The Sacred Architecture of Self: A Melody for Discernment

Hook

In the vast, intricate tapestry of our inner lives, there are moments when the threads of feeling become tangled, when the boundaries between what we carry, what we absorb, and what truly defines us blur. We find ourselves in a quiet hum of discernment, sensing the subtle weight of unseen influences, navigating the delicate dance between inner sanctuary and outer permeability. This is the mood of The Sacred Architecture of Self: a deep, contemplative inquiry into the intricate ways our experiences, memories, and even our unspoken vulnerabilities, combine and separate within us. It's a space where we seek clarity amidst complexity, where we honor the hidden connections that shape our emotional landscape, and where we yearn to understand the wisdom of our own internal boundaries.

The ancient texts, often perceived as distant and purely legalistic, surprisingly offer a profound lens through which to explore this very human dilemma. Today, we journey into the heart of Mishnah Chullin, a text usually concerned with the meticulous laws of ritual purity and impurity concerning food and animal parts. Yet, beneath its surface of measurements and distinctions—egg-bulks and olive-bulks, sealed bones and perforated skins, hanging limbs and collected residues—lies a resonant echo of our own psycho-spiritual architecture. This Mishnah, with its detailed catalog of what "joins together" and what "does not," what "transmits impurity" and what "nullifies," speaks to the very structure of our being. It invites us to consider: What seemingly insignificant parts of ourselves, or our past, are actually combining to form a larger emotional "bulk"? What hidden vulnerabilities, like a tiny perforation in a sealed egg, might be allowing an influx of "impurity"—a discomfort, a sadness, an unquiet longing—that we have yet to acknowledge? And what protective layers, like a hide, might be inadvertently "nullifying" our capacity to fully experience and process certain truths?

The wisdom of this Mishnah, when approached not as cold law but as a symbolic map of the soul, reveals the profound interconnectedness of our inner world. It highlights that our emotional well-being is not a simple sum of its parts, but a dynamic interplay of influences, some overt, some as subtle as a strand of flesh or a single hair. It teaches us that discernment is a sacred act, requiring us to look beyond the obvious, to feel into the nuanced weight of what we carry, and to honor the precise moments when a boundary must be held, or when it must yield.

To help us attune to these delicate balances, to guide us through this labyrinth of self, we will engage a powerful musical tool: the niggun. A niggun, a wordless melody, bypasses the analytical mind and speaks directly to the soul. It offers a channel for introspection, a container for the complex emotions evoked by this text. Through a simple, repetitive chant, we can begin to internalize the Mishnah's profound insights, allowing its ancient wisdom to resonate within our modern hearts, helping us to discern the sacred architecture of our own inner world and find a melody that brings clarity and compassionate understanding to our intricate emotional landscape.

Text Snapshot

The Mishnah unfolds with a meticulous gaze: "All foods that became ritually impure... transmit impurity... only if... an egg-bulk. The attached hide... congealed gravy... spices... meat residue... bones... tendons... horns... hooves... join together... Sealed... perforated... One who touches a strand of flesh... or a hair... is ritually impure... The hide... nullifies them. A mouse that is half-flesh half-earth... The limb... and the flesh... hanging from the animal..."

Close Reading

The Mishnah Chullin, in its seemingly dry and technical discussion of ritual impurity, offers a rich, metaphorical landscape for understanding the intricate dance of our inner lives. It speaks to the subtle ecology of our emotions, the sacred geometry of our boundaries, and the profound wisdom embedded in what we choose to reveal or seal away. Let us delve into two core insights about emotion regulation, drawing from the deep well of this ancient text and its accompanying commentaries.

Insight 1: The Ecology of Self: What Joins, What Separates, What Contaminates

The opening lines of the Mishnah paint a vivid picture of aggregation: "All foods that became ritually impure... transmit impurity... only if... an egg-bulk. In that regard, the Sages ruled that even if a piece of meat itself is less than an egg-bulk, the attached hide, even if it is not fit for consumption, joins together with the meat to constitute an egg-bulk. And the same is true of the congealed gravy attached to the meat, although it is not eaten; and likewise the spices added to flavor the meat, although they are not eaten; and the meat residue attached to the hide after flaying; and the bones; and the tendons; and the lower section of the horns... and the upper section of the hooves... All these items join together with the meat to constitute the requisite egg-bulk to impart the impurity of food."

