Who Are You? What Are You? Why Are You?

Three questions came to me through the Sisterhood of Dada in Doom Patrol:

Who are you?

What are you?

Why are you?

They sound straightforward enough.

They aren't.

I decided to answer them with a poem, which probably should have warned me that straightforward answers were already in trouble.

Who Are You?

Nothing.

I left the space blank.

A name would have been easy. So would a profession, a collection of beliefs, accomplishments, mistakes, interests, relationships, or stories about myself.

None of them answered the question.

So I gave up.

Next question.

What Are You?

This one produced something almost immediately.

A kaleidoscope.

for now, I’m made of

a collection of patterns—

fragmented pieces

of mirrors always turning

through the daily course of life

Apparently, I couldn't say who I was, but I could say that I was some sort of optical instrument.

Fair enough.

I kept writing.

as dust always lands on these

moving mirrors, I

through discipline stop

to clean them so that I can

reflect the way as it is

I liked the image, although the kaleidoscope eventually encountered its own limitation:

the kaleidoscope

simply reflects “what are you?,”

and not “who are you?;”

for it is more difficult

to render how I use it

So after all of that, the first question was still sitting there.

Empty.

The kaleidoscope had answered what it could answer.

I didn't ask it for more.

Why Are You?

Then the poem did something else.

Other people entered.

it’s through my senses

where I meet those on their way;

there’s just one purpose—

we all connect with others

to make the Kaleidoscope

I became rather certain of myself there.

There's just one purpose.

That sounds suspiciously like the Philosopher.

The Philosopher appears occasionally in these poems. He is a crusty old fellow who likes explanations. He particularly likes truths. Give him an image and, if I am not careful, he will straighten his coat, clear his throat, and explain exactly what the image means.

Sometimes he even contributes something useful.

But this time the poem had moved toward other people before the Philosopher could completely take possession of it.

The little kaleidoscope had become the Kaleidoscope.

And that was enough.

Back to Who Are You?

I returned to the unanswered question.

Who are you?

Surely something respectable would appear this time.

No.

A rusty red fox arrived.

it’s from here to there

where this rusty red fox roams—

he can’t be contained;

though, there are times when this fox

must learn to be something else

Well, hello.

After a kaleidoscope, I suppose a fox wasn't entirely unreasonable.

I could explain him.

That's the temptation.

I could turn the fox into a list of qualities. I could decide what he symbolizes. I could make him represent something psychologically interesting and then congratulate myself for understanding him.

But something peculiar happens when I do that.

The explanation remains.

The fox disappears.

So, I would rather leave him alone for a while.

Where is he going?

What is he doing?

Why can't he be contained?

And why, occasionally, must the fox who cannot be contained learn to become something else?

I don't know.

The fox isn't bothered by that.

The difficulty of leaving an image alone

This may be the strangest discipline I have learned from reading Hillman: sometimes an image needs room before I demand an explanation from it.

That is difficult for me.

I am educated enough to cause myself trouble.

Give me an image and I know how to analyze it. I can compare it with another image, connect it to philosophy or psychology, find a theoretical framework, add footnotes, and eventually make the whole thing so respectable that nothing particularly interesting remains.

The Philosopher loves this.

Psyche seems less interested.

An image can arrive before I know what to do with it. Sometimes the better response is not What does this symbolize? but simply to notice what appeared.

A kaleidoscope appeared.

Then other people entered.

Then a fox appeared.

The questions produced images before I had explanations for them.

Perhaps that's sufficient.

Cleaning mirrors

There is one part of the poem that I understand somewhat differently now.

I originally wrote:

as dust always lands

on these moving mirrors, I

through discipline stop to clean

them so that I can

reflect the way as it is

I still value discipline.

But I no longer think we always clean the mirrors alone.

Another person may see something I cannot.

The other person does not have my kaleidoscope, nor may that person think of a kaleidoscope metaphor at all. That's important. My image does not need to become someone else's.

But we can encounter one another anyway.

Someone may say something that makes me stop.

Perhaps I dismiss it.

Perhaps I misunderstand it.

Perhaps the other person is simply wrong.

But every once in a while I can see clearly what the other person is talking about and suddenly notice something that had been obscuring the view.

A little dust comes off the mirror.

I see something differently.

Not because the other person has become me or I have become the other person.

We remain different.

The encounter was possible because we were different.

Questions without proper answers

I like these three questions more now than I did when I first encountered them.

Who are you?

What are you?

Why are you?

I especially like them because I failed to answer them properly.

One produced an empty space.

Another produced a kaleidoscope.

Another brought other people into the poem.

And when I returned to the beginning, a fox showed up.

That's a terrible questionnaire.

But it may be a pretty good way to invite an image.

A Small Practice

Try the questions yourself, but don't worry about answering them correctly.

Start with:

Who am I?

Write whatever appears.

If nothing appears, leave the space empty.

Then:

What am I?

Wait.

Perhaps an image appears. Perhaps it doesn't.

Then:

Why am I?

See what happens.

The response might be an object, animal, place, sound, color, memory, person, sentence, ridiculous idea, or something that seems completely unrelated to the question.

Don't make it respectable.

And if an image does appear, try not to make it explain itself immediately.

The Philosopher can wait.

There will be plenty of time for him later.

Original Poem

Q1: Who are you?

*** goes to the next question ***

Q2: What are you?

for now, I’m made of

a collection of patterns—

fragmented pieces

of mirrors always turning

through the daily course of life

as dust always lands

on these moving mirrors, I

through discipline stop

to clean them so that I can

reflect the Way as it is

the kaleidoscope

simply reflects “what are you?,”

and not “who are you?;”

for it is more difficult

to render how I use it

Q3: Why are you?

it’s through my senses

where I meet those on their way;

there’s just one purpose—

we all connect with others

to make the Kaleidoscope

Q1: Who are you?

it’s from here to there

where this rusty red fox roams—

he can’t be contained;

though, there are times when this fox

must learn to be something else

Further Study and Sources

Hillman, From Types to Images. I have found Hillman's attention to the particularity of images especially useful when resisting the temptation to translate an image immediately into an abstraction.

Jung, Psychological Types, especially the definition of symbol. This provides useful background for approaching a living symbol as something more than a label for something already completely known.

About These Essays

These essays are for reflection, education, and life-coaching purposes. They are not psychological assessment, diagnosis, psychotherapy, counseling, or mental-health treatment, and they do not replace care from a qualified mental-health professional.