The contents of consciousness contend in me
 And collide to form what’s “I” to me.
 What’s more, down beneath all the bitter clash,
 I know naught at all but in a briefest flash
 That is no more than a moment forgotten –
 Till I sense what’s in me by it begotten.

Featured image: ‘Seascape,’ by Claude Monet (c. 1880-1890).

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2 thoughts on “Contents”

  1. Much of what I think of myself consists of fragments of memories that do not seem to have much relevance in my present life. Seems that my image of self based on incomplete memories and present self awareness does not agree 100%

    • Understandable point, since who we are now is surely not who we were in the past. Not only are we physically different, in that our cells are constantly being replaced, but mentally we are different from our past selves as well, to some extent. I suppose that’s both hopeful and frightening: hopeful if we look forward to changing for the better; frightening if we predict we’ll end up worse. Most everything is a double-edged sword.


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