I feel myself when I am by myself.
There are two selves, the self and the I.
Physical and social characteristics define the self. It was born on a certain day and will die one day. Meanwhile, it has eyes with which to see.
The I, by contrast, has no name or form. Birth did not create it nor will death destroy it. It is not so much the seer as seeing itself.
As others regard the self, so it regards itself. The I, on the other hand, gains nothing from others’ good opinion and is untouched by their scorn.
In the marketplace of the world, the self rises to the fore. In every encounter, it renegotiates its standing. Meanwhile, the I is dormant.
Only in the silence of solitude does the I emerge. There is, then, no more self or other, only the witnessing of what appears. At last one feels oneself.
The feeling of being oneself at first comes most naturally when one is alone. But the mystic learns in time to be alone in the crowd: to be, not merely a self among selves, but an I among I’s.