Have you ever lived for any amount of time without (or beyond) identity? What was it like to get there, and how was the experience?

Sometimes I’m aware enough of my ongoing identity crisis to glimpse the sheer silliness in my utter desperation to lock down a livable “I” blueprint at all costs.

Describing the experience of watching myself shift between viable “I” models might sound somewhat Suesswellian…

But to me it’s been finding in the place of any actual “I” only that which awareness and conception might convey of an ever shifting “why” that merges in each moment as combinations of forces occurring to me as values each and all wanting to use my life to exist.

Living without identity always leads me back to asking: What if there is no real “I” beyond just an idea given to account for and make sense of an evolving “why”?

Or: What would it mean if “why” causes “I,” so “I” is a story that exists only in relation to “why”?

Though ego works with every framework to hold me to my current story, sometimes the constant shifting shows me also what’s beneath.


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