Who am I?
Before the face, before the name,
before the stories you have worn—
there is a quiet presence,
older than your memories,
closer than your breath,
wondering softly through your life:
Who am I?
There is, in most of us, a quiet desire to understand ourselves. We live alongside our own minds and emotions every day, and yet the question “Who am I?” has a way of resurfacing at different moments in life — whispered at times of transition, shouted during crises, or emerging gently in moments of stillness.
Sometimes this question appears through superficial forms: the image in the mirror, the shape of our bodies, the smile or frown we project to the world. Appearance can feel like identity, especially in a culture that values youth, beauty, and the visible signs of success. As we age, we may notice ourselves searching for the person we once saw there — or, as Sheila Hancock once said, wishing for an entirely different face to appear.
Personality, too, becomes a lens through which we try to understand ourselves. Tests, typologies, and systems — helpful as they can be — often reveal only our conditioned habits: the patterns we developed to stay safe, to be loved, to manage life as best we could. We “have” a personality, in the same way we have a body, a mind, preferences, and fears. But none of these quite answer the deeper question.
Because beneath the traits and habits, beneath all the ways we’ve been shaped by childhood, relationships, culture, and circumstance, something else is present — something constant and quietly faithful.
A simple noticing reveals it:
Who is the one experiencing this moment?
Who hears the music?
Who feels the sadness?
Who watches the thoughts?
Every spiritual tradition has its own language for this deeper ground: essence, true nature, soul, spirit, pure awareness. These words point not to an abstract idea, but to a lived experience — a stable, spacious presence that does not change, even as everything else does.
Rupert Spira describes personality as a temporary “colouring” of this deeper presence. The personality moves, shifts, reacts, strives; but the pure sense of “I am” remains steady and untouched. When we rest in this deeper place, our actions naturally become more authentic, less reactive, more aligned with the quiet truth within. We feel more centred, grounded, and whole.
Personality is not the enemy. It is simply not the whole story.
It is the beautiful, complicated, vulnerable vehicle through which essence expresses itself in the world.
To ask “Who am I?” is not a philosophical exercise.
It is an invitation to return to the one who has been quietly here all along.
Practice
Sit quietly and let your body settle.
Notice what is present: thoughts, emotions, sensations, sounds.
Ask softly, without seeking an answer:
“Who is aware of this experience?”Do not describe it. Simply feel the presence that notices.
End with a gentle recognition:
“I am the one who is aware. And that is enough.”