LucidSoul

This is a question I dare not answer. If I said to you “I am that,” it would be untrue; “that” is over there, created as nothing more than imagery derived from habit and conditioning and then separated from me the moment the words take form and divulge a meaning of their own. They flood my mind, asking to be worn, yet if I accept… I must realize that I existed prior to wearing them so how could it be me?

Parent. Child. Student. Teacher. Diligently, I have stripped away the layers of myself, searching for one thing I can pin down…one thing that if removed “I” would no longer be, yet the longer I observe the less I am able to answer. That is, of course, unless you count some useless list of credentials presented in an attempt to compensate for my ignorance, in which case, I have a few. 

It seems that no matter how far I spiral inwards everything continues to point towards me but is not truly me. It is the center attempting to point at the center and it can’t be done. ”I” cannot be gotten to from the outside, and from within I cannot see. I will always be blind to myself because I am the one looking. I cannot tell you who or what I am…because I am, and the center can only be the center.

Who am I?
I only know by being, but how can I tell?