MOVING UP AND SO ALIVE
It's weird to me that i'm alive, a living person. I could be anything else but would I have a consciousness? What if I were the bed that I'm laying on or the hair scrunchie holding my rat's nest at bay? I would have no idea that I was one of these inanimate things. It's not within their capacity to alert me to the fact that they are a part of me or that I am a part of them. Or should I be intrinsically aware of this fact and treat all entities as I would treat another intelligent entity (i.e. a human)? Or what if I were an animate thing with no consciousness, like an ant or a tree? How would I recognize this fact? Do they send messages to me that I don't apprehend because of my human upbringing that isolates me from the universe in its wholeness and entirety? But maybe our entities are actually all blended together, it's the simple fact that we possess this thing, the human consciousness, that separates us from them. How sad that we are inherently isolated from the purest form of the whole of the universe. Hell, we damn well know that we originate from the dead organic matter buried in the earth's crust--carbon rings and organic molecules waiting to be forced against the entropic forces in the universe just to fucking create me or you or that asshole sitting next to you reading this (except this feat has already been performed--your parents procreated and you were fucking born, man, trippy).
But maybe that's where consciousness starts. In the detritus laying beneath your feet. Maybe it's sprinkled among the dirt, sand, rocks, or whatever--like an undetected magical element, at some point collected among the organic molecules to form you, with your individual consciousness. Or is it encoded in our DNA, the consciousness? But even DNA is created from these basic elements and molecules. Hard as I might, I honestly can't seem to wrap my mind around the thought and truly believe for more than a few seconds that I might not be an individual. But I guess I like that idea too. I can branch off and fucking be myself if I damn well prefer. Maybe that's like a human gift, consciousness: we can alternate between being ourselves and being a part of the whole fucking universe. Consciousness is like my bedroom where I retreat to during my introverted, enigmatic states; whereas, the rest of the world outside my space is the universe that I unavoidably must rejoin at times.
I suddenly had the thought of how alive I was as I walked across the hallway to my room and it half terrified me to think that I was suddenly conscious of such a thing. Not only did it occur to me that I was alive, but that I was a human. Not an ant. Ants have exoskeletons and are asexual (although they are the only species besides humans that occupy every continent in the world--minus Antarctica of course). But think about it, as a human and due to the consciousness we possess, everything we see is skewed. It's because humans are inherently flawed. We possess this consciousness. What the mother fuck. It's like a gift and a curse. It's like a wall that allows us to temporarily isolate ourselves and shape our perspective and develop variation, idiosyncrasies, quirks but at the same time allows us to move through doors that open us up to the idea that we are all connected. Maybe for a split second though, for that brief walk from the bathroom to my room, I suddenly broke the walls down and met the pure universe. Caveat: I don't really understand or know any of this or really anything at all, I'm just babbling throughout this damned journal entry written around 3 AM that you're kind of reading now because I damn well felt like sharing it.
Anyways, moving on, language is related to the human consciousness, I think. I have a love-hate relationship with language similar to that of consciousness. I'm a horrible speaker, I'm fucking awkward and weird. Half the time I come off as a confused, pot-addled hippie, something which I am not even close to, I just have so many thoughts sometimes my brain jams up or my stream of consciousness creates connections so quickly that I jump from one idea to another in speech and no one else can follow the connections. So really, fuck language it's like the band-aid that sort of covers up and binds a gaping wound that extends between people. I recently read an article by Lera Broditsky of Stanford University detailing her studies on language. According to Broditsky, language affects the way we think, varying from language to language and culture to culture.
In fact, without language there could never be interpretation; everything would have set meaning. Whatever I felt, saw, sensed, the next person, perhaps you, would immediately understand and through this symbiotic understanding, any need for language would be bypassed. Our minds would be melded as one. It's our consciousness, separate perspectives, and most especially language that prevents this. Everything is always lost in translation; it's an inherent characteristic of language. How would I understand precisely, exactly, with no misunderstandings, tiny gaps or even slight flaws what you meant? If you felt euphoria, rage, grief, etc., I can imagine your emotion; I could even go so far as to compare it to a related experience that I had, but it will never be the same. The only way I could truly gain your perspective is to remove my consciousness from my own head and body and place it in your brain in such a way that you would be unaware of my presence and still act as you naturally do. Only then could the barriers created by consciousness be broken down. Language would be void. It fascinates me to no end. What are they really seeing? Thinking? Hoping? Wondering? Or fuck who knows I could be entirely misguided. Maybe it's the universal sharing of human consciousness and isolation that brings us together. Which is it? Are we individuals wandering throughout space looking to make connections? Or are we already inherently connected through the commonality of our state of isolation? Fodder.
MADE YA THINK.
