Reflection: Death of “Me”

There is a kind of death that brings freedom, not the death of the body, but the death of the constructed “Me” This "Me" is made of identities: the one who is kind, resilient, playful, curious, creative... The version of myself I present to the world, and to myself. Or the roles that society assigns: engineer, artist, woman, friend…

But what if I’m not that? What if I am not any of the roles I play, or the labels I wear, or the history I carry? What if I am not even my thoughts or feelings, but simply the one who notices?

This death is not destruction. It’s dissolution, a soft shedding, a return to something simpler. Like the sky letting clouds pass. Like water no longer clinging to shape.And in that letting go, something vast, peaceful, and deeply alive remains: Pure being. Presence. Awareness. Flow.

It’s not easy, I still feel the pull to cling, to define, to anchor myself in something solid. But I’m drawn to the idea that by letting go, I become more real. That in surrender, I find space, softness, and truth.