The Aggregate of Being: Beyond the Obvious "Meat"

Imagine your emotional state as that "egg-bulk" of being. Often, we try to identify the single "piece of meat"—the overt problem, the clear trigger, the obvious source of our distress. Yet, the Mishnah teaches us that our inner landscape is rarely so simple. Our "egg-bulk" of feeling—whether it's a persistent low hum of anxiety, a simmering resentment, or an inexplicable sense of joy—is rarely just the "meat" of the immediate situation. Instead, it's a complex aggregate, a symphony of disparate elements that "join together."

Consider the "attached hide, even if it is not fit for consumption," or the "congealed gravy... although it is not eaten," or the "spices... although they are not eaten." These are the parts of ourselves we often dismiss as secondary, peripheral, or even "unfit for consumption" by our conscious awareness. They might be old wounds we thought were healed, unspoken expectations, inherited patterns, subtle fears, or even unacknowledged desires. They are the background noise, the subtle flavors, the protective layers that we don't actively consume or analyze. Yet, this Mishnah insists they "join together." They are part of the equation.

This offers a profound insight into emotion regulation: our emotional states are often an ecology. We cannot truly regulate our feelings if we only address the most obvious "meat." We must acknowledge the "hide" of our defenses, the "gravy" of our lingering resentments, the "spices" of our deep-seated beliefs that flavor every experience. Sometimes, the "meat residue attached to the hide after flaying" represents those tiny, stubborn fragments of past hurts that cling on, long after the main trauma has been "flayed" away. The "bones" and "tendons" are the fundamental structures, the deep-seated beliefs and core vulnerabilities that give shape and connection to our inner world.

Distinctions of Influence: Food vs. Carcass Impurity

The Mishnah then makes a crucial distinction: these items "do not join together to constitute the measure of an olive-bulk required to impart the impurity of animal carcasses." This hints at different types of emotional "impurity" or discomfort. "Food impurity" might represent the more pervasive, subtle, and perhaps less severe forms of emotional entanglement – the general malaise, the quiet discontent, the ambient anxiety that doesn't necessarily incapacitate but certainly impacts our quality of life. "Animal carcass impurity," requiring a smaller "olive-bulk" but with stricter rules, might represent the starker, more acute forms of emotional shock, trauma, or profound grief that demand immediate and distinct attention.

The Torah, the Mishnah notes, "included certain items to impart impurity of food beyond those which it included to impart impurity of animal carcasses." This suggests that life's subtle influences and minor contaminations are far more numerous and widespread than the rarer, more severe impacts. In our emotional lives, this means we are constantly navigating a multitude of small influences, many of which we barely notice, yet they collectively shape our mood and perspective. Emotion regulation, therefore, is not just about managing the big crises, but also about becoming exquisitely sensitive to the myriad small inputs that form our daily "food impurity."

The Nuance of Skin and Flesh: Identity and Vulnerability

The Mishnah continues with "These are the entities whose skin has the same halakhic status as their flesh." This includes "the skin of a dead person," "the skin of a domesticated pig," and according to Rabbi Yehuda, "even the skin of a wild boar." It also lists "the skin of the hump of a young camel," "the skin of the head of a young calf," and various creeping animals. This section is profoundly metaphorical for identity and vulnerability. In our human experience, we often present a "skin" to the world—a persona, a defense, an outward appearance. But this Mishnah asks: when is our "skin" truly reflective of our "flesh"? When is our outward presentation so deeply intertwined with our core vulnerability that they carry the same weight, the same capacity for "impurity" or impact?

The "skin of a dead person" always retains the status of flesh, never purified by tanning. This is a powerful image. Some core vulnerabilities, some fundamental truths about our being or our past, are so intrinsically part of our "flesh"—our very essence—that no amount of "tanning" (processing, trying to toughen up, or external validation) can change their inherent status. They remain potent, a constant reminder of our shared humanity and fragility. This is not "toxic positivity" trying to gloss over deep-seated pain; it is a grounded recognition that some aspects of our existence carry an immutable weight, a sacred "impurity" that demands reverence and careful handling, rather than an attempt to "purify" it away. To regulate such emotions is not to eradicate them, but to learn to live with their profound and enduring presence.

