In “identity and the self“, a friend is writing about another who takes on the pseudonym “Clarissa” in a weblog. He wonders at the duality of human nature, “This is a spatial issue. We can, I believe, inhabit two spaces simultaneously. To myself, in my own thought space, which is all the world at a precise moment, and the circular, bubble-like space of others, who do not know me or may not know me. In other words, I am always known and unknown, and, of course, these “positions” are “real” depending on orientation.” But I think there’s more, and call it multiple personality order.
Very few of us are just one face and nature. More than disposition and more than mood, we move among our peers in reaction as well. My previous post might be an example. Susie Framer and Susie Marshmallow fought for control to handle a situation appropriately. Professional is what this couple sought from me, yet human being cannot be held at bay completely, nor could it be allowed to override the need at hand.
Obviously, here in Spinning I have displayed conflicting natures that show up clearly in the style of writing. From hard-ass to swooning maiden, from clear definition to wisps of truth and feeling cloaked in pretty words. We all can do this; we all do.
We change as well, adding new dimensions. I’ve somewhat abandoned proper grammar upon occasion, dropping verbs and subjects indiscriminately in favor of painting pictures. Unrestricted by form or rules—that is the freedom of prose, and yet it’s written from the heart as if the heart did not sit in on English classes. But we don’t converse the way we write, and sometimes, when I think I sound Poe-ish or Victorian, I realize that most likely the literature written then did not in truth reflect the normal discourse of their day either.
Sometimes I’ve seen the change on people’s faces that signals a transition taking place. At meetings, people sit around a table—watch them, one grows silent, reflective, changing as he listens to what is being said. And when he finally speaks, he is different than he was a short bit ago.
I seek most that thin line between the layers.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology