My Self
I was told to try and find myself
As if I were a dropped pair of keys along a hiking trail,
And if I were to ever move forward, I’d have to stop and look,
Searching my memory and my thoughts to find
Where I had misplaced myself.
Perhaps I am my body,
For it is mine, and I can move it at my will.
But, if I were to chop off my hand, would it also be me?
Am I to think I’m also my skin, my blood, my liver?
Perhaps I’m not there after all.
Perhaps I am my brain,
For it is where I feel to be, watching behind my eyes.
But, if it were copied down to atoms, would that also be me?
If my brain were split in two, would I be two of me?
Perhaps I’m not there after all.
Perhaps I am my neurons,
For their network is how I perceive anything at all.
But if they age and lose their strength, do I stop being me?
And if I replace them one by one, when would being me end?
Perhaps I’m not there after all.
Perhaps I am my memory,
A construction of events that tell my story.
But I don’t remember being born, or the words I said last year.
And if I were to forget it all, I would still continue to be.
Perhaps I’m not there after all.
Perhaps I am my consciousness,
A continuous stream of awareness in the world.
But, if I were copied in full, with each thought and memory,
And they continued ‘my’ consciousness, would they really be me?
Perhaps I’m not there after all.
Perhaps I am nothing,
A trick of the light, a mirror with no reflection.
I cannot find myself because there’s no one there to find.
I cannot be an ‘other’ because there’s nothing to separate me.
Perhaps I’m not there after all.
I don’t know if I can find myself.
If those keys exist at all, they’re lost along that hiking trail.
So I’ll walk on, becoming someone new in each moment,
And when I reach a point where the path is locked before me,
I’ll break down the door instead.
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