The flaying scenarios further illuminate this. Whether the hide is removed "for a carpet" (for presentation, spreading out), "for a jug" (for containing, holding), or "from the legs" (a complete removal), the intention behind the separation impacts its status. Our intentions shape how integrated or separate our internal "parts" become. Do we process an experience to "carpet" it over, presenting a smooth surface? Or to "jug" it, containing its essence? Or to fully "flay" it, shedding it completely? Each approach changes the dynamic of what "connects" and "disconnects" within our emotional architecture.

The Power of a Strand: Micro-Influences

The Mishnah states, "If one removed the entire hide except for the hide over the neck, Rabbi Yoḥanan ben Nuri says: It is not considered to have a connection to the flesh, and the Rabbis say: It is considered to have a connection to the flesh until he removes the animal’s hide in its entirety, including the neck." This highlights the ongoing debate about what truly constitutes a "connection." In our emotional lives, what small, lingering attachment do we consider insignificant (R. Yochanan ben Nuri), while others (the Rabbis) argue it retains a powerful connection, affecting our entire state?

Perhaps most strikingly, the text speaks of "a hide upon which there is an olive-bulk of flesh, one who touches a strand of flesh emerging from the flesh or a hair that is on the side of the hide opposite the flesh is ritually impure." This is a profound teaching on the subtlety of influence. A single "strand of flesh," a solitary "hair"—elements so seemingly minor, so peripheral—can transmit a profound change in status. This resonates deeply with emotion regulation. How often do we dismiss a fleeting thought, a subtle discomfort, a seemingly insignificant comment, only to find that it has triggered a cascade of feelings, a shift in our entire emotional "purity"? These tiny, peripheral details can act as conduits, connecting us to deeper reservoirs of feeling or memory. True emotional intelligence involves cultivating a sensitivity to these micro-influences, recognizing that the smallest "strand" can hold immense power.

Fragmentation and Nullification: The Role of Protection

Finally, the Mishnah discusses "two half olive-bulks" of flesh on a hide. Rabbi Yishmael says it imparts impurity "by means of carrying," but not "by means of contact." Rabbi Akiva says "neither by means of contact nor by means of carrying." But Rabbi Akiva concedes that if "one skewered them with a wood chip and moved them that he is impure." Why the difference? "It is because the hide nullifies them."

This speaks volumes about fragmentation and protection. When our experiences or emotions are fragmented ("two half olive-bulks"), they may not have the same impact, especially if "the hide nullifies them." The "hide" can be a metaphor for our defenses, our coping mechanisms, our protective layers that prevent us from fully integrating or feeling the weight of certain truths. It can "nullify" the immediate impact, allowing us to carry fragmented experiences without direct "contact" with their full "impurity." However, when we consciously "skewer them with a wood chip"—when we choose to connect these fragments, to bring them into conscious awareness, to examine them together—then their full emotional "impurity" (their weight, their truth) becomes undeniable.

Emotion Regulation Connection for Insight 1: The Mishnah invites us to cultivate an exquisite awareness of our inner ecology. Regulation is not about isolating or ignoring parts, but about understanding how disparate elements—the obvious "meat" and the often-dismissed "hide," "gravy," "spices," and "residue"—combine to form our emotional "egg-bulk." It teaches us to discern the subtle "strands" that connect us to deeper feelings and to question the "hides" that might be "nullifying" our capacity for full emotional processing. True regulation begins with acknowledging the complex, aggregated nature of our emotional states, honoring the "impurity" not as bad, but as a signal, a rich data point in the ongoing journey of self-discovery. It is about understanding that some vulnerabilities are as inherent as "human skin," demanding respect rather than eradication, and that our intentions in "flaying" (processing) our experiences deeply impact our inner connections.

Insight 2: The Sacred Geometry of Openness and Sealing

The Mishnah then shifts its focus to the "qolit" (thigh bone) and other entities, introducing the critical distinction between "sealed" and "perforated." This section profoundly explores the paradox of vulnerability, protection, and the pathways through which our inner world interacts with external influences.

The Bone and its Marrow: Inner Life and Vulnerability

"With regard to the thigh bone of a human corpse, and the thigh bone of a sacrificial animal... whether these thigh bones were sealed and there was no access to the marrow, or whether they were perforated and there was access to the marrow, one who touches them is ritually impure." The qolit, as explained by Rambam and Mishnat Eretz Yisrael, is a hollow bone containing marrow—the very essence of life within the bone. This is a powerful metaphor for our deepest inner life, our core being, our most vital and vulnerable essence.

