Probably, one of the most used words in the history of mankind is the “I”. “I”, the beginning and the end of our life.
“I” which is so important in our lives. Little less do we know life without the sense of the “I” in us, the narrative self. “I” which hides behind opinions, compliments, the attachments it fits itself with, always conceptualising the things inside and afraid of life without its sense.
The “I” loves boasting itself. The same entity which falls weak and insecure facing the dreadful and fearful situations in life, confused and always seeking for a sense of self, the next thing, to stay busy with, jumping from one after another.
It enjoys forming mental images of the people it comes in contact with, comparing and adding on to its pile, an endless pile with no end in its own.
If we don’t hold on to the memory, perceptions and all the externalities that we surround ourselves with, then what is the “I”?
What is the “I” beyond the gathering and accumulations which we hold onto so passionately in our lives?
Underneath the “I” there is life, a life filled with Silence and Warmth, so powerful, so infinite to hold all the forms, inside and outside of us. A Silence which accommodates all of the thoughts, feelings, emotions, sensations of the “I”
So subtle, so pristine to look, to feel, to experience. A life open for everything and everyone, unbiased and untouched.
Life beyond the “I”.