I've been told I was born in such a place, on such a day, to such parents who named me so-and-so. I have no recollection of such an event so I just trust the records, which is what I need anyway for legal purposes and for everyday practical purposes. The quest for a deeper sense of identity requires some further investigation.

Of course the story goes on and on and on: moved hither and thither, learned this and that, attitudes, dreams and hopes, work and career, feelings and emotions, marriage and children, depressions and waking up... yes, the wonderful story of me! And there would be much more, so very much more to tell... but let us just drop it all, shall we?

Let’s just drop the "wonderful story" of "wonderful me" because it would be just another story, not unlike the tales of Harry Potter or Mary Poppins or Pinocchio; the difference being that the latter are enormously more real, having impacted on millions of people, while the former is less real, having impacted on a few dozen people at the most. Not to mention the difference in writing skills!

Let’s just drop the story of "my" life and listen to the poet instead:   

​

                                      "Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player                                                                                                                                That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,                                                                                                                            And then is heard no more: it is a tale                                                                                                                                          Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,                                                                                                                                        Signifying nothing."

The story of "me" is nothing but a story because, upon closer inspection, there is no real "me" to be found, only passing concepts. These may provide a seductive platform for identification which generates a limited, contracted sense of self, which escalates into some kind of uneasiness and frustration, and eventually into plain sufferance. Ask yourself: Who am I? See if you come up with a permanent and fully satisfying answer. Better try the other way round, by elimination: I’m not this, I’m not that, I’m not the other. This little game is called "self enquiry". You may fancy trying it.

Who/What am I then?                                                                                                                                                                        "I" can never know this, "I" can only "think" of being this or that because thinking is all the "I" can do. And thinking is nothing but managing concepts, which feed on other concepts, particularly the opposite ones. So whatever one thinks one is, one is not that, precisely because one thinks it.                                                                                                                             Is there something wrong with thinking then? Absolutely not. Wonderful occupation, the result of millions of years of evolution if you like. The trouble apparently arises when there is identification with the contents of thought, which is the depositary of total and inevitable conflict.                                                                                                                                         A gloriously wonderful occupation, thinking is absolutely useless when it comes to the quest for identity. 

What, then, are we left with?                                                                                                                                                         

Well, all there is is this: this reading, this sitting, this breathing, this sipping a beverage, this thinking, this what have you. But nobody’s reading, sitting, breathing, sipping a beverage nor thinking. All these actions apparently occur without any real entity being in charge or control.                                                                                                                                              All there is is this, whole and perfect as it is, because it cannot be other than what it is right now. At times it may appear pleasant, at times unpleasant, at times neutral. Call it (if you must) what you like: Nothingness, God, Dao, Unconditional Love, Sunyata, Brahman, Cosmic Consciousness, Energy… Boundless is my favourite because, as far as I can tell, it has no opposite. All these are just labels for concepts anyway, doomed to implode or be crushed and pulverized. They may indeed point to "Something". They may indeed elicit a resonance. Some action/reaction may follow and that’s alright, time for celebrating worldly life... with no one celebrating.                                                                                                                       What a relief!