Pre-Cognitive Self
I was sitting out in the dusk tossing a ball to the dog when my attention was arrested by a bird flapping in the air. It stayed in one place, the way you sometimes see birds gliding on the wind, except that it wasn't gliding because its wings were flapping. I don't know why, but seeing this bird took me back to an old memory, and I thought of Care Bears and Strawberry Shortcake and My Little Pony.
It happens relatively often, reverting to this self from this particular time. Certainly there is no other memory that can be triggered with such a lack of specific stimulus (eg, the only thing that can really remind me of age 10 at this point would be something like the elementary school playground). It must have been something about the color of the sky (blue and pink) or the dreamish way the mountain ridge looks with the atmospheric perspective (technical term for how medieval painters conveyed depth through color), or the futile flight of the bird. I was 3 or 4 again.
As soon as this feeling gripped me (and it left just as suddenly), I asked myself why I always deja back to this vu, when I do, and not to some other vu. The easiest answer I came up with is that this is the only time I remember when I had a tabula rasa, and the only cognitive faculty I exercised was the one recording external stimuli - without any clouding or interpreting by an awareness of an Ego, and therefore all the more crisp as an imprint. For this reason, the memory of this age can be triggered by colors or shapes alone: the colors and shapes that I remember from 3 or 4 are usually autonomous, not integrated into particular narratives. In fact, it's interesting that the things I do remember most are the commerical objects I came into contact with, such as Care Bears; these defined my self. There are some other memories that are encased in narratives (like the time I put my own velcro shoes on in the garage, and as I was walking out my dad stopped me and explained why it was that my shoes were on the wrong feet; or the time my cousin tried to teach me how to ski by explaining the snowplow stop as a "pizza," and I had no idea what she was talking about because a pizza is round and the skis were straight), but as a rule their recollection is never as swift or vivid or as unsolicited as the Care Bears-class of memories.
I remember the exact moment when I first recognized the Ego as such, though I don't remember at what age it happened. I was in bed trying to fall asleep - it must have been summer, because I was insomniac that night, and I don't remember being insomniac on winter nights - and I suddenly thought about dogs, and how different I would be feeling at that very moment if I were a dog instead of a person. Then I marvelled at randomness and improbability of it, that I was placed in this body and this brain, instead of a dog's.
When I try to recall what time of my life was happiest, I generally draw a blank. I'm pretty sure I haven't been consistently happy since the day I first set foot in my first preschool, which I don't remember, but I'm told I cried and cried and cried that day. However, when I have these "Care Bear" deja vus, I feel a vague sense of contentment. It follows then that the only time I was happy in my life was when I wasn't self-aware. When I was trotting around, dog-like, absorbing things without response or reflection or commentary.
What a "Garden of Eden" lesson! The old folks were right that the Tree of Knowledge is the source of all evil, but they were wrong to try to pursuade us that it had anything to do with disobedience or pride. Intelligence is what causes pain - and I don't mean the high intelligence that you have when you're a sage (which I'm hopeful will prove to be a good thing, eventually), I'm talking about the barest intelligence you need just to feel and know that you are you and not something else. The only natural happiness - tthe only kind of happiness you don't have to earn through sweat and tears - are those spaced out moments, when you lose your specificity and are a mere conglomerate of sensory intake.
It happens relatively often, reverting to this self from this particular time. Certainly there is no other memory that can be triggered with such a lack of specific stimulus (eg, the only thing that can really remind me of age 10 at this point would be something like the elementary school playground). It must have been something about the color of the sky (blue and pink) or the dreamish way the mountain ridge looks with the atmospheric perspective (technical term for how medieval painters conveyed depth through color), or the futile flight of the bird. I was 3 or 4 again.
As soon as this feeling gripped me (and it left just as suddenly), I asked myself why I always deja back to this vu, when I do, and not to some other vu. The easiest answer I came up with is that this is the only time I remember when I had a tabula rasa, and the only cognitive faculty I exercised was the one recording external stimuli - without any clouding or interpreting by an awareness of an Ego, and therefore all the more crisp as an imprint. For this reason, the memory of this age can be triggered by colors or shapes alone: the colors and shapes that I remember from 3 or 4 are usually autonomous, not integrated into particular narratives. In fact, it's interesting that the things I do remember most are the commerical objects I came into contact with, such as Care Bears; these defined my self. There are some other memories that are encased in narratives (like the time I put my own velcro shoes on in the garage, and as I was walking out my dad stopped me and explained why it was that my shoes were on the wrong feet; or the time my cousin tried to teach me how to ski by explaining the snowplow stop as a "pizza," and I had no idea what she was talking about because a pizza is round and the skis were straight), but as a rule their recollection is never as swift or vivid or as unsolicited as the Care Bears-class of memories.
I remember the exact moment when I first recognized the Ego as such, though I don't remember at what age it happened. I was in bed trying to fall asleep - it must have been summer, because I was insomniac that night, and I don't remember being insomniac on winter nights - and I suddenly thought about dogs, and how different I would be feeling at that very moment if I were a dog instead of a person. Then I marvelled at randomness and improbability of it, that I was placed in this body and this brain, instead of a dog's.
When I try to recall what time of my life was happiest, I generally draw a blank. I'm pretty sure I haven't been consistently happy since the day I first set foot in my first preschool, which I don't remember, but I'm told I cried and cried and cried that day. However, when I have these "Care Bear" deja vus, I feel a vague sense of contentment. It follows then that the only time I was happy in my life was when I wasn't self-aware. When I was trotting around, dog-like, absorbing things without response or reflection or commentary.
What a "Garden of Eden" lesson! The old folks were right that the Tree of Knowledge is the source of all evil, but they were wrong to try to pursuade us that it had anything to do with disobedience or pride. Intelligence is what causes pain - and I don't mean the high intelligence that you have when you're a sage (which I'm hopeful will prove to be a good thing, eventually), I'm talking about the barest intelligence you need just to feel and know that you are you and not something else. The only natural happiness - tthe only kind of happiness you don't have to earn through sweat and tears - are those spaced out moments, when you lose your specificity and are a mere conglomerate of sensory intake.
posted by Rex at 8:16 PM
2 Comments:
HAHA -- you were walking around with shoes on the wrong feet? I don't remember that.
No, you wouldn't remember it because it was a very insignificant episode. I'm not sure at all why it stuck in my head. The way I recall the conversation, this shoes-on-wrong-feet thing seemed to be one of many occurrences. I remember a sense of repetition and frustration as Pop pointed out the differences in shoe shapes, and I couldn't figure out what he was pointing to. It's analogous to that feeling I get now when people try to describe to me why the Godfathers are such great movies, and I still don't get it.
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