The Border of Me

A meditation on non-self

It’s been a while since I posted, so I decided to share an old poem I wrote, lightly edited. It’s a meditation on the Buddhist concept of non-self.

The Border of Me
Where do I end and I begin? 
Is the border of my skin the ultimate thing
Delineating me from what is not me? 
I am everything skin and within. 

Is the saliva in my mouth
     a part of me or not me? 
A piece of me that lies
    on the ground when I spit? 

The hair on my head is me 
     until it ceases to be
When it's trimmed and swept in the bin.

And the clothes that I shed off daily
Though loyally move with my body
Are never considered truly me.

The food I eat— 
That becomes me certainly,
At least some of it. But when?
When it passes the threshold of my lips, 
Or is absorbed through my stomach lining,
Or when its molecules construct proteins 
As outlined by my genetic makeup?

And the air in my lungs—
That I breathe in and out
That mingles with the air in the room, 
An interchange, an exchange between me
     And everyone near.

So easily, we say, “this is me, this is not me”.
So, let me extend my border,
Extend it to include the air inside me 
     and around me, 
And the floor that holds me up. 
Without the air and the floor, 
     I would not exist. 
My existence depends on these things. 
     They are me.

The emotions that peek out
     through faces reading these words. 
Those are my emotions. 
The thoughts that fling uncontrollably 
     in people’s minds. 
Those are my thoughts, too.

My border extends. 
The people and the world,
They are me and I am them.
Until there is no border.