This is a poem that your ego won’t believe.

The ego is not a person. It is not a self. It is not a character or an individual. When we become the ego, we become something other than human, or other than someone who is completely whole and complete. When we become ego, we experience all the lack and disfunction that ego brings, all the limitations, the wanting, the incapacitation, the confusion, and frustration.

The ego is narcissism, and the ego is a-human. Who is surprised? Wake up wake up.

Then consider the deep layers of shame, regret, and disappointment that result from the choices that are made in the context of ego. The contrivance, the manipulation, the desperate desire to find reasons for not doing this and doing that. The confusion of what is right and wrong, and the seeking of others to find solace, comfort and validation. The constant chatter for this and against that. The reasons, and the convincing, the justification, the smugness and the righteousness.

Ego is a mess.
All the egos create messes.

And when we become committed to letting the ego slip away, dissolve, to disband, and deconstruct, we are left with who we are, who we have always been, forever and on for eternity.  Nothing, certainly not ego, can compare to this “homecoming”. However, this homecoming is something that the ego has shown us how to dread most of all. The ego informs the consciousness of what kills it and what strengthens it, and on that basis the individual consciousness choses all that benefits ego, over and above the that which nourishes Self.

The ego can speak of peace and love and benevolence. It always does this with a knife hidden behind its back. The stronger the ego, the more it twists the guts. The ego knows that it cannot deliver, and so only delivers half of the whole by slicing down the middle. This shames the consciousness, the deep consciousness that knows the lie, the hand that silently kills and destroys. This is how the ego controls. It controls with the whips and of shame and guilt. The individual is too afraid to speak up against the ego, because it has been shamed into self -laceration and its mouth is no longer on its face.

This is not spiritual warfare, but this is a challenge to learn how to find Self in the Frankenstein that ego has created.  To remove the shackles of shame and guilt; to find the courage to be Self, to be Oneself, to accept that One can emerge oneself from the ugly corpse that has bound it to ego.

How did the thread of feeling “not enough” begin, the ego initially looked so sweet? Where did that door open? What ego encouraged you to write that story, and to layer it with attempt upon attempt, and philosophy upon philosophy in order to explain it all away or soothe your mind, just to be able to live with yourself? Adulthood is a whirlwind of bloviation and expertise and knowledge, a rock formation of something that was once was as alive as a living breathing volcano. Now It can’t move itself without a wheelbarrow, and it is so contained and so formulated to remain a rock, senseless and desensitized, aimless and yet always pointing in the same direction, depending on where it has sharpened itself.

Adults look in one direction and so it is easy to slip past them. It is easy to get them to drink the devil’s foodcake. They eat their own. Mothers cling to sons and fathers to daughters, to tow the company line with blood.

There are souls trapped in the rocks, forgotten, lost, screaming – this is the true hell, in the churches and in between the cracks of the floor where the maidens walk with their grooms.  When you see a rock, remember this. Perhaps you can hear the screaming.

Only ego could make despair beautiful, and self-destruction a theme for a popular music, drugs and suicide. The cults of youth, the music entrapments entertaining around the bodies of the young; vampiric sounds that encourage the juicy dark pools of meaningless tears. Grunge, a sticky fire of a pathetic groan and existential grit, rubbed together to make smoke and ash, for bathing in it. A living hell is what was created. Seattle. Los Angeles. Let it burn. Talent was there, and it was fuel for the hell fires.

No good father would want their daughter to love ego,
forever they shan’t part.

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