In the case of a human corpse or a disqualified sacrificial animal (piggul or notar), the qolit transmits impurity whether "sealed" or "perforated." This suggests that some sources of profound "impurity"—some traumas, some deep-seated griefs, some sacred wounds—are so intrinsically potent, so fundamental to our experience, that they affect us regardless of how well we try to "seal" them off. They carry an inherent, unavoidable weight, a truth that permeates our being. To regulate these emotions is not to pretend they are not there, or that a "seal" can make them inert. It is to acknowledge their enduring presence, to understand that some aspects of life leave an indelible mark, and that wisdom lies in learning to live with, rather than deny, this profound and often unsettling reality. As Tosafot Rabbi Akiva Eiger notes, the qolit of a human corpse, unlike other bones, can even transmit impurity through ohel (tent/covering), implying that its influence can be pervasive, even without direct contact, affecting the entire "space" of our lives.

Protection and Permeability: When the Seal Matters

In contrast, "With regard to the thigh bone of an unslaughtered carcass and the thigh bone of a creeping animal, one who touches them when they are sealed remains ritually pure. If one of these thigh bones was perforated at all, it imparts impurity via contact, as in that case contact with the bone is tantamount to contact with the marrow." Here, the "seal" makes all the difference. For ordinary sources of "impurity"—the general hurts, the everyday frustrations, the common anxieties—our internal "seals" (our healthy boundaries, our resilience, our capacity to compartmentalize when needed) are effective. They protect our inner marrow. We remain "ritually pure" (emotionally stable) because the "impurity" (the external stressor or negative influence) cannot reach our core.

However, "if one of these thigh bones was perforated at all, it imparts impurity via contact." Even the smallest "perforation"—a moment of unexpected vulnerability, a boundary breach, a crack in our defenses—can create an opening. Through this opening, the external "impurity" (the pain, the negative influence, the difficult emotion) can make "contact" with our inner marrow, affecting our core state. This is a crucial insight for emotion regulation: understanding when our "seals" are effective and when a "perforation" has occurred. It's about discerning which emotional influences we can keep out with healthy boundaries, and which ones have found an unexpected entry point, requiring us to address the breach. Rashash's commentary, discussing the complexity of ohel impurity for a qolit of nevelah (carcass), further deepens this, noting that even if actual physical touch is impossible, the potential for contact or the enveloping presence can still transmit impurity, highlighting the subtle ways influences can penetrate even seemingly sealed spaces.

Contact and Carrying: The Act of Engagement

The Mishnah then derives from a verse: "That which enters the category of impurity via contact, enters the category of impurity via carrying; that which does not enter the category of impurity via contact, does not enter the category of impurity via carrying." This rule, though debated by the Sages (as highlighted in Mishnat Eretz Yisrael), offers a profound metaphor for how we engage with our emotions.

"Contact" represents direct, conscious engagement with an emotion or a difficult experience. "Carrying" represents bearing its weight, integrating it, allowing it to become part of our ongoing narrative. The rule suggests a deep connection between the two: if we allow ourselves to truly "contact" an emotion (to feel it, to acknowledge it fully), then we also "carry" it (we internalize its lesson, we bear its weight, we process its truth). But if we avoid "contact"—if we refuse to feel, to acknowledge, to touch the raw truth—then, according to this rule, we might not truly "carry" it either. It might remain an unintegrated burden, an unresolved shadow.

The extensive debate among Rabbi Akiva, Rabbi Yishmael, Rabbi Eliezer, Rabbi Yehoshua, and Rabbi Shimon regarding golel (the rolling stone of a tomb) and dofek (its support stone) and the distinction between contact, carrying, and ohel impurity, mirrors the complexity of our human struggle to understand and manage difficult emotions. As Mishnat Eretz Yisrael points out, these "rules" are often "local" and not universally hierarchical, reflecting the myriad, often contradictory, ways we try to process pain and vulnerability. There isn't one simple, universally applicable rule for emotional processing; different "impurities" (emotions) respond to different forms of "contact" and "carrying." Sometimes, a pervasive "ohel" (an enveloping atmosphere of sadness) is more impactful than direct "contact" with a specific trigger. This teaches us the value of nuance and self-compassion, recognizing that what works for one emotional challenge might not work for another.

