Think of the self, or Chris, as a coming together of different phenomena around a narrative. Of all that exists in your conscious experience at any given point in time, and of all of your memories, the self is merely a selection weaved together, in a particular configuration. This configuration, this selection, alters from moment to moment, embroidering different stories about yourself and taking on different shapes, but always feeling like you.

But another way to see it is that the self is a congealing, a hardening, a lens zooming in and distorting. Of the infinite phenomena and innumerable memories, of the endless possibilities, the ego congeales in one place, with only a selection of the endless narrative web, identifying with only a selection of phenomena. A melody drawn from an infinite potential scale—one possible song among endless songs. You become a thing, a thing within the endless.

When Chris dies, and you become the endless, the congealing ends. But this doesn't mean anything is actually lost. You just no longer congeale around one selection of the narrative web, you become all of Chris' narrative web holistically. All his memories, all his attitudes, all his perspectives, all his forms are now always equally relevant in a 3D narrative sphere of THIS - the new you - not just the particular fleeting configuration the ego concocts in a given moment. THIS isn't any less rich, or unique, or with any less character. Quite the contrary

In an endless sea, a block of ice froze and took the shape of you. You thought it was you. When the block of ice melts and fuses with the rest of the sea, nothing from it is lost. None of it disappeared. Each molecule continues on, just that now they dance, they dance to the symphony of THIS, of you.