporting consciousness, but that consciousness exists at all. The mystery never gets any closer to resolution.

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