Who am I but you?

A thousand patterns fill my head
In day and while I lie in bed.
I think they're false while nighttime fill
But in day's light of course are real.

This neural dancing is my all,
I cannot but obey its call,
And if it weren't, I would not too.
Oh, patterns! Who am I but you?

Yet I do feel there's something more,
The patterns cannot be my core.
For if by night are false, then why
By day shan't also be a lie?

But if I'm more than where reside
If other than my skull's inside?
For matter fills all space I see,
External, there's no room for me!

Is there some spark, an inner light
Eluding all senses, despite
Convictions it is not a sham
Lest patterning I only am?

Alas! Sure I cannot become
Regarding where my me is from.
The search for light may be my thrill,
But patterns hold captive my will.