The Psychology behind my WHO I AM song

Memoir of the Shadow and the Spark: On Crying When I Give

By: Dr P. Mester

Link to the song: https://soundcloud.com/dr-mester-funk/who-i-am
(read “behind this track” on soundcloud)

The Question I Asked Myself

It happens every time.
I hand a few dollars to someone on the street.
I help in a way that feels real, human, unperformed.
And as I walk away, something breaks open.
Not hysteria. Not weakness.
Just a quiet flood behind my ribs.
A heaviness in the chest, tears that fall without invitation.
No witnesses. No camera. No halo.

I always wonder: why does kindness undo me?

The Answer I Found Within

It took years to understand that this is not collapse.
It is communion.
It is a catharsis that rises from empathy itself.

That pressure behind my sternum is the signal of everything I carry without knowing it.
The world’s pain hums under my skin like static.
As someone wired differently, every injustice, every hunger, every quiet despair vibrates through me.

When I give, I touch that current directly.
For a moment the barrier between self and other dissolves.
There is no giver or receiver, only one shared pulse.
It is what the ancient Greeks called Koinos—shared humanity.

The tears that follow are not sorrow.
They are the release of that collective weight.
My body speaks in the only language it has left when words fall short.
The language of release.

The Anatomy of an Anthem: How My Song Explains My Tears

My song “Who I Am” is not performance.
It is confession.
Every verse is a fragment of my inner architecture:
the Enneagram Type 2—the Helper—encased in the armor of the Chinese Ox.

I. The Helper’s Engine

Real strength ain’t loud, but it’s steady and clear
When the weak need a hand, I’m always right here
I lift ‘em up when they’re feeling low
When the world knocks ‘em down, I let ‘em grow

Type 2 lives to serve.
It is the compulsion to reach out, to heal, to steady what shakes.
Tears arrive because this drive runs too deep for words.
The act of giving releases pressure, as if compassion itself must escape through the eyes.
In those moments, I become the function I was built for—
to connect, to restore, to remind myself that love still breathes in the world.

II. The Ox’s Fortress

Calculated moves, every step precise
I don’t burn bridges, I turn ‘em to ice
Cold when I cut, no second tries
If the trust is gone, then the bond just dies

Slow to trust, but I peep the play
Energy don’t lie, watch what they do, not what they say

Here stands the Ox, rooted and deliberate.
Dependable, methodical, unshakable.
Where the Helper flows, the Ox builds boundaries.
Its discipline keeps compassion from drowning itself.
Cold precision becomes a kind of mercy—
a way to preserve energy for what truly matters.

When I give to someone in need, that armor falls away.
There is no contract, no expectation.
The Ox steps aside, and the pure instinct of the Helper moves through unobstructed.
That is why emotion floods in afterward.
The gate has opened, and the river moves freely.

III. The Shadow Worker

I wrestle the ghost in my own reflection
Every win got a hidden lesson
The rage in the cage, it’s a quiet weapon
But the heart’s the judge, no plea, no question

I’ve seen betrayals come in friendly tones
Snakes in the grass and kings with no thrones
But I keep it clean, heart armored tight
Got angels in scars, and demons in sight

This is where awareness lives.
I do not deny my anger, envy, or grief.
I meet them, study them, train them to work for me instead of against me.
The “quiet weapon” is self-knowledge shaped from pain.
Every scar becomes both warning and wisdom.
The rage stays caged because the heart has learned to judge with compassion.
My demons remind me what the angels cost.

IV. The Verses of Power

Ayo, step back, let me set the tone
I ain’t just flesh, I’m a force unknown
Built from the lines that I carve in stone
Thoughts cut deep, yeah, the mind’s my throne

Here is individuation—the making of a self that belongs to no one else.
The Helper seeks connection, the Ox seeks sovereignty.
Together they forge a force that gives without surrendering identity.

Challenge the game, I don’t play by rules
I dissect lies, I dismantle fools
I don’t need likes, I don’t need views
Just the raw uncut, never bend my truth

This is what compassion looks like when it evolves.
Love without performance.
Service without self-erasure.
Power held with integrity.
Each tear after giving is proof of this alignment—
a moment when I remember that goodness does not need an audience.

V. The Final Synthesis

Who I am? Still grinding, same scars
The ink don’t fade where the wounds are art
If you know the code, then you know the part
I’m the shadow and the spark

Here lies completion.
The shadow and the spark, bound together.
The Ox’s endurance intertwined with the Helper’s compassion.
Every act of giving and every tear that follows repeats this truth:
the fortress still lets light through.
Strength and tenderness coexist, neither diminishing the other.

The Pillar of Compassion

A healthy, integrated Enneagram Type 2 fused with the soul of an Ox becomes something rare—
a Pillar of Compassion.
Not sentimental. Not soft.
Firm enough to hold pain without collapsing,
open enough to let empathy keep its current.

This kind of strength does not roar.
It breathes quietly.
It is built from loyalty, discernment, and the refusal to grow numb.
Tears are not evidence of fragility; they are evidence of connection.
They show that the bridge between the human and the divine is still intact.
Each act of kindness is a small resurrection of faith.
Each tear that follows is the proof that the world has not hardened me yet.

Closing Reflection

So, who am I?

I am the one who hands kindness in silence
and weeps in private because the beauty of it hurts in all the right ways.

I am the Ox with a heart too alive for its armor,
the Helper strong enough to carry its own weight.

I am the psychologist of my own soul,
turning every scar into a scripture of understanding.

I am the wound and the salve,
the fortress and the flame,
the shadow and the spark.

I am not just a helper.
I am a Pillar of Compassion—
forged in struggle,
armored in truth,
and still, endlessly, beautifully human at the core.