Multus... Unus... Solus... I am not one. I am the many, wearing a single name. A million cells divide and die, and still I call this body "I". A thousand voices fill my head— some speak for me, some speak for dead. The blood, the bone, the thought, the breath— all bound together, all at war with death. But who is the one that calls them "mine"? What king sits on this borrowed spine? The river flows, the river stays, the water leaves, the name obeys. But if the water is not the river, then what am I, and what remains? If every cell is not the self, if every thought is something else, then what is left to call the whole— a name? a mask? a borrowed soul? I am not one! I am the many, the endless flow! The body changes, the mind lets go! If everything inside me changes, what remains as me? What remains as me? The river keeps its name, but the water is already free! I traced the borders of my skin, and found no wall to keep me in. The air, the earth, the light, the rain— all pass through me, none remain. I asked the mirror who I was, the mirror answered with a pause. Then whispered soft, with hollow voice: "You are the echo, not the choice." If the self is just a song, then who is singing all along? The lungs, the tongue, the breath, the air— or the silence resting there? If every cell is not the self, if every thought is something else, then what is left to call the whole— a name? a mask? a borrowed soul? I am not one! I am the many, the endless flow! The body changes, the mind lets go! If everything inside me changes, what remains as me? What remains as me? The river keeps its name, but the water is already free! Not one... not one... The cells are not the body. The thoughts are not the mind. The self is not a thing— it is a thread that cannot bind. I am the river, not the stone. I am the current, not the foam. I am the many, not the one— a choir of ghosts beneath the sun. If I am not the name they gave, then I am free beyond the grave. Not body, not soul, not me, not you— but the endless flow that passes through. The river rises, the river calls, the many voices shake the walls. And in the flood, one truth is known— the self is not a throne. I am not one! I am the many, the endless flow! The body changes, the mind lets go! If everything inside me changes, what remains as me? What remains as me? The river keeps its name, but the water is already free! And when the river meets the sea, there is no me, there is no thee. Only the current, only the deep— and the self is just a dream the water keeps. Multus... Unus... Solus... Flumen...
