Love is knowing I am everything,
and between the two my life moves.”
― Nisargadatta Maharaj
...from our thinking self (not just the critic but everything).
If only we'd rest in something -- e.g. awareness -- or question each thought ("Is it true?")
But in the end, even that becomes another thought-induced process.
Perhaps we're destined to be this way (and that) but just imagine (which of course you can't) the unknowing, the unbounded, limitless unknowing.
Too big for the ego?
Who knows? Who truly knows?