Muted and absorbed in the internal workings of my brain I paused and looked up.
I can see you working, typing, reading, taking notes, but what's really going on in your head? Is there a backdrop similar to mine, a continual hum of things remembered, things to do, scraps of conversation, questions? Or is there pure focus, nothing appears before you but the work, you hear nothing but the words on the page? And as I'm having these thoughts you must be thinking too. And I wonder what. And I am fascinated by the fact that I can never know, that I can never step into your stream of consciousness. I can never tell where your mind is, where your thoughts are.
In the poem Two in the Campagna Browning explores this idea of the impossibility of knowing another's mind. I find scrawled in the margin of my lecture notes the question: Are we running at the same speed?
And I wonder whether I might be running to keep up with you, to catch up with you, or whether we are running together? And I realise that this is something I can never know.
365-09 #28
I can see you working, typing, reading, taking notes, but what's really going on in your head? Is there a backdrop similar to mine, a continual hum of things remembered, things to do, scraps of conversation, questions? Or is there pure focus, nothing appears before you but the work, you hear nothing but the words on the page? And as I'm having these thoughts you must be thinking too. And I wonder what. And I am fascinated by the fact that I can never know, that I can never step into your stream of consciousness. I can never tell where your mind is, where your thoughts are.
In the poem Two in the Campagna Browning explores this idea of the impossibility of knowing another's mind. I find scrawled in the margin of my lecture notes the question: Are we running at the same speed?
And I wonder whether I might be running to keep up with you, to catch up with you, or whether we are running together? And I realise that this is something I can never know.
365-09 #28
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