Sometimes it's all just too much.
Michael Pollan's A World Appears has broken my brain. I can't let my mind run free; I'm constantly wondering if I am thinking the thoughts before they are verbalized in my head.
Is it my neurons firing or is it me, whatever that means. Do I exist outside of the chemical and electrical impulses in my head? Pollan notes that this problem is, in some ways, unsolvable since we cannot extricate ourselves from ourselves and observe ourselves from the outside.
See what I mean? Thinking like that can really tie your brain in knots.
A kinesthesiologist chimed in on the subject this morning, giving me a very complex description of what goes on in my brain when I think or move. Pollan calls this materialism or physicalism, the need for something quantifiable as an explanation.
But Pollan dabbles in psychedelics. He meditates. He spends time on silent retreats.
Do plants have consciousness? Do newborn humans? Is consciousness a sense of self or is it the self itself.
There I go again.
I'll leave you to it.