Self-centered?

I seem to be anyway, I spend enough time thinking about me at any rate. Self-centered? Well yeah, I concede that is the definition. I also concede I fit the definition. The question I keep asking is, is there anything wrong with that? The concept of an individual’s universe being centered on themselves, to me, appears obvious and unremarkable. All that I perceive has existence, and therefore relevance, only insofar as I have the ability to perceive it. Nothing in the universe exists unless I exist to witness it.

It makes for an interesting meditation at least. Sitting alone in space, feeling you own center as a one dimensional point in space-time. Take just a few moments to ponder just how tenuous, fragile, and utterly unlikely that point is. Letting awareness and existence reach out from that point to my body, the air around me touching my body, that air touching everything around all of us everywhere on the planet and then fading out to the infinity of space around us. Beyond space, what? Other dimensions of space or time or levels of existence or even non-existence larger or smaller, perhaps folding into geometries unimaginable to the lower animal mind. That poor excuse of grey matter we are both blessed and cursed to carry about, wrapped up in flesh and bone for just a short time in this place of most random choice.

Understand and or explain existence and the universe? Some days I can’t even find my keys or remember to take my vitamin in the morning. I just smacked the back of my head under the table because I neglected to consider its physical existence as I stood back up after petting the cat! Sure, sit right down and allow me to explain the universe. That would be pompous to even attempt, which is a whole separate matter from being self-centered. As with many things in life however, there is a flip side to this meditation. Do I exist without the universe? There would be no me to see what’s around without what’s around to give me a place to be to see. You see? The vast universe and all it contains and whatever contains it, if it perceives or acknowledges my infinitesimal point in the eternity of space and time at all, must need me as little as I needed the motes of dust traversing the sunbeam through the window. Do you know what those motes are mostly? Dead skin cells that flake off of my body every minute of every day. They were useful to me for a little time but now drift about on their own. Unneeded derelict bits of me no more important or noticeable than me to all of that around me. You see?

The major problem with this meditation is that it becomes a kind of Mobius strip between existence and awareness. I often encounter the semi-permeable membrane between me and you in this thought. The exchange of a glance between two individuals which results in the existence of a thing known as you, and a different thing known as me in the reality of each other. In that instant, that interface or perhaps, interference pattern which collapses the wave function into a definite point. Me! You! From these two, two more and then four, each point touching at least two more, a collection of more and more and more. A wave once more as ripples expand from just the glance as we pass in the door.

Just like that in an instant lost in the infinity of all, you are the most interesting person I know.