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.

What do I do if I don’t even know who I really am?

There was an old Batman episode where Batman meets Clayface, a former actor with the power to assume any shape or identity he chooses.

During their showdown at the end, Clayface is surrounded by screens showing all the roles he once played as an actor. He can’t help but reflexively become each one he sees, frantically flashing from one to the next. Continue reading