I feel quite detatached when I look at old photos of myself in childhood, as if it was someone else who was there. Then I thought that, as every single cell in your body changes over time, it sort of is someone else. What's left that's the same? Talking about this on a walk across the park this morning (for croissants and coffee), my sister reckoned it's your soul, but someone else piped up that its data and information that is the constant throughout.
I thought 'soul' sounded nicer myself.
We then got onto the subject of how thinking uses up calories, your brain requiring a good blood supply.
I feel very pleased about this, as I can now count my morning and evening Sudukos as a work out, even though I am sitting in bed with a cosy cup of tea. How fantastic is that? I was also reassured that it helps keep my ganglia in nice, straight lines thereby avoiding Alzheimer's.
Which reminds me of a photo in the paper this week, someone had knitted an anatomically correct brain in pastel colours. There was something disconcerting about it, but I can't quite pinpoint what. Perhaps it's visulising my lovely, well aligned ganglia as 'knit ones, purl ones' all tangled up around the needles.
It made me wonder what colour wool would you choose to knit a soul?
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