Internal Mechanisms

Whoever I thought I was, whoever I thought I’ve been all these years, proves more questionable with the passing years. The cells, molecules, atoms, proteins, enzymes that comprise me, this body, are me, but not me. Cells and molecules aren’t personal. This configuration of them is me, but I didn’t configure them. I had nothing to do with it. My father’s sperm, mother’s ovum, the whole idea of sperm and ovum, the whole idea of fingers and thumbs, legs and hands, hair and skull, eyes and nose and ears, aren’t my ideas, I wish they were, it’s fabulous, how all these things work, feet that keep me erect, allow me to run, walk, climb a tree, all this agility, suppleness, structure, all the evolution that led up to this, all the organisms it took to get here, the microbes in my gut, we’re all one happy family, a constellation of goo and sugars, amino acids, fatty acids, glycerol, lymphatic vessels, a symphony of globules and salts, bile pigments and bacteria. And this is me. Which isn’t me. I’m not doing any of it. It’s doing me. It’s being me. All this stuff. All this internal heat in the body comes from the earth. So what is the me in this equation? That sense of self I’ve been pushing around all these years, getting it out of bed to do things, eat, read, ingest, express itself in sounds, in words, the clothes I’ve chosen to wear, that’s me, the choices I’ve made, the choices I continue to make, with the help of chemical activity, the liver, which is the greatest source of internal heat in the body, which begins at breakfast, scrambled eggs, toast with jam. Stimulated peristaltic activity, essential amino acids, enter into the process and give this being, my being, the being that I’m being, energy and satisfaction, a smile because it tastes so good, and makes me warm. Makes me want to get up and write down what it’s doing to me. Making me do. Desire. The dynamic behind everything. Even in one’s so-called twilight years. The desire is there. To keep going. Keep talking. Keep writing. Keep on keeping on. Wear a cardigan. Guffaw. Pour another cup of coffee. Sit down and think. Fly the mind around like a helicopter. Emerge. Come forth. Discharge. Throw something out there. Anchor it on a word and make a web of words. Try to catch a pair of eyes. Another interested mind. Engaged with the same issues. Tissues. Spectacles and textures. Digits and stitches. Trying to get it figured out. Before it goes. While it goes. Being a person, these particular particles, this particularity temporarily holding a position in space, seeking transformation, another note in the performance, this sonata, this regatta, this impregnation of thought in a vertigo of uncertainty. This persistence, this groove scooped out of oblivion, chance, hazard, here now, here in this.