Meditation, Identity, and Suffering

This person who seems to reside in your head, behind your eyes between your ears or maybe in your tummy.

That person.

Who has opinions. Likes. Dislikes. Who slices the world up into want and don't want. Deeply. Tangibly.

Who is that person? Where is that person?

This person who imagines a million futures. Few, if any, come to fruition. Grasps the past with a grip, that'd put a bald eagle to shame. The past, which is now just a dream. A dream which tells us something about the present, sure. But nonetheless, a dream.

But somehow this dream contains so much of substance for this person - love, memories, affronts, vendettas, time of life, trauma. Constant mental fodder for this person cow to graze on.

Who is this person?

Is this you?

This person who suffers over something that happened in a dream.

Is this you?