Big drama at the salon yesterday, centering on one woman's inability to accept that she is not, in fact, the axis upon which the Earth spins. No matter how many times I learn and relearn this, I am surprised at how completely each of us is the star of our own story.
When I visited my brother earlier this summer, we trotted out lots of old memories. As he told several stories, I stared in wonder. "You were there?" I asked. I literally did not remember his presence at the events he was describing. Jeff is four years younger, which explains a lot. Basically, he was a nuisance I tried to ignore much of the time.
Still, he was the center of every story he recounted, which was rarely the way I remembered the same events. In my memory, it all revolved around me.
Neither is true. Both are true. The subjective nature of reality fascinates me. A former counselor, a strange and wise old soul, used to tell me there are always twelve possible realities. Probably. Especially if there are twelve people in the room.
4 comments:
The star of our own stories.
We are, aren't we. Very interesting post.
It's all an illusion, isn't it? Just like Narcissus' reflection in the pond...
Is this post about me?
; )
It is, right?
This is why I loved "The Poisonwood Bible". Because of the way it was told from the different perspectives, but all the same events. I think that is brilliant, because it is so true, what you say.
:)
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