The ego is a structure we mistake for who we are.
It begins as almost nothing — a flicker — and over time we build it up. Slowly, inevitably, it begins to unravel as we age, as we fall apart.
Then the ego says, “I believe in a thing called soul.”
And that’s fine. Maybe it’s true.
But regardless — when the body dies, the ego dies too.
It only lives on through the ripples of its actions: cause and effect.
It lingers in what we create, in who and what we’ve touched.
But even that... fades.
Influence dissipates. Memory thins.
All things are always changing.
Nothing remains.
Nothing lives forever.
The universe itself is finite — its edges dissolving into larger universes beside us, beyond us, or within some greater dimension we cannot grasp.
Maybe we are inside something older, wider, deeper.
And maybe what we experience — the choices, the pain, the joy — is added to some collective consciousness.
And perhaps it echoes on, for millions, trillions, uncountable years...
Until what?
Trillions of years of nothing?
Whatever we think we know about the word ego is really just theory—philosophy we’ve loosely agreed upon. But who is we? Scientists? Psychiatrists? Neuroscientists? In which department of science or medicine does the study of ego officially belong?
The truth is, ego remains more a philosophical construct than a scientific fact. So the best we can do is make an educated guess—an informed intuition—about what it really is.
My view is that ego begins its journey at birth, at the moment we first experience separation from our mother. While connected to the womb by the umbilical cord, there is no awareness of self. But once the cord is cut and we’re forced to breathe on our own, there’s a new and terrifying realization: I am alone. That moment of separation is not philosophical—it’s experienced. The ego is born from that experience of separateness.
It seems that evolution intended for this awareness to emerge, or it wouldn’t have developed. The feeling of being alone produces anxiety, and anxiety becomes the foundation for our survival instincts—like crying, screaming, clinging—our earliest tools to ensure care and safety.
As we grow, the ego doesn’t form through concepts alone—it builds through the body. It’s shaped by physical sensations and emotional imprints. When a child experiences distress that lingers too long, the nervous system goes on high alert. The body remembers. These responses flow through the skin, into the nerves, to the spine, and up into the brain. And yet, even as neuroscientists search for neural activity in the brain, not all activity can be detected by current instruments. Some of it likely stems from entangled quantum particles—particles within the brain and particles located elsewhere in the universe, acting together, responding to different realities simultaneously.
This idea is difficult to grasp, but essential: the ego, and therefore our sense of self, may be influenced not just by experiences here and now, but also by entangled particles across the universe. You are neither fully here nor fully there. You exist across the web of space, interconnected with the totality of existence. Every particle, every thought, every piece of matter is part of a larger quantum entanglement.
In this way, all beings—past, present, and future—are connected. Time is no longer a boundary. There is quantum entanglement with the consciousness of every creature that has ever lived. Dinosaur consciousness may still float somewhere in the ether. You and I simply can’t access it because our instruments—and our minds—aren’t tuned to that frequency. But even if you can't feel it, your consciousness is constantly being influenced by others. These subtle signals shape your heartbeat, your breathing, your nervous system, and your thoughts—right now, as you sit, blink, and say, “This is me.”
You are everything, all at once.
And that has a profound effect on how your ego is formed.
The paradox is this: the ego begins with the experience of aloneness, but shortly after that, we are being fed impressions from beyond—tiny impulses, perhaps coming from this collective field of all consciousness. Some people pick it up. Some don’t. Some lose it, and some rediscover it later in life. There are countless ways to tap into the collective, whether we realize it or not. You don’t even have much of a choice. The reason you wear pants or carry a purse isn’t just fashion—it’s collective programming. Some of it came through your eyes, yes, but it also came through your biology and your unconscious desire to belong and survive.
All of this becomes part of the ego structure. Every memory, every sound, every sensation, every fleeting thought—each one stacks like a LEGO block into the growing sculpture of “you.” The ego builds on experience, feeling, sensation, philosophy, and survival. It learns differently depending on your emotional state. We learn more freely when we’re relaxed. In anxiety, we grasp and defend. But even anxiety is just a survival program, a computation of signals coming from the body—the heart, the gut, the muscles, even pain. That pain sends messages through the vast superhighway of nerves, and the brain translates it into experience.
The particles that carry those signals are deeply misunderstood. One essential idea is this: when you feel pain in your side, the universe feels it too. Somewhere, far out in space, entangled particles resonate in harmony with your pain. That vibration ripples outward, linking your suffering to the whole. This is a theory—an intuition. I can’t offer solid math to prove it. It’s simply how I make sense of the human experience.
The ego forms and speaks to itself through thought and consciousness. It says: I am my body. I am my brain. I am my name. I am separate from the world I move through. It claims: I own the ground I walk on.
But this sense of separation is functional—it’s how we learn to move, to walk, to take steps, to plan forward and backward. The ego is a rapid processor. It helps us navigate the mechanics of life.
The trouble begins when we over-identify with it—when we mistake it for the entirety of who we are.
The ego also becomes a wall, a defense system against the overwhelming input of the world. It filters and protects. But in doing so, it often disconnects us from the deeper truth of our shared existence. We cling to what we know. But reality is far more complex than what we’ve experienced or been taught. There are invisible architectures at work—structures that may lead us closer to what some call God consciousness.
And maybe we’ll never fully know what that means. Maybe the word “God” is just another placeholder, another attempt to make sense of something too vast to define. Maybe the universe isn’t what we think it is. Maybe this entire existence is just a single massive droplet of water—and we’re all inside it.
This may all be true—or it may be false. It’s up to you to decide.
There was an ancient culture that, for eons, believed we are composed of three parts: the body and mind, the eternal soul, and the ego. In death, they believed the body returns to the earth, repaying its debt to the elements. We borrow to be born, and we give back when we die.
The eternal soul, they said, is pure consciousness. It has no shape, no beginning, no end. Who can truly define what that is? It cannot be known.
Then there is the ego—a structure that cannot exist without a body and brain to contain it, to shape its sense of self. At death, the ego becomes energy once more. It dissipates. It dissolves. Its only lasting link to the world we leave behind is the ripple effect of our actions. What we do in life influences many things—until, over time, even that influence fades, diffused into near nothingness, perhaps over millions of years.
And yet, if quantum entanglement is real, maybe what we do here could echo across solar systems, galaxies, even the universe.
It's interesting to think about these things.
More on ‘Spooky Action at a Distance’ or Quantum Entanglement Click here