I mention myself as if I know
who I am.
As if I exist in the way I
suppose.
Allude to my identity, which
has never
revealed itself as to who I might
really be.
I’ve never fathomed myself to
see how deep I go
or grasped myself to see what
I am made of.
Instead, I’ve gone all these
years without proof
on the childish assumption
that somewhere
under this skull, behind
these mortal ears and eyes,
there is a definite, knowable
point –
an abiding seat of judgment
and resolution which is me,
continually plotting (and
lifelong has)
the course of my existence –
responsible for who I am,
what I do, what my life has
been and will be.
All my life, I have taken myself
for granted –
that I exist in the way my
mind tells me I exist.
O child of God, to find out
who you are
seek an authority above the
mind.
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