Each self is a vessel only, a conduit for the Self that alone is. My identity as an ego is an identity as a channel only, and the ego is a structure, and not the essence which that structure holds. This ego, this channel is neither the ‘substance’ of reality nor does it endure eternally. For the individual self to accept this fact seems tragic. It means death for the ego as the individual self, as long as I’m identifying with that small self. For the fact that I am only a channel points to impermanence and meaninglessness and death. They arise in form always – these false selves – all consigned to dissolution and void. From this individual side of existence, that demise is a horrible fate indeed. And I strive for a hundred forms of immortality to defend against it, to block out my awareness that this permanent impermanence is my ultimate fate.
Yet when the individual identity to which I cling is surrendered, I aware myself of the fact that what I Am is the ineffable Self. I am coextensive with It. That all I ever was and is and will be is the essence that has moved temporarily through the channel, as water has at one time moved through the trunk of a dead tree. Yet water remains somewhere. It can neither be created nor destroyed.
If I am, then I can only be that which is real. I cannot be what is not real. A fantasy cannot create itself.
What is real must extend to its own boundaries. If reality no boundaries, then we are infinite. If infinity is real, then as part of that reality, we are also infinite. By definition, infinity is everywhere, and we are included within and participate in it.
If I participate in that endless state, my problem is simply that I confuse my small self with my big Self. I believe that my identity is inextricably associated with my body, my ego, my individual name, which are all finite, which have end states in space and time. I create a false distinction between the inner and the outer, and I call ‘myself’ that which lies inside the false boundary of my skin. I make a distinction between the intangible versus the material, and call ‘myself’ the material. Yet I am water as opposed to the channel through which water flows. I mistake my temporary aspect for my permanent one. I assume that my apparent nature is the one with which I am truly identified. Yet my apparent nature – my body, my personality, my history, the face I show the world – is my illusory self, the old clothes with which I dress up my endless Self. I confuse my transitory, individual facet with my infinite, collective aspect. And the very idea of aspect shows I am already confused about who I really am. I identify with my personal self instead of with my impersonal Self. There are no aspects, but only one Self. The ineffable Self alone is real, and the channel through which It flows is only a conduit, an expression of the divine, of the atman, as Hindu belief espouses. Christians might call it love. Carl Jung call it the Self. Whatever term we use, whatever our concept is, this reality, this essence is singularly uninterested in its individual perpetuation, knowing that it is not in danger of being snuffed out. In fact, by identifying with its small self, it falls into dream and delusion.
Intent on establishing its individual existence apart from anything else, the little self seems only interested in proofs. It seems to say to the sacred Self: “Prove Yourself. Prove You are, and if You can’t, then You aren’t. If You can’t show Yourself, then You’re not even a you. You’re a not.”
Thinking that it has disproved the existence of the Self in modern times, in a twilight of understanding that’s been called evening knowledge, the small self only feels more frightened, more certain than ever of its own termination in time and space. What the separated self, what the intellect has missed, is the most obvious point: reality is self-authenticating. Once I accept this fact, all striving for proofs ceases. Knowing surpasses logic. All desire to perpetuate individual versions of immortality is surrendered.
Neverendingness never ends and never needs falsehood to prop itself up. Anxiety, which is the product of the nagging sense of insufficiency that comes from the boundary state of the individual self, falls away like a snake’s last skin. The recollection of who we really are alone is the antidote to a fear that never was.
© 2025 by Michael C. Just
If you’d like to find out more about this topic, you can read Fermi’s Paradox: An Inquiry into the Ends of Civilization, available for free on the Books page of this website.