I know I is not who I imagine I is; that I is the protagonist in a narrative being spun, the purpose and intent of which is to make I more interesting, entertaining, and complex so that the story of I never ends.
But when the brain is aware of doing this, it asks, Why must I be an unending story? Why must I be anyone but a human being living in the world as it actually is instead of the world of my imagination? Why can’t I stop believing and live with what actually is?
I wonder who asks all these questions? If it is “I” that is the agent, the generator of all these thoughts, what then is the use of it?
And who will tell me who it is? And will I believe it?
Is it a matter of trust? Do we trust each other? Trust seems important, when dealing with people. Do I trust myself?
I am not sure wherher you put a question here, or that you put a statement with a question mark.
It might seem some kind of detail but to me it makes a huge difference.
We might go into it, if you like .