On Being A Stranger To Oneself
This is a reflected image of one of my grandsons who was busy trying out his in-line skates at a skate-boarder’s park in Jamestown, North Dakota. I rotated the image 180 degrees so that I would have him appear upright for the purposes of this photo. The details of the photo aside, the image itself has a story to tell.
As I see it, this is a view of the journey in the first half of life. A youth is propelled forward into engagement with little thought of who, when, where, why. The impulse is instinctual. Most of the choices just happen for thinking will come at a different time when consciousness is more developed.
And then I think of myself, now in my sixties and wonder if there is still a lot of my journey that is lived unconsciously as though I was underwater. One would think that after sixty years one would have become conscious enough to have a sense of control. But the truth is I am not much different that my grandson when it comes to the extent of the unconscious dimensions that still remain in comparison to the small fragments of consciousness that I have managed to stumble upon during my own rush through life.
Today I have been married for forty years and I wonder at the stranger that I am to myself let alone the stranger to whom I am married. How can anyone truly know another person in depth when the self remains a mystery for the most part. I imagine that each of us dies with the question “Who am I?” still being asked. Perhaps once beyond the filters of human existence we will finally get an answer. Today, a friend died and I remember him hoping that he has finally found the answer in the light that lies on the other side of life.
And to my wife – I love you always, I love you all ways, I love you forever.


congratulations!
and what a lovely tribute !
Urspo
29 Aug 11 at 12:13 AM
Thank you, Urspo. As I understand it, love just is. It doesn’t have a “Best Before Date” or “Expiry Date” attached to it. Relationships don’t always last and the love can be covered in layer upon layer of hurt so that one assumes love has gone. Love doesn’t demand being face-to-face. When one looks closer, one sees that love seems to percolate through to others that share the same orbit – my wife, my grandson, my firend.
rgl
29 Aug 11 at 6:25 AM