I repeatedly have moments of being completely flummoxed by the human experience. I think about awareness and my identity of who I am. I understand that I filter everything through my own subjective context.
I realize that other people do the same. I am separate from them. And that in itself seems rather fantastic. How can I not understand them as well as I understand myself? And then the impossibility strikes me. I can’t even conceive of their existence? Really! I understand that they feel – they love and fear and stress – but I can’t actually feel that – not in the same way I feel my own emotions. I am separate. I know tha the popular philosophy says that we are not separate at all: we are all one.
But I feel separate. I have no evidence that we are one. I can empathize with others (sometimes more with animals that with people) but I just can’t get right inside their hearts and souls and actually see through their eyes and feel their emotions as though they were mine. And that brings me right back to marvelling that I actually exist. For this brief flash of time, there is this things called “me.” It seems so arbitrary. So odd that of all the millions of beings on this planet, I am this “me” creature who cares desperately about what happens to this entity in this body.
It’s a mystery. I am in awe of it – and puzzled, deeply puzzled.