The Flexibility of "I"
La flexibilidad del "yo"
A question about noticing the sense of "I" more clearly, and whether that noticing means something needs to be eliminated or changed.
The Flexibility of "I"
A question about noticing the sense of "I" more clearly, and whether that noticing means something needs to be eliminated or changed.
When I say "I," there's a noticing of which part of experience jumps out in response. It's not that I always feel there's an "I," but more and more I notice something, not really a thing exactly, but some very subtle response assigning itself to the reference of "I." And it's noticed. It's noticed to a point where I don't really feel entirely attached to a referent of "I" when I say it.
So you're saying you're not attached to that which "I" references.
Right. It's not very strong, and the attachment is more noticeable. The sense of "I," the feeling of "I," is noticed more and more. It's just a sense that feels like "I," and that sense is noticed more and more.
The trouble with defining what "I" is
There's nothing wrong with "I." The trouble comes with having a definition about what "I" is. We don't experience it as "Oh, I define 'I' to be something." The experience is "I know what I am," which is different from "I know that I am."
So "I" can be forgotten, as you say. But then you can go back to it, have a conversation, use it freely, playfully. All of that is possible. It's not about eliminating any reference, experience, or sense of what "I" refers to. At one moment, "I" could be just the experience of a tree or watching a sunset. At another moment, "I" is the experience of being in a relationship with coworkers, involved in that dynamic, that space.
"I" as a tool
There is a flexibility and room for "I" to go anywhere: expand, contract, disappear, reappear. It's a tool. It's like a hand. It can be useful. I grab water, I drink it, I play piano, or I forget about it. But it's that flexibility and openness that matters, the fact that it can be everything and nothing.
The trouble is when "I" becomes a thing that I know what it is, that cannot be anything else, that has to be this in a certain way. That's when the mind becomes really tormented.
Totally. That is really the point. Whatever is happening is not fixed to any particular point. It's constantly a point, but it's not fixed to one.
Yes, exactly.