What is a Self?

Although the act of nurturing another's spiritual growth

has the effect of nurturing one's own,

a major characteristic of genuine love is that

the distinction between oneself and the other

is always maintained and preserved.
--M. Scott Peck. M.D.

Peck’s words have me pondering the mysterious dichotomy of our being separate, unique, individual selves, who are simultaneously ONE. All of the mystics write and teach about our oneness. We have a distant sense of knowing of that. 

Perhaps it is the way we have 10 fingers and  10 toes, a heart, two legs—all separate, unique, individual body parts, simultaneously ONE body. 

I recall an experience years ago. I was snuggled into bed with John (my husband). My fingers were moving almost automatically down his forearm. For an instant, I was not touching his arm. I was touching the arm of our beloved grandson, Brad. 

Whatever this “self” is, it is at once both separate and not. 

“Debra the Demented” was written on Saturday 18 December 1999.

 

I stand quivering before the leap out of myself and into mySelf!

It is as though I am perched above life itself and I can see out over the horizon in all directions... feelings unfold before me to my left and to my right.... each has a life of it's own, yet has no life at all.... 

The years stretch beyond years and yet fall into nothingness.... as all moments become one... 

Laughter belches up within me and dares to give voice with no thought to the shame that might follow.... and silence sucks the breath out of me and leaves me for dead.... only to be once more drawn from the ashes... 

If this is an awakening, then I must be mad... and if it is not, then surely I am. I long to write, to give words to this depth... to let the dance dance me... to let the song sing me... to let the death die upon my breast. 

Can one lose oneself? Can one go to sleep and never wake up? Can the madness rule the house of one's soul forever? Or can there be nothing but this endless mirage of life moving one in spite of one's willingness or resistance? 

I am a willing eagle. I am a willing frog. I am a willing birch and blade. I will allow the music to blow through my boughs and I shall throw my head back and laugh once more until the tears take over and then I shall begin again and again and again...

I lift my cup to my lips and say yes to life!