The question of identity, the who we are part of the riddle, is fraught with a beguiling complexity.
After all what could be more complex than one’s self. This palpable, tangible being that is us. Asserting itself in every pang of hunger, the stir of desire and in the rushing headlong into life.
In the relationships that tether our being within time and a social setup.
In our accomplishments. The pieces of paper that attest to our knowledge.
In the ID cards that brightly announce our affiliation to a soul-less entity.
In our calendars, schedules, the GTDs that have captured the major facets of our living.
No less in our agony and torments than our dreams and aspirations.
Each a mirror, a specific reflection of what we are within a specific context. Of a role that we play.
Remove all these. Relationships. Ideas. Memory. Experiences. Strip away the verbs that somehow seem to imbue our nouns with meaning.
How to define what remains, this enigma? Are we as a child? A pristine spot of consciousness? Or a orphaned animal out in the wild of reality?
Which brings us to the question. Are we merely an aggregation of connection end-points established with the external world, within the bounds of a specific time and space.
Are the pulls and pushes of the external the only terms of our living? Is there no independent existence to the ‘I’?
photo credit: Pink Sherbet Photography