I am not this flesh body. I gathered it all
By the means of consumption. The food that I eat
Turns into solid substance. It’s made of the earth.
Much I’ve accumulated since my meager birth.
But this body is not me, though it seems complete
As a functioning system that breathes and stands tall.
I am not this freewheeling mind caught in the breeze
Of a major commitment to generate thought.
Everything that I have thought has been thought before.
All I know is collected. I seek to know more.
But my mind cannot be me, though it may be taught
What is truly my nature perhaps with great ease.
I cannot say that what I have gathered is me.
Yet, without it, can one say that I still exist?
I exist without question, but what then am I?
I shall ponder that puzzle perhaps ‘til I die
And may not find the answer. I need not insist
That there is one. My nature is simply to be.