Who Am I, Really?

Who am I, really, beyond my body, my thoughts and my history? This question, simple as it seems, lies at the heart of every spiritual search. Through the image of the garment borrowed from the Bhagavad Gita and the more contemporary image of the avatar, this article invites us to distinguish what changes in us, the body, the mind, the personality, from that conscious presence which alone remains: the soul.

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Who am I, really, beyond my body, my thoughts and my history? This question, simple as it seems, lies at the heart of every spiritual search. Through the image of the garment borrowed from the Bhagavad Gita and the more contemporary image of the avatar, this article invites us to distinguish what changes in us, the body, the mind, the personality, from that conscious presence which alone remains: the soul.

We easily say: “my body”, “my thoughts”, “my emotions”, “my history”. But who is this “I” to whom the body, the thoughts and the history would belong?

This question seems simple. Yet it lies at the very heart of the spiritual life. We are used to defining ourselves by what can be seen: our face, our age, our profession, our social standing, our character. We say: I am young or old, educated or ignorant, happy or unhappy, married or alone, working or without work. All of this describes our existence, but it does not say who we truly are.

The Body Is a Garment

The body changes continuously. The body of the child is not that of the adult, and the body of the adult will become that of an elderly person. When we look at a photograph taken decades earlier, we sometimes find it hard to recognise the person in it. Yet the one looking at the photograph knows: “That was me.” The face has changed, the body has changed, tastes, ideas and habits have changed. And yet the person remains, at the core, the same.

In the Bhagavad Gita, Krishna uses the image of the garment. Just as a person casts off worn-out clothes to put on new ones, the embodied being leaves behind a body grown old.

The body is thus presented as a garment of the soul: precious, necessary for a time, but distinct from the one who wears it.

We are embodied in a body, but we are not only this body. This is not a matter of despising it. A garment protects, allows us to act, and must be cared for. The body is the instrument of our earthly existence; it deserves to be nourished, cared for and respected. But when we identify with it entirely, its ageing, its limitations and its appearance become the measure of our worth. Yet our worth does not depend on our face, our strength, our health, or how others see us.

We Are Not Our Thoughts

Thoughts change even faster than the body. A thought appears, stays a moment, then disappears, replaced by another; some are reasonable, others absurd, some encourage us, others accuse or frighten us. If you were your thoughts, you would change identity every time a new thought crossed your mind. You may think in the morning that all will be well, then be convinced by evening that all is lost.

Yet something within you knows these changes. You know a thought is present. You notice an emotion. You observe it shifting or settling. The one who observes the thought cannot be reduced to the thought observed.

The mind is a tool needed to organise life, understand a situation, work, speak, plan and remember. It becomes a source of confusion when it stops being an instrument and becomes our master, and we begin to believe everything it says. A thought asserts: “I am worthless”, and we take it for truth. A difficulty arises, and the mind concludes: “I am a failure.” Yet there is a profound difference between saying: “I have known failure” and saying: “I am a failure.” Failure is an experience. It is not the one who experiences it.

The Person We Present to the World

Each of us has a personality, a name, a history and a place in the world. This person is neither useless nor false. It allows us to live alongside others, to take on responsibilities, and to accomplish what needs to be done.

It could be compared to an avatar. An avatar acts within a given universe. It meets other characters, goes through events, and takes on a particular appearance. But the one who uses the avatar is not reduced to it.

In the same way, our social self acts in the world. It works, loves, raises children, learns, succeeds or fails. It may be a doctor, a baker, a teacher, unemployed or retired. These circumstances carry real weight in life, but none of them defines our deeper being. Our social function tells us what we do. It does not tell us who we are.

The trouble begins when we confuse the avatar with the one who animates it. We then look at ourselves solely through the world's criteria: usefulness, success, money, recognition, youth or status. If these things disappear, we believe we disappear with them.

But the one who loses their job does not lose their being. The one who grows old does not become less real. The one others overlook is no less worthy.

The Soul and Misplaced Awareness

We are, essentially, the soul, that conscious presence which passes through existence and knows the changes of body, mind and personality. The soul is not a thought about ourselves. It is not a nicer image meant to replace a negative one. Repeating “I am a soul” is not enough to realise it; we can say the right words while remaining entirely identified with our fears, our desires and our judgements.

The confusion does not come from some evil being lodged within us. It arises from misplaced awareness: we take as our centre what is merely an instrument or a passing experience.

When awareness identifies with the mind, every thought becomes personal, every emotion seems to speak the truth, every setback threatens our identity. We then say: “I am my suffering”, “I am my anger”, “I am my past”. But suffering is felt. Anger is felt. The past is known and remembered. The one who knows all this is deeper than all this.

Not Denying What Is Lived

Recognising that we are not our thoughts or our emotions does not mean we should deny them. Pain must be heard. Illness must be treated. Injustice may call for action. Fear may signal a real danger. A suppressed emotion does not vanish because we give it a spiritual name.

Spirituality does not mean saying: “Nothing touches me, since I am the soul.” As long as we live in a body, we experience fatigue, physical reactions, limitations and wounds. Spiritual practice does not turn a human being into an unfeeling statue. It teaches us not to be entirely fooled by what we go through.

You can be sad without believing that sadness is your identity. You can be angry without letting anger guide you. You can be ill without reducing your whole being to the illness. This is not about becoming insensitive, but about returning to the centre from which experience can be seen more clearly.

Returning to the Centre

When you notice that the mind has carried you away, do not blame yourself. Simply return to the centre. You can begin by observing what is happening. A thought is there. An emotion is there. Do not say at once: “This is me.” See instead: “This is happening within me, now.” This simple distinction opens a space. Within that space, you can breathe, grow quiet, and let the thought lose some of its authority.

This observation alone is already a practice: it allows us to discover that thoughts come and go without the awareness that perceives them disappearing with them.

For those who deepen this path through regular practice, this return to the centre becomes more steady. Attention gradually stops scattering itself across every movement of the mind; it settles on an inner point of anchoring, a constant presence that sustains life. The mind first serves concentration. Then, as silence deepens, something more intimate takes over. The practice is no longer only an effort to fix attention. It becomes contemplation.

Knowing Who You Are

Knowing who you are does not mean acquiring one more definition. It means discerning what changes from what does not. The body changes. Thoughts change. Emotions change. Circumstances change. Even personality can evolve. But the conscious presence by which all these changes are known does not age the way a face does, does not lose its job, and does not depend on others' opinions.

You are this embodied presence, a soul passing through existence with a body, a mind, a history and a personality. Your task is not to destroy the person or to fight the mind. It is to put each thing back in its place: the body is an instrument, the mind is a tool, the personality is a way of being in the world. The soul is what you are.

When you forget this, confusion returns. When you recognise it, even briefly, something loosens. You no longer need to ask each thought to tell you who you are. “My body”, “my thoughts”, “my emotions”, “my history”: you can go on inhabiting them fully, without losing yourself in them any longer.

The practice does not lead you elsewhere. It simply brings you back to what, within you, has always been there.

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