The main problem being the way our bodies age and gradually break down, health issues develop as things are gradually stolen from us. But for me at least, there is more to this feeling than that.
Often I find myself wondering why I'm confined to the limits of my perception, why I'm mostly limited to my hands for manipulation, and why I even have hands at all. It's funny, I can remember a time when I mostly accepted things for what they were, never questioning the intricacies of my life, or where it is that I actually am, what I am, and how it is that I could be experiencing anything at all. For me it's a regular occurrence to feel a bit disconnected from my own experiences, when my escapism fails and I remember all of these questions and more. At that point I typically feel as if I'm on the precipice of some form of psychosis, or perhaps a realization of some kind, this is usually accompanied by lightheadedness. However I can never seem to figure out what it is that I feel I'm close to realizing, and gradually the sensation fades until I feel normal again.
It just amazes me that none of this occurred to me earlier in life, that I never questioned the nature of any of the imagery which presents itself before me, it all feels so obvious to me now, as if it was always right in front of my eyes but I simply never noticed it before. They told me that I am a human, they told me the names of objects, locations, people, numbers, and they told me stories, but I don't think I ever explored what those words actually meant. Home, bed, parents, time, to me these words (and others which might come to your mind) seem like grounding, but I've become actively fixated on tearing down the artificial limits my mind sets to make sense of the world.
Lately I wonder about a beginning. Is it my birth? My first memory? Some theoretical start point proposed by a scientist, prophet, or philosopher? The easiest place for me to set such a comforting foundation would be the oldest of my memories, yet then it begs the question, how is it that I am having any of these experiences? What makes me separate, how can I be an individual, how can I see what I believe to be others, however still remain unconnected to them? It's a natural assertion to claim that we are somehow distinct from our surroundings, and distinct from other people, but this doesn't seem to be based upon anything tangible. Take some supposed objects for instance, a pen, a piece of paper, an automobile, a book, a cup, or a flashlight. Science can tell me the chemical composition of these, or at least of the substances which comprise them, but science cannot tell me what makes said objects truly separate from each other, where it is that a line should be drawn, where one object ends and another begins.
I believe that you'll find anything which we refer to as an object to be an arbitrary classification, based entirely upon the whim of whomever perceives it (but typically adhering to societal consensus). Following from this, since we can establish that our separation of objects is a construct of the human mind, an illusion which is not there, it then stands to reason that there is no such separation at all. Now if the whole idea of "objects" is some perceptual phantasm, then how could the same not be true of "individuals"? It's my belief that this idea of an individual is equally false. Meaning that consciousness is essentially one, but to put it into words which make some sense, it's more or less been partitioned into pieces. In truth, these divisions aren't meaningful or real, but function as if they were all the same. It's these transient lines which are responsible for me believing that I'm myself, that I'm an individual. Due to this condition, we strive to dominate one another, to consume other life, to compete for a mate, to succeed where another fails, however I doubt most ever realize that both the success and failure, the satisfaction and the suffering, they're both experienced by themselves, or at least entities which are only artificially unrelated to them. To realize the truth is to look on in horror as you're forced to harm and consume yourself.
The more I consider things within this context, and the more I think about what my body actually consists of, the more I want to escape it. Do any of you ever get a similar feeling? I've mentioned it here before, but I regularly feel disgusted with myself.
Often I find myself wondering why I'm confined to the limits of my perception, why I'm mostly limited to my hands for manipulation, and why I even have hands at all. It's funny, I can remember a time when I mostly accepted things for what they were, never questioning the intricacies of my life, or where it is that I actually am, what I am, and how it is that I could be experiencing anything at all. For me it's a regular occurrence to feel a bit disconnected from my own experiences, when my escapism fails and I remember all of these questions and more. At that point I typically feel as if I'm on the precipice of some form of psychosis, or perhaps a realization of some kind, this is usually accompanied by lightheadedness. However I can never seem to figure out what it is that I feel I'm close to realizing, and gradually the sensation fades until I feel normal again.
It just amazes me that none of this occurred to me earlier in life, that I never questioned the nature of any of the imagery which presents itself before me, it all feels so obvious to me now, as if it was always right in front of my eyes but I simply never noticed it before. They told me that I am a human, they told me the names of objects, locations, people, numbers, and they told me stories, but I don't think I ever explored what those words actually meant. Home, bed, parents, time, to me these words (and others which might come to your mind) seem like grounding, but I've become actively fixated on tearing down the artificial limits my mind sets to make sense of the world.
Lately I wonder about a beginning. Is it my birth? My first memory? Some theoretical start point proposed by a scientist, prophet, or philosopher? The easiest place for me to set such a comforting foundation would be the oldest of my memories, yet then it begs the question, how is it that I am having any of these experiences? What makes me separate, how can I be an individual, how can I see what I believe to be others, however still remain unconnected to them? It's a natural assertion to claim that we are somehow distinct from our surroundings, and distinct from other people, but this doesn't seem to be based upon anything tangible. Take some supposed objects for instance, a pen, a piece of paper, an automobile, a book, a cup, or a flashlight. Science can tell me the chemical composition of these, or at least of the substances which comprise them, but science cannot tell me what makes said objects truly separate from each other, where it is that a line should be drawn, where one object ends and another begins.
I believe that you'll find anything which we refer to as an object to be an arbitrary classification, based entirely upon the whim of whomever perceives it (but typically adhering to societal consensus). Following from this, since we can establish that our separation of objects is a construct of the human mind, an illusion which is not there, it then stands to reason that there is no such separation at all. Now if the whole idea of "objects" is some perceptual phantasm, then how could the same not be true of "individuals"? It's my belief that this idea of an individual is equally false. Meaning that consciousness is essentially one, but to put it into words which make some sense, it's more or less been partitioned into pieces. In truth, these divisions aren't meaningful or real, but function as if they were all the same. It's these transient lines which are responsible for me believing that I'm myself, that I'm an individual. Due to this condition, we strive to dominate one another, to consume other life, to compete for a mate, to succeed where another fails, however I doubt most ever realize that both the success and failure, the satisfaction and the suffering, they're both experienced by themselves, or at least entities which are only artificially unrelated to them. To realize the truth is to look on in horror as you're forced to harm and consume yourself.
The more I consider things within this context, and the more I think about what my body actually consists of, the more I want to escape it. Do any of you ever get a similar feeling? I've mentioned it here before, but I regularly feel disgusted with myself.
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