In a perennial flux
from altering beliefs, thoughts, personhood
to every cell in the body
we mature, we transform, we adjust
perpetually puzzled about our identity
and definition of self
Is there a constant self?
Am I the one who was born
or the present version of me?
Do I identify with the body or the mind?
‘my’ body, ‘my’ beliefs, ‘my’ this, ‘my’ that.
Who is the ‘my’ and who is the I?
Like the ever repaired Ship of Theseus
our identity becomes a paradox
incessantly progressing, developing
How do we identify our ‘selves’ then?
Have we in our piddling little corners
turned ourselves into conundrums?
We are the thought that is yet unaware
of its vast consciousness; we are the drop
trying to be the sea instead of mingling into it
we are divinity blinded by intolerance, by vanity
until we remove our blinders, we will stumble
make darkness our home as we search for the light we are