As a young lad, I often conceptualized my own brain/mind/consciousness as a simple conversation between two people. In every situation, I worked through my thoughts and choices through this internal dialogue. These two people did not have any shape, ideology, or consistent form, they just existed. My conscious was not a passive observer of this conversation, but would alternate from the two points of view. I suppose I was just talking to myself. I remember this way of thinking alongside my first memories. It is something that has stuck with me over the years. While the two people still exist, I like to paint my mental landscape differently these days. 

Picture a cave. A large cave. Expansive enough where you could shout and your voice would get lost in unseen tunnels and caverns. The lighting is dim, illuminated only by beams of light shooting down from the ceiling of the cave. In the middle of the cave is a still lake. The light bounces off the lake as it is reflected in every direction. Dancing off the water along the cavernous walls. You can hear running water in the distance but its source is unknown. It smells clean – not too clean – but natural and earthy. In the middle of the lake there is a small island. A small boat is beached on the island, fresh from recent use. On the island are the two people conversing, engaged in an endless conversation about past, present, and future, and thoughts, feelings, and choices. These two people, or undefinable entities, are me. They are my consciousness, my subconscious, and my attention.. They only exist in my mind and are mind’s caretakers, governors, and observers. 

The light from outside the cave shines on the water constantly. If you look closely at the water, you can see the reflection of my perceptions of the outside world. Clear, unfiltered, and raw. Most of the time, the two people on the middle island are observing and categorizing the light reflected off the water. When lots of light is pouring through the outside world into the cave, the lake grows turbulent and the water bubbles and froths. The cave is chaotic. The stimulus is overwhelming. Other times, light glows peacefully in the cave and the lake is still. No matter what, the two people on the island stay busy. They observe, interpret, and catalogue everything. Stalactites store memories. Stalagmites grow with ideas. This is typically the nature of the cave on a day to day basis. My mind. 

The main body of the cave is expansive, there seems to be limitless space to explore. But at the edges of the cave’s main body there are tunnels, both small and big. These tunnels either attach to smaller sub-caves, or dark passages unknown. The two people often take the boat across the lake to check in and explore these sub-caves. Some places are frequented more than others. There is a sub-cave for happiness, full of light. Laughter, running, love. There is a sub-cave for sadness, a somber place. Loss, grief, things left unsaid. There are darker caves that are not easy to explore. Tunnels that lead to fear and shame. These tunnels are dangerous. They twist and turn in confusing ways. They corrupt the mind’s main cave if left unchecked. They seem unnatural but they always beckon for a visit. As much as I want to avoid these, they have to be tended to with care and discipline. Throughout the caves, every emotion and feeling has its own place. As much as I venture to any cave, there is always more mining, exploration, and learning to be done. 

I often check in with how the cave is being managed. Have I given the two people all the tools and time they need? Can they observe, act, and love everything they need to? Where am I falling short? Is the cave clean and peaceful or is it overrun with weeds and unwanted creatures frolicking about?

Self-awareness is tricky. I am the cave and the two people inside. Yet I am also aware that they are somehow different. Or maybe that separation is not real at all.