Instead of starting new topics, or just posting in my journal, I thought I would revive this one.
In searching out the “intimate part of myself” it’s interesting to note that this interest only came after seeing just about everything my recent ex and I did and said was ‘self’ serving. I was laughing at it.
Very interesting.
Before that night, around a week ago, I was convinced of my own basic righteousness. That I was better than her, and just about everyone else too.
The definition of a parasite is that it will destroy the host.
From the online Oxford;
“an organism that lives in or on an organism of another species (its host) and benefits by deriving nutrients at the other’s expense.”
While a symbiotic relationship can exist as well, in the case of our gut flora.
As a side note, in total cell count, “alien” species out number human cells in our bodies.
So is all of ‘me’ a parasite? What about that “intimate aspect of oneself”, is that also a parasite?
It seems that is progressive. That the initial ‘self’ is otherwise the same as any other mammal. Something happens in humans though. Something parasitic. Very early on in developing an identity, the ‘self’ becomes something which fits the definition of parasite. Before that, it can’t be differentiated from any other animal ‘self’.
So the intimate part of my ‘self’ then is a very early sense of ‘being’. Before ‘i’ became parasitic.
And indeed I did become parasitic. Worrying about my attractiveness came very early on. Obviously this has no benefit to the body as there is nothing a child can do to alter its genetic inheritance.
I always found it bizarre that I could hate the way I looked. That the very body producing ‘me’ could be hated. This body hosted something which hated it.
So it’s a progressive thing. Indeed Richard specifically says a mature adult is a lost, lonely and very cunning entity.
I used to live in a place by the beach with lots of trees. I would sit and watch the parrots (parakeets, cockatoos, gallahs) all squabble and have all sorts of parrot dramas. At a certain point though, they would all calm down and roost. I called it “animal repose”.
They seemed all upset, but then would all end up perched next to each other. There was no wars, I never saw them hanging each other, or any murders. They would do the same thing every day.
Even though it can’t be said that children are “tabula Rasa”, without innate drives, it also can’t be said they are working against themselves.
They cry for milk, to be held, to be cleaned. They look after their body. They have no hatred of themselves. They will smile at strangers on busses.
Any game of peek-a-boo is welcome, and anything that is within reach is fair game from grasping and sucking on.
At some point, this innocent self care, is perverted.
Either way, there must be a place in my feelings where this innocent self care still survives.