The Creeping Animal's Egg and the Mouse: Life's Fragile Beginnings and Hybrid Realities

"The egg of a creeping animal in which tissue of an embryo developed... are ritually pure... But if one perforated the egg with a hole of any size, one who comes in contact with the egg is ritually impure." This speaks to the fragile beginnings of life, and the vulnerability of potential. Our nascent dreams, our tender hopes, our new emotional insights—they are often "sealed" and pure, protected in their embryonic state. But even the smallest "perforation"—a critical word, a moment of doubt, an unexpected setback—can make them "impure," vulnerable to external influence and potential contamination. Emotional regulation here means understanding the delicate nature of these nascent states and protecting them when necessary, while also recognizing that some "perforations" are inevitable on the path to growth.

And the "mouse that is half-flesh half-earth": "one who touches the half that is flesh is impure; one who touches the half that is earth is pure. Rabbi Yehuda says: Even one who touches the half that is earth where it is adjacent to the flesh is ritually impure." This is a powerful image of hybridity, of our dual nature as spiritual beings embodied in physical form. We are "half-flesh" (vulnerable, emotional, mortal) and "half-earth" (grounded, resilient, connected to the material world). The "flesh" part is inherently susceptible to "impurity," while the "earth" part is pure. But Rabbi Yehuda reminds us that even the "earth" part, "where it is adjacent to the flesh," can transmit impurity. This highlights the profound interconnectedness of our spiritual and material selves. Our groundedness, our resilience, can be affected by our vulnerabilities, especially at their point of intersection. Emotion regulation here involves understanding this hybrid reality, acknowledging that our physical well-being impacts our emotional state, and vice-versa, and that true purity or peace requires attention to the interface between our spiritual aspirations and our embodied realities.

Hanging Limbs: The Liminal Space of Unresolvedness

The Mishnah concludes with the image of "The limb... and the flesh... that were partially severed and remain hanging from the animal" or "hanging from a person." This speaks to the liminal space of unresolvedness, of being in-between, not fully attached yet not fully separated. These "hanging" parts retain a unique status. They are not fully "living" nor fully "dead," but in a state of suspended animation.

R. Meir and R. Shimon debate whether they are "rendered susceptible" to impurity. This is a metaphor for our own unresolved issues, our "hanging" emotions, the parts of us that are neither fully integrated nor fully released. Do these "hanging" parts need an additional "liquid" (a catalyst, an external event, a moment of conscious wetting) to become "susceptible" to emotional impact? Or are they already subtly influencing us? Emotion regulation means acknowledging these "hanging" parts, understanding their unique status, and discerning whether they require further "susceptibility" (making ourselves vulnerable to process them) or if they can remain in their suspended state without causing further "impurity." The debates reflect the different approaches we take to these unresolved aspects of ourselves—some seek to resolve, others to contain, others to simply observe.

Emotion Regulation Connection for Insight 2: This insight illuminates the sacred geometry of our internal boundaries. It teaches us that not all "impurities" (emotions, traumas, negative influences) are created equal. Some, like the qolit of a human corpse, are inherently potent, requiring us to acknowledge their enduring presence regardless of our "seals." Others, like the qolit of a carcass, are only impactful if our "seals" are breached by a "perforation." Regulation, then, is about discerning the nature of the emotional "impurity," understanding when to fortify our boundaries, when to allow a "perforation" for necessary release, and when to accept an immutable truth. It also highlights the profound link between "contact" and "carrying"—that true emotional processing involves a conscious engagement that allows us to bear the weight and integrate the experience. Finally, it reminds us of our hybrid nature, "half-flesh half-earth," and the delicate balance of our unresolved parts, inviting us to approach our inner landscape with discernment, compassion, and a deep respect for its intricate design.

Melody Cue

To carry these profound insights into our being, we need a melody that mirrors the subtle aggregation and the delicate balance of sealing and perforation. Let us lean into the spirit of a Hasidic niggun, but one characterized by a profound sense of introspection and gentle unveiling.

Imagine a melody in a minor key, perhaps a soft Phrygian or D-minor scale, giving it an immediate sense of gravity and emotional depth, yet without being overtly sad. It should begin with a slow, rising phrase, perhaps three or four notes, ascending gently, almost like a question or an invitation to look inward. This ascending movement can represent the idea of "joining together"—the gradual accumulation of disparate parts, the subtle building of an emotional state.

