ššš šš šššš āšā?
I say āIā all day long.
Iām tired. Iām hurt. Iām right. Iām misunderstood. Iām healing. Iām spiritual. Iām over it.
Most days, I never ask who Iām talking about. The word feels obvious. Of course Iām me.
This body. This name. This face. This story. This nervous system. This history of being praised, hurt, loved, rejected, seen, unseen. All of it gets wrapped into one tiny word:
āI.ā
Then life starts happening to that āI.ā
Someone says something, and I tighten. A memory comes up, and I become ten years old again. A desire appears, and my peace depends on it. A fear shows up, and the body believes danger is here.
A thought appears, and somehow it becomes mine. A feeling appears, and somehow it becomes me. A story appears, and somehow it becomes my life.
Then I spend the day defending something I have barely investigated.
Who is this āIā that needs to be seen correctly? Who is this āIā that gets offended so quickly? Who needs the apology, attention, proof, last word?
When I look honestly, most of what I call āmeā is old material replaying itself: a tone of voice from childhood, a survival pattern, fear of abandonment, a need to be special, a belief I inherited, a wound I named as identity.
Then there is something quieter.
Something that sees all of it.
The reaction before the justification. The sadness before the story. The child reaching. The adult pretending. The ego dressed as wisdom.
So I keep returning to the question:
Who is there before the defense? Before the story? Before the mind explains itself to itself?
Sometimes, even for a second, the answer is silence.
No performance. No identity to maintain. Just awareness, watching the whole thing move.
The deepest freedom is seeing how much of the āIā I defended was only something passing through.
A thought. A wound. A memory. A role. A reaction. A name. A story.
All appearing, all changing, all being witnessed.
Beneath every version of āIā the mind created, there has always been this quiet awareness.
Watching. Holding. Untouched.
That is where the question leads.
Not to a better āI.ā
To the silence before the āIā is formed.
Art By Bradley Snook Art
#spirituality #selfawareness #mindfulness #innerwork #nonduality
In my own experience, the question āWho is this āIā?ā often arises during moments of emotional intensity or when faced with lifeās uncertainties. I used to think that my identity was a fixed set of labels and roles I carriedāmy job, my relationships, my successes, and failures. But over time, I noticed patterns repeating, old fears and conditioning bubbling up, telling me stories about who I am that were not necessarily true in the present moment. What really helped me was developing a practice of mindfulness and self-inquiry. When emotions such as anger, sadness, or frustration surfaced, instead of immediately reacting or defending myself, I started to pause and observe. I asked myself, "Who is feeling this?" Through this practice, I began to recognize that many of the reactions I identified as āmeā were transientāpassing thoughts, inherited beliefs, or repeated survival strategies from childhood. Beneath these fluctuating states, there was a quiet, steady awareness observing everything without judgment or attachment. This awareness felt like a space of freedom, where no label or story had power. It was neither defined by past wounds nor future worries. Just pure presenceāsimply watching the unfolding of life within and around me. This exploration also revealed that the āIā we often defend is fragile and tends to cling to identities to feel safe. Yet, true peace emerged when I loosened these attachments and just allowed myself to be, even in discomfort. For anyone on a similar journey, I encourage practicing moments of silent observation. Next time you say āIām hurtā or āIām right,ā try stepping back and noticing who or what is making that claim. You may find, as I did, that beneath the noise, there is a calm space of awareness waiting to be discovered. This realization does not diminish your experiences but frames them within a broader and more compassionate understanding of self. Ultimately, knowing the āIā before it forms stories or defenses leads to greater emotional resilience and authentic connection with oneself and others.
