I am Not What I think I am

A story from the long road of self-realisation

One day, many moons ago I first had the realisation: I am not what I think I am.

In a Zen temple hidden away in a small Japanese village I had my first taste of the delicious nectar of BLISSFUL BEING.

It was fleeting but the memory of the feeling lingered long after: Wholeness. Oneness. Infinite peace.

The taste became a little flame, which in curiosity I gave space to burn brighter. I meditated for hours a day, basking in the connection to parts of me I had forgotten existed.

But dark clouds were stacking on the horizon. I was a 23 year old with a craving. For what?  Some vague notion of “success”, imprinted into me by family and culture.

So I moved to the city, got a corporate job… and shuffled with the herd from bus to train to skyscraper office, day after day, week after week. I become a rat in a race.

I was determined to win.

But winning meant chasing, striving, forcing, so much doing. Soon, the memory of BLISSFUL BEING was a hazy memory. The last tendrils of stillness faded away with each line of white ego-powder I snorted off the rank toilets of dingy London pubs.

I conformed. I began to hunt for this concept of “security”. 

But… day by day I felt more insecure. The more money I had the more terrified I was of losing it all. 

I became worn out pretending to be someone important.

Deep within I sensed a cosmic joke playing out... and in bowing to my fears, I was the punchline.

But without conviction, wisdom, wise elders or tribe…  without another path, I followed the crowd, played my role in the charade. I too became addicted to suffering. I found strange dark power in being a victim. 

I worked longer hours. I made more money. I justified my choices. I scorned and judged others. I became cynical…. To distract from the fear and the shame I felt for hiding my true self. 

Outer “success”, inner pain. What a paradox. What delusion.

Ego is a master pretender, basking in fake splendour. It’s loud voice drowned out my spirit. It’s constant jabbing ground me down. It’s incessant attacks had me laying on the floor, in a chokehold, ready to submit.

I loathed what I was becoming. 

I returned home each day to numb myself with substance abuse. My creative impulses died in the womb. 

I heard myself talking to colleagues about “the dream”…. but it feels like cheap fantasy, because I’m far too afraid to live it. I’m locked in the system now. Plugged into the drip of validation.  

I hear myself like a broken record: “One-day I’ll…..”. 

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But…  lo and behold: the one day actually arrives…

I’m close to exhaustion, breakdown. Unable to sleep at night,  my nervous system is in emergency mode. 

I’m close to rock bottom. Adrenals are shot. Self loathing reeks. Most overweight I’ve ever been. 

But....In the darkest of caves a memory is rekindled. 

A treasure locked so deep in the vaults. Hot coals somehow still alight: A memory of that taste of Zen unity, wholeness and infinite peace. 

I hear the whisper: “Just let go."

The urge to rebel against the dark side is conceived. But it's a terrifying gestation. I know that something has to get ripped apart and die for something new to be born. 

But I shuffle closer to the edge. To jump requires full surrender. 

It means severing the cords of image of and security and a million buck a year. Family and friends know me as someone, I have roles to play, and I play them so, so well!

I’m attached to their perception of me. They see me as successful. I like that.

"Who am I... if I'm not this? 

What will life be like on the other side of surrender?” 

“How I give up all I have strived so hard to attain?”

 I have no answers.

I wish there was an easier way to find out than jumping into the void. But there isn’t. 

Yet still I hesitate. The mind does what it does. Casts doubt.

I think of family expectations, money, career, future prospects. 

I try to create plans. I second guess myself. 

I look for safety. I think of reputation. I fantasise about the well-worn path. “Is selling out is really that bad?”… everyone around me does it, and just gets on with it.

“You idiot!”, my ego screams, playing the bad cop. “Stick it out, make more money, get more secure… then go dream-chasing”. 

Then my “good cop” ego whispers tantalisingly: “Be grateful for what you have... isn‘t it enough?”. 

Play it safe! What if you’re not good enough? What will they think of you? What if you fail?

You are NOT GOOD ENOUGH! YOU ARE NOT ENOUGH. KEEP CHASING MORE…. Kudos, money, titles, roles, projects…. The more you have the safer you will be!!! 

Death spasms of the ego… it’ll say anything to stay in charge.

But I shuffle closer to the edge… it feels like I’m right at the end of the pirate’s plank… swirling ocean beneath me. I look back holding tight to anything I can grasp.

The fear is crippling. I have no map. My wings are untested. 

But somehow I draw breath... and I plunge into the void. 

I choose love over fear. 

I choose vulnerability over false security. 

I choose to know nothing than to pretend to know it all. 

I choose mystery. 

I choose surrender. 

I choose to let go. 

I quit the rat race… Sayonara. Ciao. Thanks for the good times.

I leave the city, head for Bali… and I find stillness and space in a sacred place. 

And there I stumble once again on the knowing in the slowing... 

more being less doing...

Soon I’m flowing.

Mama Ocean glowing… full power growing. 

Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhh. 

I feel my natural innate, wild powers begin to return. 

Up at dawn. Sunlight pouring into my cells as I surf upon liquid energy all day. 

I meditate, breathe, play.... and remember who I am. 

But then the real work begins.

The treasure I seek lies within the darkest of dark caves. 

So I plunge into the abyss where the secret fears fester, the gloop and the gunk that only I know. 

Like an archeologist of the soul I bring what I find into the light of awareness…. 

To be inspected. It churns the stomach and makes me want to run away from this work. 

I find pain and blame, psychological games… 

 control, guilt, projection, shame.

But I keep deep diving.. and it keeps coming up.
 

Again and again. And again. And again. Over months and years… a decade and more.

I think I’ve cleaned out my closet.. only to see something lurking in the shadows. 

To deal with it I must see it… forgive it, accept it, love it. 

It’s a warriors path, I see why they say that.

But as I keep at it, a new kind of skill builds. 

New wisdom fills the spaces where before lay fears. 

The ego kicks and screams but I see it more clearly... I stalk it. I out it with laughter. 

The delusion is fading. I am slowly awakening...  

to the simple truth beneath all the conditioning:

I never was my name. I never was my ego. I never was that suit who put on 15 extra kilo’s.

I never was this identity-bundle of fears and beliefs. 

I never was this social construct of labels and titles.

I never was this personhood. 

I was always the silent witness. 

I was always pure awareness. 

I was always an indescribable fractal of consciousness… 

an “aperture through which the universe is observing itself” as Alan Watts says.

I learn to harmonise with that which I am. I learn to align my mind with nature, with source. I learn to flow with life.

Thanks for the growth, for the knockdowns, for the reminders.

Thanks for helping me understand that to love ferociously and live fearlessly … is the gift we have for the taking in this miracle called life.

Much love, Jiro

p.s Sometimes I wish I had a guide on this path. Get in touch if you want one!