The self is a story
of selective retelling.
~~
The coincidence of this
specific selection of atoms
spun together,
makes our meanings absurd.
Imagine yourself as not you.
The mirror is imagination,
a short-term illusion
to which we are devoted
with great discipline.
Yet the infinite knows
nothing of me.
So I tremble at the emptiness,
to fill a cup with pain,
or fill it with joy.
Inspired by and paraphrased from The Marginalian article ‘Why You?’
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
1994ever 