I’m one wildebeest in a herd of fifty thousand (million?). Sometimes the grazing is good, other times not. Sometimes there’s water in the river, other times not. There are the lions, of course, but some of the other beests are just as dangerous, or at least just as annoying. And some of them smell so good it’s hard even to graze near them without — you know.

Like every creature, I know my own physical nature — how I move through the world, how to get what I need to survive, and a sense of what it’s like to be “me.” My mind sifts those thoughts over and over, generally in sync with my immediate environment, always ready to react from instinct if the need arises.

But beyond just the physical, I know I’m a wildebeest. I can get my mind to think about what it might be like to be a different beest, or even a zebra — or a lion! I can graze when I feel like it, on either side of the herd or (yuck) right in the middle. I can try to mount another beest if I want to, though there could be consequences. I can be the best lion-scout in the herd if I set my mind to it, and I can even chase a lion away if I want to feel totally alive. I know I could die doing that, but I’m going to die at some point anyway.

When we’re on the move, I can feel the rumble of the many beests who ran before me on this same ground, and I know there will be many more running and rumbling here in seasons to follow. I am “me,” and eventually I will be nothing — “no thing” — and a moment after that the herd will have moved on without me….