Consciousness and body: Thoughts and memories

What is this life anyway? Suddenly out of nowhere, as young children, we become cognizant that that we exist. Is there one moment that this happens, like a bolt of lightning, or is it a gradual process? I guess I should not refer to my own experience as “we” because it’s too much to assume that my experience is the same as that of other people.

I remember when I was three years old, watching my Mom ironing, and being acutely aware of existing as a self or consciousness. I wondered if other people were like me – looking at the world from the inside, like looking out of a window – but I don’t remember the exact moment I became aware like this. I have always been aware of myself as a consciousness that interacts through my body but which is a separate entity from the body, dependent on the body to interact with the world but not dependent on the body for existence. There have been times in my life when I was so insanely busy with the activities of life, such as when my kids were in school and sports, that I forgot for years at a time that my self and my body were not one and same thing. But whenever I have slowed down enough to contemplate, I remember and get that awareness again.

I’ve always assumed that other people have the same sense of essential self but now I am wondering if this is an incorrect assumption. For example, I have come across quite a number of people who proudly claim to be pure materialistic atheists. They say they believe this material world is all there is. So then ….. I guess they must not perceive themselves as a consciousness separate from their material body. Otherwise, how could they believe there is nothing other that the world of matter?

I suppose there must be a variety of ways to perceive our own existence, but the only one I can experience directly is my own. Reading and writing fiction – or acting – are ways we can imagine experiencing the consciousness of another person, but we still have to draw upon our own consciousness to even imagine. Since Jesse died I have done a lot of reading on the nature of consciousness and especially near death experiences. From my reading I gather that when some people leave their bodies they can then experience the consciousness of other beings.

For example, in Heaven is Beautiful by Peter Baldwin Panagore, the author tells the story of nearly freezing to death during an ice climbing expedition at the age of 21. During his NDE he experienced all the times he had hurt another person – either intentionally or unintentionally – from the point of view of the other person. So I suppose he was able to experience the consciousness of other people.

 

baby pic
Jesse – About 17 months old
When Jesse was born he was like all healthy infants: he could suck and cry and sleep and not much else. Very soon he could smile and gurgle and grasp my little finger. I wondered about his perceptions – whether he was already looking out of his own window – and was excited about seeing this newborn transform into a person with his own thoughts, personality, and memories. I did not have to wait long. I thought about how he would always remember me as his mother and pictured him as an old man remembering his childhood. I felt determined to do what I could to make those memories sweet ones. I never pictured myself remembering him after he was gone.

 

I do believe he remembers me now and I look forward to the time when he and I can remember those sweet childhood days together and together solve the mysteries of consciousness. I am sure of one thing: there is plenty more to find out.

 

It is well with my soul

It has been a while since I wrote something here on my Jesse blog. I am pretty sure I have been going through the depression stage of grief and for me this means that when I sit down to write the spirit to do it is absent. I wish I could write. I have things I want to say. But I cannot seem to do it. I find would rather lay down on my bed and watch apocalyptic conspiracy theories on YouTube.

I had the intention, sometime after starting this blog, that I would scan the hundreds of pictures I have of Jesse and honor his life by writing about the wonderful memories. But right now it is difficult for me to deal with the photos. I am trying to clean the junk out of house, get rid of all that is unnecessary, and in my cleaning I keep running across photos – and report cards and certificates and t-shirts, all kinds of mementoes of the 23 years he lived as my son. I just sigh and put the photos and things aside. There has been a Shiny Computers t-shirt in my laundry basket since before his death and I have not been able to bring myself to remove it. I am trying to get functional and am trying to avoid falling into these caverns of loss.

I have to breath deeply and remind myself of the basic facts:

  • This world is not all there is. It is a speck in the ocean of eternity.
  • Jesse lives in eternity. He now lives in the presence of our Father in Heaven and His son Jesus Christ.
  • Jesse was not perfect – none of us are – but he was saved from damnation by the death and resurrection of our Savior. So he is alive now, fully himself as created by God.
  • I am still here on this speck. I have to try to live the rest of my life as well as I can, which means I must give each moment to God and do each thing as to the Lord.
  • Soon enough I also will be in Heaven where I will be reunited with Jesse, as well as my parents, in-laws, and many others.

I was not a perfect mother. I did many things wrong, sometimes out of flawed understanding, sometimes out of fear, sometimes out of selfishness. I am most devastated by this last thing. But as I will discuss in a moment “….my sins are nailed to the cross and I bear them no more.”

190px-horatio_spafford
Horatio Gates Spafford, from Wikipedia

These words come from an old hymn that I heard this morning on my way to work: “It is Well with My Soul.” Of course I’ve known this song for many years and used to sing it with choirs, but it touched me this morning even more deeply than it usually does. The hymn was written in 1873 by Horatio G. Spafford. Spafford wrote the hymn on a ship bound from New York to England where he was travelling to meet his wife after she had survived a horrible shipwreck. Their four daughters however – Annie, 11, Maggie, 9, Bessie, 5, and Tanetta, 2 – had all drowned.  Two years earlier the Spaffords had also lost a 4-year-old son to scarlet fever. Interestingly, Jesse also came down with scarlet fever at the age of four, the only serious childhood illness he had. What happened to the Spafford child is a reminder that many of us get to live longer lives due to the blessing of modern antibiotics.

The part of the hymn that touched me the most today was the third stanza about his sin being nailed to the cross and bearing it no more. This is because when you lose a child you tend to dwell minutely on every mistake or possible mistake you made as a parent. This self-blame makes a heavy burden even more tortuous. He was the one who had sent his family ahead of him to England on that ship. He could have unreasonably dwelt on that fact, searching for fault in himself as to why he did that, but instead he chose to dwell on the fact that all sins, all errors, are truly washed away by the blood of Christ.

It is Well With My Soul

When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,
It is well, it is well with my soul.

Refrain:
It is well with my soul,
It is well, it is well with my soul.

Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
Let this blest assurance control,
That Christ hath regarded my helpless estate,
And hath shed His own blood for my soul.

My sin—oh, the bliss of this glorious thought!—
My sin, not in part but the whole,
Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more,
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!

For me, be it Christ, be it Christ hence to live:
If Jordan above me shall roll,
No pang shall be mine, for in death as in life
Thou wilt whisper Thy peace to my soul.

But, Lord, ’tis for Thee, for Thy coming we wait,
The sky, not the grave, is our goal;
Oh, trump of the angel! Oh, voice of the Lord!
Blessed hope, blessed rest of my soul!

And Lord, haste the day when the faith shall be sight,
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,
Even so, it is well with my soul.