The Inner workings of “me”

For so long I had thought the essence of who I am came from something inside. something transparent and floating , something that cannot be tamed. And that made me , responsible. For me, for my pains.

 

But watching my children – watching them grow, live and tire – I know that there is a physical self that makes up who we are in this world. It changes the face of this “essence” and alters how we translate that ‘self’ to the world. I am blessed with whole children – they are healthy and complete, thank God – and this allows them free reign to be anything ….. but the body, the physical, shall always restrain who they become, right ?

Arent the beautiful presented with more open doors and the, how do I say, more plain a little less noticed ? Would a beautiful woman live a entirely different life if she were bluntly unattractive to the eye? Does her essence stay the same if she were to lose her looks – or does it change with her ?

 

I think it does. I think your soul, or whatever it is that forms our thoughts and provokes our passions, is a fluid thing – and sometimes subject to this material world we live in. It’s a sad reality – but there really is no True Freedom. There might be whispers of it, temporary states, but life is always going to be chained down to ground level by its surroundings. Material things, physical ills, Other People. 

 

I try so hard to accept this – like the Serenity prayer

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
The courage to change the things I can,
And wisdom to know the difference.

 

But its hard. Some days impossible. For bitterness, resentment and that echoing voice of inequality tell me my surroundings and their chains have suffocated me, constricted my vocal cords and condemned me to a life full of demons. It’s so easy to blame all that then to face the prospect that it is …. it is ……

 

it is my essence that haunts me. She – ME – is to blame for the darkness. The material , the physical … all that is a result of who I chose to be. SO i grasp, hopelessly, desperately at the possibility that ….. There is no translucent essence of self – the world made me this way. 

 

Do i believe myself ?

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