A friend sent me a novel about a woman split into five women, or into the same woman but at divergent ages and personalities. Is there such a thing as being melded together and whole, and how would you ever know?
I don’t believe we are ever truly whole – each of us are simply shards and pieces held together by a few threads that latch on to each other, break, and/or regrow at sporadic times. It gives us room to grow and explore. If we were whole we would stagnate, seeing no reason to change.
I think we are melted together,
with room for improvement and growth, yes;
we are made up of – and affected – by long lines of ancestors.
without those ‘machines’ we couldn’t exist,
and pieces of each of them are in each of us.
I’d say that’s as close to human recycling as we should ever want to come.
most people could easily be split into five, or more, extremely different people. myself for example; i have so many faces showcase to the world, depending on where i am, that sometimes i forget who i am. it takes me awhile to remember that the many pieces and personalities that i have all fit together to make me. no one could ever be a whole, because that would mean we would be unable to mold ourselves when the time was right. if anything were to happen to us, to break us, we would simply shatter without a hope of ever being close to what we used to be. having already been in pieces it’s easier to lose on part, only to gain another in it’s place, and some how adjust to make it fit.
It’s funny, my little sister pointed out to me that each of the main characters of various stories of mine are all versions of myself at different stages of my life or when I’m in certain dispositions. So now when I am acting certain ways she tells me I’m being like one character or another. Which depending on the character can be a good or bad thing.
What is the name of the novel, may I ask?
I don’t believe we are ever truly whole – each of us are simply shards and pieces held together by a few threads that latch on to each other, break, and/or regrow at sporadic times. It gives us room to grow and explore. If we were whole we would stagnate, seeing no reason to change.
Margarettown, by Gabrielle Zevin. It was a friend named Margaret who gave it to me.
I will have to read it.
I think we are melted together,
with room for improvement and growth, yes;
we are made up of – and affected – by long lines of ancestors.
without those ‘machines’ we couldn’t exist,
and pieces of each of them are in each of us.
I’d say that’s as close to human recycling as we should ever want to come.
most people could easily be split into five, or more, extremely different people. myself for example; i have so many faces showcase to the world, depending on where i am, that sometimes i forget who i am. it takes me awhile to remember that the many pieces and personalities that i have all fit together to make me. no one could ever be a whole, because that would mean we would be unable to mold ourselves when the time was right. if anything were to happen to us, to break us, we would simply shatter without a hope of ever being close to what we used to be. having already been in pieces it’s easier to lose on part, only to gain another in it’s place, and some how adjust to make it fit.
Yes, you can be “melded together and whole” after a life time of shattered scatterness. It’s a strange feeling. Now I know what inner loneliness is.
It hurts like hell for awhile and then you get used to it.
Additional relevant novels, short stories, epics:
Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five. Billy Pilgrim has come unstuck in time again.
Harlan Ellison, Shatterday. When a man’s path diverges, he can choose between the prospects.
Norman Spinrad, The Weed of Time. Living life as a parallel experience vice one instant at a time.
James Michener, The Source. The hereditary and spiritual links between the historic inhabitants of the ancient city of Tel Makor.
Each example is a different view of how a person might be part of a spiritual or natural ecology and environment.
It’s funny, my little sister pointed out to me that each of the main characters of various stories of mine are all versions of myself at different stages of my life or when I’m in certain dispositions. So now when I am acting certain ways she tells me I’m being like one character or another. Which depending on the character can be a good or bad thing.