Layers of the planet

When I was a child I was interested in animals, flowers, micro-computers (I am old), and astronomy. I loved those onion-like schemes of the planet earth showing the different layers; secrets of how giant planets look inside. Also liked a lot those other schemes of how the human body is by the inside. I used to disassemble things to see how they work (still do). Later in life started to search the relation between symbols and meanings. Everything is the same on this regards since I was a child: want to know how things work. Indulging food to my curiosity gives me a sense of reassurance, of being sure on how I should relate with the environment. Making instead of assisting. My moral scale developed over my curiosity of how the good and the bad works on the life of a person and a society.
The opposite pleasure was hearing my mother reading me bed-time stories; so since those times, I'm an art appreciator, beholding instead of making.
When I notice this kind of things, I am amazed of how much evolution has been in my life, but how small amount of change in the base of my personality too. I've won grown up values, but the childhood impulses keep being the same, only filtered by different behaviour. May be to other people it happens the same. That issue it's maybe a big part of how Being works in this life: your behaviour filter will boost or refrain your impulses, for better or worst, according to your evolution or lack of it. If I remember well, I heard something like that in my psychology classes during my rebel highschool years. :-)

An exaggerated sliced planet. As the body parts have functions, we are spiritual planets with different layers for different purposes. Telescopes, microscopes, a beautiful mystery to unwrap, "as above, so below".

This onion-dome holds all intricacies
Of intellect and star-struck wisdom; so
Like Coleridge’s head with multitudinous
Passages riddled, full of strange instruments
Unbalanced by a touch, this organism
From wires and dials spins introverted life.
It never looks, squat on its concrete shoulders,
Down at the river’s swarming life, nor sees
Cranes’ groping insect-like activity
Nor slow procession of funnels past the docks.
Turning its inner wheels, absorbed in problems
Of space and time, it never hears
Birds singing in the park or children’s laughter.
Alive, but in another way it broods
On this its Highgate, hypnotised
In lunar reverie and calculation.
Yet night awakes it; blind lids open
Leaden to look upon the moon:
A single goggling telescopic eye
Enfolds the spheric wonder of the sky.

Sidney Keyes, "Greenwich observatory".