Before I begin: my father’s surgery went very well and he’s back home today. They gave him an epidural like he was having a baby, cut him open, did their thing and closed him up again.
This whole experience has got me wondering again about how the body is just a machine and the parts get run down and it is all so impersonal somehow. There is something frightening about being a machine. I was writing to a dear friend and professor about this in hopes of understanding it better:
I used to see the body as an impersonal machine and sometimes I felt that there was no soul or spirit inside, or around it. My awareness was something I could not understand at all. I didn’t know where my awareness or imagination lived. Then I thought it was maybe inside my body – a body that plotted against whatever I was. My existence seemed to depend on this physical machine. Later I realized that I have been culturally programmed to resist my body – to deny it and to feel shame because of it. Maybe that also made me separate it from my existence. All of this was theoretical of course.
Maybe it is an unhealthy obsession of mine. Maybe that is a value judgment, irrelevant in this situation. And I need not drag in cultural programming either.