We are seafarers in a world full of acts and inspirations, and dwelling in the mundane, as we are conditioned since birth—habituated, to be proponents of our egos. In that assertion we forget to find the missing link to who we really are. Then the mystics arrive, telling us that we are this or that or nothing at all, which confuses us further and we dwaddle along, trying to figure out in the tea-breaks of life the meaning of its ultimacy. Meanwhile, life occurs and in between all its events and yarn balls of endless desire we get roped into a foggy sort of identity. Some people have greater conviction at believing the identity they fashion out for themselves, others may waver somewhat and yet others remain confused and lost.