Everything Changes, Even the "Self"

Most people are conditioned by the societies they belong to in order to apply conceptual labels to the constantly shifting stream of mental and material phenomena. For example, when we look carefully at a table, we still label it instinctively as a table, even though we can see that it is not a single thing but something composed of many different parts: a top, legs, sides, a back, and a front. In truth, none of these parts could be identified as the "table" itself. Really, "table" is just a name we have applied to a phenomenon that arises and dissolves quickly and that merely produces the illusion of something definite or absolutely real.

In the same way, most of us have been trained to connect the word "I" to a stream of experiences that confirm our personal sense of ourselves, or what has come to be called the "ego". We feel that we are this singular and unique entity that remains unchanged over time. Generally, we tend to feel that we are today the same person we were yesterday. We remember being teenagers and going to school, and we tend to feel that the "I" we are now is the same "I" that went to school, grew up, left home, got a job, and so on. But if we look at ourselves in a mirror, we can see that this "I" has changed over time. Perhaps we can see wrinkles now that did not exist a year ago. Perhaps we now wear glasses. Perhaps we have hair of a different color, or perhaps we have no hair left at all. At a basic molecular level, the cells in our bodies are always changing as old cells die and new cells are generated. We can also examine this sense of individuality in the same way we looked at the table and see that this thing we call "I" is actually composed of many different parts. It has legs, arms, a head, hands, feet, and internal organs. Can we identify any one of these separate parts as definitively the "I"?

We might say, "Well, my hand is not me, but it is my hand." But the hand is composed of five fingers, a palm, and the back of the hand. Each of these parts can be broken down into even smaller parts, such as nails, skin, bones, and so on. Can each of these components be defined as our "hand"? We can follow this line of investigation down to the atomic and subatomic levels and still face the same problem of being unable to find anything we can definitively identify as "I". So whether we are analyzing material objects, time, our "I", or our mind, sooner or later we will reach a point where we realize that our analysis no longer holds up. At that point, our search for something irreducible finally collapses. In that moment, when we stop looking for something absolute, we experience emptiness for the first time, the infinite, the indefinable essence of reality as it is.

As we contemplate the enormous variety of factors that must come together to produce a specific sense of individuality, our attachment to this "I" that we think we are begins to unravel. We become more willing to let go of the desire to control or block our thoughts, emotions, sensations, and so on, and we begin to experience them without pain or guilt, taking in their passage as manifestations of a universe of infinite possibilities. In doing this, we recover the innocent perspective that most of us knew as children. Our hearts open to others, like flowers in spring. We become better listeners, we become more aware of everything happening around us, and we are able to respond with more spontaneity and appropriateness to situations that used to worry or confuse us. Gradually, perhaps at such a subtle level that we may not even notice it is happening, we find ourselves awakening to a state of mind that is freer, clearer, and more loving than we could ever have imagined.

But it takes great patience to learn to see these possibilities. In fact, it takes great patience simply to see.

Excerpt from "The Joy of Living: Unlocking the Secret and Science of Happiness" by Mingyur Rinpoche.