“I” am no one.
The whole idea of an identity is false. All trouble begins and ends in identity. No “me,” no problem. There’s nothing to protect.
I notice I can become imprisoned by my identity. I don’t want anyone to be upset with “me,” confused by “me,” angry with, “me,” I don’t want anyone to reject “me,” attack “me,” judge “me.” I’m afraid people will hurt “me.” I think, “I can’t do this because that’s not how people see “me.” I must do that because that’s what people expect of “me.” Or will make people like “me.” Or will at least keep them from hating “me.” Me me me me me.
There is a Truth prior to a “me” that is limitless. Then the mind conjures a “me” and suddenly there is limitation, a false limitation of the benevolent truth. There are words for “limitation of the truth:” Words like “confusion,” “obscurity,” “falsehood,” “lie.”
When I’m sane, I let go of the idea that my identity is anything real. I see that it is hologram, invented by the mind in order to navigate its own self-generated dream, a character in a “world” that exists entirely in the imagination.
I notice my identity changes depending on who I’m with. It shifts immediately, snapping violently into being sometimes, drifting gently other times.
There are some people with whom it seems I can do no wrong, others with whom it seems I can do no right.
People with whom I am funny, smart, insightful, loving. People with whom I am halting, unsure.
People with whom I am free and flowing. People with whom I am tense and nervous.
People with whom I’m the funniest person around and people with whom I can’t even think of a joke.
These different identities have different skills, different patterns of speech, different habits of thought, different emotional responses to setbacks.
I notice my identity changes depending on what ‘selves’ I’m with too. I walk along as one person and then I catch my reflection and I’m instantly someone else, someone whose hair is too long. I find that this person with too-long hair has ever-so-slightly different access to love and belonging than the person who was just walking along. I also find that this is a person I could never have been before I looked. And I find that I am someone else again just as quickly when someone I trust compliments my hair. I literally become a new person.
The truth is, I am none of these identities, meaning I am none of these limitations.
I am no one imagining I am someone and I’m always wrong except in my made-up story. And sometimes believing I’m right about who I am hurts terribly (but only when I’m an identity that gets hurt by such things).
If I want to be free, I can work on clearing up who I truly am.