me
Rating: 11 point(s) | Read and rate text individuallyI finally found that the force at the center of the universe is not me.
| Amount of texts to »me« | 130, and there are 118 texts (90.77%) with a rating above the adjusted level (-3) |
| Average lenght of texts | 127 Characters |
| Average Rating | 1.300 points, 24 Not rated texts |
| First text | on Apr 8th 2000, 04:29:37 wrote me about me |
| Latest text | on Nov 1st 2015, 12:46:02 wrote carolyn stewart about me |
| Some texts that have not been rated at all
(overall: 24) |
on May 31st 2005, 19:51:15 wrote
on Dec 25th 2001, 04:11:13 wrote
on Nov 2nd 2013, 16:45:53 wrote |
I finally found that the force at the center of the universe is not me.
Doe, a deer, a female deer
Ray, a drop of golden sun
Me, a name I call the rational, conscious part of my brain. Freud called this the ego, or self. So what are the parts of me that aren't me? Do my subconscious thoughts share my existance, or just interact with it? Can I (being »me«) assume responsibility for the uncontrolled actions of my id and superego? And if this is »me«, then who the hell are »you«?
It is funny but over my life of 63 years (so far!) I have always been the same me. I recognise some changes in my decision making abiliites, and my hopes and desires, but I am still the same me I remember about 58 years ago. (I don't remember much before then.) Maybe others who have actually grown up into adults have changed more. I have had a problem with growing up--to bad I have no problem with growing old.
I wonder if anbyone else feels the same?
The dance stops. The men walk back to the walls, and talk in low tones or with their hands. There is little conversation, yet everyone seems to be sharing some secret. A woman looks at a small boy wandering away, and he comes back to her.
Strange, I think, and then remember. These people are not sharing words they are sharing a mood. Everyone is happy. I am so used to white people that it seems strange so many people could be together, and because the night is beautiful outside, and the music is beautiful. I try hard to forget school and white people, and be one of these my people. I try to forget everything but the night, and it is a part of me...
I look around the room. All the eyes are friendly; they all laugh. No one questions my being here. The drums begin to beat again, and I catch the invitation in the eyes of the old men. My feet begin to lift to the rhythm, and I look out beyond the walls into the night and see the lights. I am happy. It is beautiful. I am home.
| Some random keywords |
pleasure
Iowa
pioneer
tribe
muscle
|
| Some random keywords in the german Blaster |
caligarismus
niemals
Telefonzelle
N
RobertHabeck
Backpfeife
Stadttheather
|