The sense of being an experiencer feels central to the illusion of "me," as though life were a series of events happening to someone. This imagined self creates a narrative, weaving meaning and continuity into what's appearing. However, the experiencer and its story are no more real than the events they seek to grasp. There is no one experiencing anything—just this, appearing as it does without anyone to own or define it. Life is not a journey or a sequence of happenings, but the effortless unfolding of what appears. Without the "me," the sense of experiencing completely vanishes, leaving only this ungraspable, empty appearance.