Reflections of a Different Kind

Have you ever passed by a shop window or a mirror and done a double take?  Recently, that's happened twice.  The first time I thought I saw my grandmother.  The second time I thought I saw my father.  Each time, upon a second look, I realized the reflection I saw was my own.  Funny, the reflection in my mind's eye is so different!  No wonder I didn't recognize myself.  Since then I've stood in front of the bathroom mirror studying my aging features, looking for the similarities I have with those long dead relatives.  And they are there, of course, for better or worse.

That got me to thinking about age, my age in particular.  That self-reflected image I carry in my mind I mentioned above?  Well, I would guess the age of that person to be early 40's.  And my self-image in terms of my energy and my intellect?  Most times I feel even younger than that, especially after a good workout.  And yet, the mirror clearly tells a different story.  It says I am, indeed, 62.

That got me to thinking about the "me" behind the physical facade.  It's like my body is a container wherein resides my person.  The container definitely looks less for the wear but the person?  She doesn't feel worn at all.  In fact, she's feeling more empowered and vital than she's felt in years.  I wasn't aware of this duality when I was younger.  The body and the person fit together pretty well back then.  They complemented each other.

So what happens to "me" when the container no longer functions?  When the container restricts the energy of "me"?  Sure, I know, there are those who have pat answers to that question but I've not been able to reconcile those answers with what I have experienced, what I've observed, and what seems logical.  Will the energy of "me" disperse into the universe, possibly joining with the energy of others who've gone before?  Will it transfer to a new container?  Or is there a bigger energy that will draw "me" to it, like a magnet or into it like a black hole?  Or does it just fizzle out, like one of those sparklers we used to light for the Fourth of July?  This last is the least satisfying thought.  I just don't see my body as fuel for "me".  I don't see the aging of this body as being the result of expended fuel.

Anyway, I feel a disconnect between "me" and my body, that's real.  Just as real as the disconnect I felt when I first glimpsed my reflections, mistaking them for past relatives.  Beyond that, it's all conjecture.