The most stubborn, relentless, and downright obnoxious fucking thought you’ll ever have is the one that keeps feeding you the lie of “me” and “I.” That endless, yammering voice that runs through your mind like a broken record, telling you that you’re a “someone,” a self that matters (or worse a self that doesn’t matter), that’s got responsibilities, goals, and shit to do. But here’s the liberating truth: there is no one there. That “self” you’re so wrapped up in? It’s as real as a shadow on the wall—a flicker, a wisp, a whisper. You’re chasing a ghost that’s been haunting you since birth.
And make no mistake, this ghost is goddamn relentless. Miss a day at the gym? Skip something on your to-do list? That voice kicks up, berating you with labels—lazy, useless, not enough. But here’s your infallible comeback: “Who are you calling a lazy loser? There’s literally no one here!” That voice is barking at an illusion, tearing down a construct that was never solid to begin with. It’s like a dog barking at its own reflection—intense, illogical, and completely pointless. There’s no “self” here to judge, no “me” to take the blame. Just a thought ricocheting off the walls of an empty room.
The self? It’s a puppet held up by thoughts. It’s nothing more than a mental construct, a story the mind tells itself to make sense of the chaos. Picture it like a character in a never-ending novel, desperately trying to stay relevant. But it’s just that—a story, fiction. There’s no core “you” hiding behind your thoughts and feelings, no little captain at the helm. Just the same mental loop, day in and day out, a neurotic DJ playing the same tired track of “me, me, me.”
This illusion of self is painful as hell. It’s a parasite, a relentless trickster that latches onto every thought, every feeling, every ache, claiming, “This is happening to me.” It turns every wound into a dagger, every disappointment into a personal failure. Every time something doesn’t go your way, the self pipes up, telling you it’s your problem, your inadequacy, your fault. But there is no “you” to take it personally. There’s no solid entity to be hurt. Just energy, just motion, just the ebb and flow of the universe.
Imagine this: you’re in a carnival funhouse, mirrors everywhere, each one showing you a distorted reflection. You keep reaching out, thinking you’re touching something real, but all you’re grabbing is thin air. That’s the fucking self. That’s the “I” you’ve been taught to protect, to build up, to perfect. It’s a trick of light, a reflection bouncing around inside your head, and every time you believe it, you’re just grabbing at fog.
And the moment you see through it? The pain evaporates. The fears you wear like armor fall off. The resentment you’ve been harboring loses its grip. Because there’s nothing there to hold onto. No “I” to be hurt, no “me” to be insulted, no “mine” to protect. You’re just movement, just energy, just the pulse of the universe, raw and real and utterly free.
So drop it. Let go of the lie. Stop feeding the “me” machine. You’re not some fixed entity navigating life. You’re the dance of life itself. When you quit looking for yourself in that thought-loop, you realize you were never there in the first place. You’ve been the damn universe all along.
And in that moment, the pain stops. The suffering evaporates. Because there’s nothing left to hurt. No “self” to protect, no “me” to defend. Just the open, boundless experience of life, happening here and now, free from the prison of identity. The cosmic joke isn’t on you—it is you. So laugh. Let the illusion fall. The ego is just a shadow in the light of what you really are.