The Membrane separating the Subjective and the Objective

When I was in primary school (before my life-enhancing eye operation), my teachers would say about me "that Michael is often in his own little world"; a little absent-minded professor with a massive vocabulary but lacking in social skills, not particularly conversational. "Umm! You're in trouble with Miss!" I'd hear after return from a few days' off school with flu. I wasn't, but I'd scare easy (an epigenetic trait, I strongly suspect) and children can be cruel.

As a coping mechanism between the intrusions of the outside world upon my consciousness, I have found the notion of a membrane very useful. The fear has long been overcome.

A semipermeable membrane. On the one side, the subjective conscious experience of being me. On the other, the objective reality, the world, the cosmos, we can all agree upon. (It's summer and it gets dark late, it's hotter than spring or autumn, and all the trees are green.) But on the subjective side, I haven't the foggiest idea of what it's like to be you, nor you what it's like to be me. As individuals, our experience can only be subjective, though we can share memory of events. Through different prisms.

I can draw that membrane around me and disappear from view on my beloved działka - my own space in nature, far from the road, surrounded by trees and bushes and meadow-grass, flowers and birdsong. Stepping out, I choose the path that will ensure my solitude; long walks unbothered. A chat with friendly neighbours is always welcome, catching up and sharing local news. But once out of my immediate environs, I am cautious. 

The notion of eyes without a face, moving across the earth, observant, but preferring to be unobserved.

Persona, personality, how you interact with other people, as you make contact with the ladder of authority, with the status hierarchy. Strangers wanting to position themselves in relation to you, telling you what to do. If I'm comfortable with friends and we know where we are, there's no problems. But an initial contact may prove uncomfortable - and here the membrane helps. You know the reality of consciousness; you rise above the moment; out of body almost - you can see the situation unfolding, but you are not really there...

The consumption of alcohol helps me pass through the membrane with greater ease. I become more garrulous. Easier to communicate those complex thoughts that I'd usually keep to myself. And indeed, easier to write - I have supped back half a litre of Browar Perun's excellent First Contact APA. Words connect to each other; they come tumbling out unbidden. And socially too - socialising during Lent feels like much harder work than with a glass of wine in hand.

But within the membrane, all is well, my consciousness is content; driven onward by curiosity and observations that help make sense of the world around me.

UPDATE 7 July 2023: Just watched a YouTube video with philosopher Bernardo Kastrup - he uses a similar concept, which he calls 'the dissociative boundary', beyond which one is no longer associating subjectively as a first-person consciousness.

This time five years ago:
Meditations upon the Piccadilly Line

This time six years ago:
S7 extension from airport to Grójec gets go-ahead

This time seven years ago:
Metro Wilanowska redevelopment gets under way

This time nine years ago:
Local politics, local politician

This time ten years ago:
Communication breakdown

This time 11 years ago:
Getting ready for the opening of Modlin airport

This time 15 years ago:
Maybugs in July - a plague of cockchaffers