A painting by Ismael Nery
My name is Marcin Dolecki [I encourage a reader to use her/his own name]. In this way I usually introduce myself. I live in …, I work at… etc. Hm, I`m thinking hard, what could I write here…
But who is actually the one who is pondering on that? Who is the one who calls himself Marcin Dolecki and thinks, he is this person?
Not so easy, anyway: who then is the one who is thinking about the self now?
And in turn, who is the one who is thinking about who is the one who is thinking about the self?
This strive to grasp the self would be endless, hopelessly futile. “Something” is constantly slipping away. If I might suppose I succeed, I could ask who is the one who has just thought, he managed to achieve it? And this peculiar game would begin once more.
Perhaps the self does not exist? But I have to exist in order to be able to deny anything, even the existence of myself.
I`m not an object, one of the many others I see in the world. All objects are or could be given to me, but I do not posess any of them. If the self is not visible even to me, it is all the more not visible to others, and the invisible one could not acquire anything. But Marcin Dolecki is visible to many people, and he posess some objects.
The self is nameless, beyond any thoughts, imagination, nevertheless always present, unchanging.
How could I assume that the self is unchanging? I do not have any reason to think otherwise. I`m not able to see any changes of myself, for I cannot observe myself at all. I might only perceive my changing thoughts, emotions, etc.
The journey toward the self is the most beautiful, great adventure that could happen to me. I don`t see the goal, but I couldn`t get lost, because I would not leave myself. This wandering might start only when I`m ready to give up the all pursuit of the self. Paradoxal.