The ambiguous self,

That ill-formed conglomeration

Of ideas gleaned from our experiences

And our imaginations

And what others tell us

Lumped into a single concept

That I call me

And you call yourself.


I imagine my own dear parents

Searching their own imaginations

And thumbing through little books

Looking for a name for me

Which would make them proud

Or seem right,

Not knowing who I would become.


And so, we go on

Adding to the mixture of who we will be

Making declarations and proclamations

Of what we come to know,

The things that we have done,

Professions we have mastered,

Concepts and Precepts galore

Gathered along the way

Forming a multiple persona of who we are,

Useful, we hope, in any situation

We might encounter,

Which we try to keep

Cohesive and consistent

Throughout our lives.


Each new accumulation

Dividing us further from the other,

Me from you and they from us,

We take our imagined selves

Far too seriously

Until we forget

Who we really are,

No longer believing in our oneness.


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