COGITO ERGO SUM

What is thought? “I think, therefore I am,” (cogito ergo sum) was coined by Descartes in his Discourse on Method (1637). In the quest for certain knowledge in the field of Metaphysics (the study of the fundamental nature of reality) he posited: I may doubt many things, but doubt must be thought by an entity, and thus is proof of the reality of the mind that thinks and there must be a self in order for their to be thought.
    It does seem to me that thinking can lead us to consciousness, shapes us, makes us aware of ourselves as individuals--in fact, we "are." Of course there are factors that may determine how and what we think, both negative and positve. When I tried to remember my first inclination toward thought, it seemed that it evolved out of sense experiences--going from from feeling to thinking.
    From an early age, there were two places where my senses were fully engaged: library and church. Both were on the steepest hill in my town, and I visited each regulary. In the quiet and beauty of each place, I was removed from the ordinary, taken away from the drab row houses up and down my narrow street, from the rumble of the train on the elevated rail nearby, from my school with its paved recess yard, gated with a high, black iron fence. And so, I entered the silence of these places with a natual reverence for and anticipation of what I would experience in each, with its own purpose and solace. It was in these "sanctuaries" that I first imagined things extraordinary beyond time and place.
    In the church, especially before and after services, I took in the marble alter's gleam, streaming light from jeweled windows, statuary of somber saints and watchful angels, echoing sounds, tiered rows of votives glowing through red glass, air rife with incense, and the image of a tortured human being hung on a cross. The senses were brimful wonder, imagination, questions and intuition of the mystery of it all.
    In the liturgy of the high mass, there was the chanted litany (naming) of saints, and the congregation's response, "ora pro nobis" (pray for us). It was hypnotic. Later, when English became the language of the liturgy, we could hear the appellations given to the Mary (referred to as the Blessed Mother of God), and they alone were enough to stir the imagination into thought: tower of ivory, house of gold, queen of angels, morning star, mirror of justice, mystical rose. mean to a child?-What could these mean to a child? to me they were images of beauty and mystery.

    Then there was a prayer learned in prepartion for first communion. Though I no longer participate in organized religion, the last few words of that prayer still come to mind. They inspired a thought in me, one I believe with all of my being to this day: "...only say the word, and my soul will be healed." Though it was a prayer to God to say the healing word, I felt it was also a revelation that a word/words can heal, and has been proven to me many times over in my life--both my own to others and others' words to me. Aren't we,  supposedly made "in the image of God," also co-creators, and certainly have the oppotunity to speak and receive words of healing  

    

    Then there was the library, another place of peace and joy, a great castle-like library with its turrets, granite steps leading to the portal--a carved wooden door-- a child could barely pull open. Its fairytale appearance was part of the alure of it, and its inner sanctum was no less mysterious than that of the church. To "hear' the silence, to see the shelves stacked with books, waiting to be opened to transport me to everything and everywhere that was not me and my world. If I could have described the feeling then, it may have been, “so many books, so little time." So little time to make the delightful decisions to bring home only a few each time, mostly choosen by their covers, titles, first few sentences or an illustrations within.
    As a yonger child, one book whose cover called to me was Silk and Satin Lane. I may have also been drawn in by the "s" alliteration, and imagining how silk and satin would look and feel (I had never seen or touched either). It had a bright pink cover with silhouetted children holding umbrellas, dressed in unfamiliar garb. In pre-adolescence, I was drawn to another cover with the face of a young woman looking out at me with a wisdom way beyond her years and with a sadness in her eyes that I somehow recognized. It was The Diary of a Young Girl: Anne Frank

     I related to her experience of being a young girl, as she wrote of experiences, feelings and thoughts about relationships with family, here inner life-- from a girl my own age. She had such insights and  tender feelings. A figure from the past she was, yet a signficant part of my present, and an inexplicable sense that she was also a “future person.” From her, I also took in what is most noble and true about being human, in her words:  But, it was also where I first learned about the Holocaust.
    It's a wonder I haven't abandoned all my ideals; they seem so absurd and impractical. Yet I cling to them because I still believe, in spite of everything, that people are truly good heart…. I must hold on to my ideals. Perhaps the day will come when I'll be able to realize them!
    What I felt then when I first read this passage from Anne was similar to when I heard that prayer about healing words. They have  remained with me as a force “breathe in.” Such thoughts impart hope, are felt as light, can be called upon again and again as a source of strength and even of actions taken with consciousness and conscience: right speech and trust in humanity.
    As I matured, those feelings in the church and in the library transformed into thoughts which nourished another part of me-- the "I am." Thoughts are real, living and present within me, yet transcendent, combine with others to create new thoughts that also inspire my wrirting. 

    In those early years, I sensed, and now I know that the sounds of words have formative forces to engender reveries, imaginations and inspiration, but can also harm, cause pain and be destructive. They have the power to impact and even change minds and the course of history, transforming the world—for better and, unfortunatey, also for ill.
    As I was awakening to pain and pleasure, to beauty, ideas and ideals, there was an inner seed being nourished with these essential elements, sending down roots in the darkness and silence of soul, which, many years hence, have put forth blossoms--emerging into the light of expression through my writing.

    “I think, therefore I am”? Or, is it that “I am, therefore I think”?