Thoughts and Memory

I am a visual thinker (or so I believe). From a very young age it has always been easy for me to recall a concept or an idea if I could visualise it. History was fun as long as I could avoid dates thanks to Amar Chitra Katha. The stories presented in a comic book pattern helped me remember key things. in the 10th standard we had a part of History known as Picture questions, the questions were on architectural marvels of a day gone by. I could not remember a thing about for example The Ratha at Mahabalipuram (incidentally the question that came for the ICSE in 89) but could remember the Sun Temple, Kailash Temple and Ajanta - all because I had been there. This visualisation and memory aid also helped and helps when I need to understand a concept. Electronics came easy as I always pictured in my head an electron as a person trying to do something that was governed by some physical rule. It is obvious that I think my thoughts in the same manner. A plethora of me all in my head typing away each thought that is then passed to another me that vets and decides if it needs to be taken further. What a brilliant way of drumming things down. Millions of me in my head all doing things simultaneously and another me that coordinates it. 

Does it actually work like that ? Millions you, all in your own mind ?  If so then who are you ? One of the million ? Or the one looking at the millions that are creating these ideas on the typewriter in front of you ? Do you observe the creation of these thoughts and is your existence the same as that of the observer or is it different ? If different,then who observers that observer ? What essentially is the definition of you ?  Visually I cant think of an answer that could help. 

I try to pin down the answer, but the moment I do, it slips away, morphing into another question. If I am one of the million, then am I just a fragment of a larger whole? A cog in the vast mental machinery? Or am I the conductor, the single entity orchestrating this internal symphony? And if I am the conductor, do I truly have control, or am I merely watching as thoughts form, connect, and dissolve like ripples in a pond? Maybe I am not the thinker but the witness—an audience to the intricate performance unfolding in my mind. But if I am the audience, then who is writing the script? It feels paradoxical. The more I try to observe my own thinking, the more distant I feel from it. Like trying to look at my own eyes without a mirror. Maybe that’s the nature of thought itself—a dance between creation and observation, between being the writer and the reader, the dreamer and the dream. Maybe it’s the me tuning in and receiving information from the universe. 

Perhaps, in the end, I am not just one of these roles, but all of them at once.

C