Ever notice how the people closest to you sandpaper your ego?
I think it’s in the Plan, to smooth out our rough edges.
Merrily you roll until this abrasion sideswipes you.
Ouch. Throws you into turmoil, as I know so well.
Ego defenses rise. You’re only human.
You get to chew on this one again.
You get to digest this coarse emotion.
You get to listen to the tormented voice in your head.
Why do you give so much credence to that voice in your head?
It’s only your head. Your head is not your friend.
But you think your head is you. Just as I do.
It’s a case of mistaken identity.
Your particular habit of mind is calling the shots again.
Who left the mind in charge?
It’s an old habit of the old regime: the head kidnaps the heart and soul.
Your heart is smarter than your mind.
Your heart wants to drop this conflict and simply connect.
Your heart knows you are Bigger than your ego, Bigger than your body, Bigger than you can imagine.
Your true Identity is not your ego at all.
Of course you know this. It’s another piece of data in your head.
Until you experience it.
One night years ago I caught a glimmer, thanks to the sandpaper.
Of course I keep forgetting it. Trying to remember it.
That’s sandpaper for you. That’s the way it goes, right?
Here’s my note from that dark night:
Desolate with anger. Gnashing my teeth.
Can’t live with this situation. How can I? What can I?
Thrashing out of bed at 1 am, exploding.
Must get out of this place. My place.
Out to the darkness, past my neighbors’ sleeping homes.
How could it come to this?
Now that I see the bleakness of it all, the futility of my efforts, I rage inside.
Rage, rage, rage.
Can’t live with this.
Can’t stand for this.
It doesn’t work for me.
Everything is broken.
Can’t fix it. Can’t fix it. Can’t fix it.
Every step up this dark hill.
Kill. Take my life. Just take it, end it.
Honest to God, I cannot live This.
You can have it back. Take it.
It hits me: this here is the voice of my ego.
My ego cannot tolerate the strain.
Life squashes my ego’s expectations beyond repair.
My ego rages, demanding its own death.
Well then. Not such a loss, the ego.
Fine with Me.
I suppose I can walk back home . . .
So. How has your ego blown its cover?