What we call personality is actually a protective device that begins to develop around the age of 18 months as a response to the sobering realization that the world of form is not the technicolour equivalent of our mother’s womb.
When we buy a piece of art, the first thing we do is put a frame around it. This protects the art, intensifies its beauty. Frames are boundaries. There’s no love without them.
The human personality is memory enfleshed, our past briefly materialized as a protection from the vagaries of the present. Personality is derived from the Latin persona for mask. It’s an accretion, not us.
The personality is a set of conditioned behaviours based on past experience. It is an accretion of memory; it functions as an individualized protective device. As personality dictates, some men habitually fight, other men fawn.
I am not my personality. The snail’s shell is not the snail.
Personality is not for improving. It is for dying to, for sloughing off.
I love when I am vulnerable, when my heart is outside of me.