This initial phrase then resolves into a longer, sustained, and slightly descending phrase, perhaps four to five notes, creating a sense of quiet understanding or acceptance. This downward curve can symbolize the discernment, the weighing of influences, the gentle release or the firm sealing of a boundary. The overall rhythm should be unhurried, almost meditative, like a slow, deliberate breath.

The niggun could have a "call and response" quality within itself, where a slightly more assertive or direct melodic line (the "call") is answered by a more reflective, perhaps harmonized, or slightly varied line (the "response"). This allows us to embody the Mishnah's debates and distinctions – the Rabbis stating a rule, then a counter-argument or a subtle nuance emerging. The repetition is key, but with subtle shifts in emphasis or ornamentation, preventing it from becoming monotonous and instead deepening the contemplative quality, much like re-reading a profound text reveals new layers.

Think of it as a melody that encourages a gentle "unearthing" of inner truths, a quiet turning over of ideas. It's not a triumphant or overtly joyful tune, but one that offers solace and clarity in the face of complexity, a melody that honors the subtle shifts of the soul's architecture. Its wordlessness allows our own internal "text"—our thoughts, feelings, and questions—to fill its spaciousness.

Practice

Now, let’s bring this ancient wisdom into a 60-second ritual, a practice for your home or commute, a way to internalize the sacred architecture of your own being.

1. Find Your Grounding: Whether sitting, standing, or walking, take three deep, slow breaths. Feel your feet on the earth, or your body in your seat. Let your shoulders soften. This is your initial "pure" state, a moment of presence before inquiry.

2. The Chant of Joining: Gently begin to hum or softly sing the melody described above. As you hum the rising phrase, visualize or mentally acknowledge the different "parts" of your current emotional state that might be "joining together." It could be a lingering worry, a small joy, a task you're avoiding, a distant memory, a physical sensation. Don't judge them as "pure" or "impure"; simply let them gather in your awareness. You might mentally repeat, "Yitzterfu, yitzterfu" (they join together).

3. The Pause of Discernment: As you transition to the descending, resolving phrase, place a hand over your heart or on your belly. Feel the subtle weight of these combined feelings. Ask yourself, without judgment: "What is the 'egg-bulk' of my feeling right now? What is the core emotion, and what are the 'hide,' 'gravy,' and 'spices' that are contributing to it?" Allow the melody to create a space for this discernment, this quiet weighing.

4. Sealed and Perforated Breath: With the next repetition of the melody, focus on your breath. As you inhale slowly, imagine a protective "seal" forming around your inner core, guarding your vital marrow from overwhelming external influences. As you exhale, imagine a gentle "perforation" – a conscious, safe opening – allowing any stagnant or unhelpful energy to release, or allowing a new insight to enter. Use the melody to guide the rhythm of this sacred breath, a continuous dance of protection and permeability.

5. Acknowledge the Strand: For the final few notes, bring to mind one tiny, seemingly insignificant detail from your day or week – a word someone said, a fleeting image, a small physical discomfort. Acknowledge that this "strand" or "hair" might hold more emotional weight than you initially thought. Let the melody affirm its subtle power, not to overwhelm you, but to invite deeper awareness.

Repeat this cycle for about 60 seconds, allowing the wordless melody to become a container for your introspection, a gentle guide for navigating the sacred architecture of your emotional self.

Takeaway

In the intricate dance of our inner world, the ancient wisdom of Mishnah Chullin, when sung through the heart, becomes a profound guide. It reminds us that our emotional landscape is a complex, living architecture, constantly shaped by what "joins together" and what separates, what is "sealed" and what is "perforated." There is deep compassion in recognizing that our "impurities"—our discomforts, our sorrows, our anxieties—are often a rich aggregate of many subtle parts, and that some vulnerabilities are as inherent and enduring as "human skin." Through the quiet power of melody, we are invited to cultivate a discerning heart, to honor the smallest "strand" of influence, and to consciously engage with our inner truths, knowing that to "contact" an emotion fully is to truly "carry" its wisdom. May this practice empower you to navigate your own sacred architecture with courage, clarity, and a profound sense of grounded self-awareness.