I’ve written about this quite often over the years, but I always forget it. I am my brain. Whenever I remember this I feel as if I’ve been hit by ton of bricks. This thought simultaneously fills me with horror and wonder, while also raising all sorts of ethical questions as to how I should live my life. Why should this be? After all, I’ve become accustomed to the proposition our selves are housed in our brains. I take it for granted, as an immediate and obvious truth about the world. Yet somehow that truth never quite sinks in. While I can mouth the words– or think them –the implications and truth of this statement quickly seem to withdraw. I understand it abstractly, but not concretely.