Dr. Singh placed her feet on the floor and leaned forward, her hands on her knees.
“That’s very interesting,” she said. “Very interesting.” I felt briefly proud to be, for a moment anyway, not not uncommon.
“It must be very scary, to feel that your self might not be yours. Almost a kind of... imprisonment?” I nodded.
“There’s a moment,” she said, “near the end of Ulysses when the character Molly Bloom appears to speak directly to the author.
She says, ‘O Jamesy let me up out of this.’ You’re imprisoned within a self that doesn’t feel wholly yours, like Molly Bloom.
But also, to you that self often feels deeply contaminated.” I nodded.
But you give your thoughts too much power, Aza. Thoughts are only thoughts.
They are not you. You do belong to yourself, even when your thoughts don’t.”
“But your thoughts are you. I think therefore I am, right?”
“No, not really. A fuller formation of Descartes’s philosophy would be Dubito, ergo cogito, ergo sum.
‘I doubt, therefore I think, therefore I am.’ Descartes wanted to know if you could really know that anything was real,
but he believed his ability to doubt reality proved that, while it might not be real, he was.
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