TRANSFORMATION. Fall 2017/Spring 2018 - Page 17

On Identity Anonymous Who am I? Who is this person called me? Maybe I am as society knows me. A collection of memories and thoughts In the minds of others; A thin mist held amongst a collective consciousness. Hardly, There’d be too much conflict. We know the self to be at odds, But contradict it cannot Maybe I know who I am. Aren’t I ever-present to myself; My thoughts and motives always at the forefront of my own consciousness? Again, hardly, There’s likely more conflict here than anywhere. But, I am… Right? This person called Me exists, And exists somewhere; It must be known. For how else could I be Unless I am known? Perhaps then There is a Mind. One that knows Me fully; In all the wretchedness and glory of my humanity; The entirety of my being. Yet plagues me with perceived anonymity In the hopes that I’d reciprocate, In whatever limited way, By coming to know it, And in that knowledge finally find what no one else could: Myself 15