I’m getting on a bit, 75 next month. When do I find this ‘I’? Is there something to be found, a soul perhaps?
I’m no more certain now than at any time. There are narratives of course and they change too, theories, fictions.
The conceptual mind is a filter, within the body, itself a filter; always changing. Consciousness escapes identification as an object. What seems fixed and permanent is an illusion. As the waves roll in over the sands of time, ‘impermanence is the footprint of the absolute in the relative.’
