Who am I?

Who are you?” someone asked me today, and I couldn’t find the words;

All I ever held true and dear, seemed suddenly so absurd.

How do I answer? What do I know? I’ve struggled for so long;

The answer may not seem right, but I know it won’t be wrong.

This question I’ve asked a hundred times, I had to ask once more;

What I am I may not know, but what I’m not I’m sure.

I’m not this name I call myself, I’m not the man you see;

I’m not this actor on life’s stage or who I pretend to be.

I’m not this aging body, nor this mind no longer clear;

I’m not my fading intellect, nor thoughts so filled with fear.

I’m not my constant questions nor uncertainties at night;

No, not these doubts that fill my head nor opinions that seem right.

The five senses I’m not – not feeling, taste, or soft touch;

Not loving sounds that ring so clear, or sights that hurt so much.

I’m not the flame that burns so blue, nor God’s infinite space;

The bubbling stream, the parched earth, nor the breeze upon my face.

I’m not the wind that howls at night, not waves that crash so loud;

Not a gently falling snowflake, nor the softness of a cloud.

Not pleasures that last forever, not some fleeting pain;

Not a loss soon forgotten, nor everlasting gain.

Not in an infant’s trust am I found, nor in its mother’s pride;

Not in a husband’s loving touch, nor in eyes of his bashful bride.

I’m not a soothing mantra, not the peace a ritual brings;

I’m not a holy pilgrimage – nor how true some sermon rings.

Not in Christian sacraments, not in a Muslim prayer call;

Not the words in all holy scriptures – but I’m the truth that lives in all.

I’m not the grieving sinner, earning for heaven so high;

I’m not the burning fires of hell, nor the broken penitent’s sigh.

I’m not a friend who brings laughter, nor an enemy causing fright;

Not a brother to depend on, nor some stranger in the night.

I’m not a baby’s first sweet breath, nor the one at life’s last bend;

Never was I born at all, nor will I have an end.

I’m not passion that shines so bright, nor greed or hate you see;

Pride and lust come and go – as does the love in me.

I’m not the tender hope of young, nor sad regret of the old;

I’m not the prayer of the weak, not in the strength of the bold.

I’m not the one experienced, nor the experiencer can I be;

I simply exist in this world, just as this world exists in me.

Not the five sheaths of this body, four forms of life are not me;

Not three types of awareness, nor the duality that you see.

I’m not the waker who walks the walk and so well that plays his part;

I’m not the dreamer of my dreams; nor the silent sleeper in the dark.

I am the Fourth – witnessing all these things, I’m pure consciousness and bliss;

Eternal and true, devoid of form – As infinity I exist.