Laura Broditsky
It's weird to me that i'm alive, a living person. I could be anything else but would I have a consciousness? What if I were the bed that I'm laying on or the hair scrunchie holding my rat's nest at bay? I would have no idea that I was one of these inanimate things. It's not within their capacity to alert me to the fact that they are a part of me or that I am a part of them. Or should I be intrinsically aware of this fact and treat all entities as I would treat another intelligent entity (i.e. a human)? Or what if I were an animate thing with no consciousness, like an ant or a tree? How would I recognize this fact? Do they send messages to me that I don't apprehend because of my human upbringing that isolates me from the universe in its wholeness and entirety? But maybe our entities are actually all blended together, it's the simple fact that we possess this thing, the human consciousness, that separates us from them. How sad that we are inherently isolated from the purest form of the whole of the universe. Hell, we damn well know that we originate from the dead organic matter buried in the earth's crust--carbon rings and organic molecules waiting to be forced against the entropic forces in the universe just to fucking create me or you or that asshole sitting next to you reading this (except this feat has already been performed--your parents procreated and you were fucking born, man, trippy).
But maybe that's where consciousness starts. In the detritus laying beneath your feet. Maybe it's sprinkled among the dirt, sand, rocks, or whatever--like an undetected magical element, at some point collected among the organic molecules to form you, with your individual consciousness. Or is it encoded in our DNA, the consciousness? But even DNA is created from these basic elements and molecules. Hard as I might, I honestly can't seem to wrap my mind around the thought and truly believe for more than a few seconds that I might not be an individual. But I guess I like that idea too. I can branch off and fucking be myself if I damn well prefer. Maybe that's like a human gift, consciousness: we can alternate between being ourselves and being a part of the whole fucking universe. Consciousness is like my bedroom where I retreat to during my introverted, enigmatic states; whereas, the rest of the world outside my space is the universe that I unavoidably must rejoin at times.
I suddenly had the thought of how alive I was as I walked across the hallway to my room and it half terrified me to think that I was suddenly conscious of such a thing. Not only did it occur to me that I was alive, but that I was a human. Not an ant. Ants have exoskeletons and are asexual (although they are the only species besides humans that occupy every continent in the world--minus Antarctica of course). But think about it, as a human and due to the consciousness we possess, everything we see is skewed. It's because humans are inherently flawed. We possess this consciousness. What the mother fuck. It's like a gift and a curse. It's like a wall that allows us to temporarily isolate ourselves and shape our perspective and develop variation, idiosyncrasies, quirks but at the same time allows us to move through doors that open us up to the idea that we are all connected. Maybe for a split second though, for that brief walk from the bathroom to my room, I suddenly broke the walls down and met the pure universe. Caveat: I don't really understand or know any of this or really anything at all, I'm just babbling throughout this damned journal entry written around 3 AM that you're kind of reading now because I damn well felt like sharing it.
Anyways, moving on, language is related to the human consciousness, I think. I have a love-hate relationship with language similar to that of consciousness. I'm a horrible speaker, I'm fucking awkward and weird. Half the time I come off as a confused, pot-addled hippie, something which I am not even close to, I just have so many thoughts sometimes my brain jams up or my stream of consciousness creates connections so quickly that I jump from one idea to another in speech and no one else can follow the connections. So really, fuck language it's like the band-aid that sort of covers up and binds a gaping wound that extends between people. I recently read an article by Lera Broditsky of Stanford University detailing her studies on language. According to Broditsky, language affects the way we think, varying from language to language and culture to culture.
In fact, without language there could never be interpretation; everything would have set meaning. Whatever I felt, saw, sensed, the next person, perhaps you, would immediately understand and through this symbiotic understanding, any need for language would be bypassed. Our minds would be melded as one. It's our consciousness, separate perspectives, and most especially language that prevents this. Everything is always lost in translation; it's an inherent characteristic of language. How would I understand precisely, exactly, with no misunderstandings, tiny gaps or even slight flaws what you meant? If you felt euphoria, rage, grief, etc., I can imagine your emotion; I could even go so far as to compare it to a related experience that I had, but it will never be the same. The only way I could truly gain your perspective is to remove my consciousness from my own head and body and place it in your brain in such a way that you would be unaware of my presence and still act as you naturally do. Only then could the barriers created by consciousness be broken down. Language would be void. It fascinates me to no end. What are they really seeing? Thinking? Hoping? Wondering? Or fuck who knows I could be entirely misguided. Maybe it's the universal sharing of human consciousness and isolation that brings us together. Which is it? Are we individuals wandering throughout space looking to make connections? Or are we already inherently connected through the commonality of our state of isolation? Fodder.
MADE YA THINK.
Laura Broditsky
So beautiful
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