Ego: False Self (Part 2)

These are the things of ego. These are the constructions of form. These are the superficial particulars that represent my external perceptions of self. These are the lies I tell myself to help me feel more real; to help me see myself the way I want to be seen, because in truth we are more vast than we could ever conceive; so this is a way to make me smaller, more precise, more defined; as someone once said: "Like a pristine polished Christmas ornament" beautiful and made to be adored. Adore me!!! I scream it in the timbre of my laugh, in the affection of my touch, in the meanderings of my intellect, in the overflowing of my honesty, in the way I quantify God, and in those I choose to date. The reverberations of my need echoes in the voices of those I allow to call me "baby", and in the eyes of the preciouse few I attempt to call friends. I surround myself with mirrors; edifying pieces of the finest crystal that reflect my perfect sense of false self.

I am God, but I do not know it. I am presence manifested in the flesh, but I cannot feel it. I am the totality of creation, but I cannot get past what I was. I am the culmination of a tragic chronological compilation that now calls himself "Beautiful", and is terrified to be seen as anything other than that, so I hide my track marks with Tiffany bracelets, burry my former homelessness below beautiful hardwood floors, and obfuscate the nights of being everybody's whore with genteel gentlemen who treat me like a queen. I have been reborn into this . . . And though painted with a brush of enlightenment, supported with biblical scripture, easily referenced with something that Oprah said, and flowered from the deep toiling of higher thinking, it is still ego; still vanity; still a limitation of the whole, and (Borrowing on the philosophical writings of "The New Earth") still a part of me that "needs" to be. . . The part of my fleeting unconscious that fights to be recognized, acknowledged, and validated.

But Truth needs no validation. . . So perhaps I am not being truthful. Perhaps my authenticity is limited by my ability to only be cognizant of the linear perceptions of an unperceivable self; and all the nouns and adjectives and metaphors and allusions and theories and intense metaphysical dialogues that I use to define myself are not me at all, but who I want to be; and consequentially who I force you to tell me I am if you choose to love me. If I let you love me. . .

Love me.
Adore me.
Top me.
Drive me.
Pay my way.
Open my door.
Pray to my God.
Tell Me I'm Beautiful.
Tell Me I'm Brilliant.
Read this List of Books.
Be Smart.
Be Successful.
Be Perfect.
Be White.

These are the requests of my wounded psyche, made to souls that share my space; needed to make me feel more full. But if I am abundant and fundamentally the equivalent of all, then they are merely mitigating mental techniques set up to make me feel special; Unique; Different from everyone else, and separate from the omnipotence consciousness of God. It is time for the Walls of Jericho to come down, and for the protective partitions to fall way. It's time to pay your on way. It's time for you to be your own man. It's time to stand in the presence of who you "actually" are; without labels, descriptors, or qualifying characteristics. It's time to let the ego step aside and to stop choosing men based on their ability to make you feel better about who you are, but rather based on the fundamental question of: Do they make you FEEL?

Ego: Or So They Say (Part 1)

I pride myself on my honesty and my capacity to acknowledge my flaws. I also recognize the possibility for beauty to manifest itself by moving through the cracks of an imperfect veneer. And though in most cases I think that we have very little say in which lessons life lays out for us to learn, I am a huge advocate of the notion that one cannot move forward without taking inventory of where he's been; otherwise repetition becomes the norm and evolution becomes stunted. Or so they say.

I've been re-reading "A New Earth", Re-investing in understanding what brought on my disquiet, and analyzing exactly what it was that I did wrong. (While being cognizant that the concept of wrong is merely a perspective on an ideological position) This is what I've come up with:

The last time I read "A New Earth" I was struggling with my constructs of the external world; trying to lessen my need to fragment and judge institutions of Love, Marriage, Religion, and Romantic Relationships, so that my mental picture did not dominate the overall collage (That when seen as a whole is complex, layered, and ultimately a unitary image of one idea). And it changed me. Gave me the opportunity to step back, relax, and breathe into the moment without fearing that the converging differences would somehow diminish who I was. I was strengthened in who I was and yet made gentler on the world around me. For those of you who have read "A New Earth" you may have already caught the trap that I fell into. "I was strengthened in who I was"

I found a Beautiful Man who loved me for exactly who I was, I became increasingly at ease with my personally integrity, and more a more comfortable with sharing realities with those with a different world view; and because all was "in the moment" I found that a choice that had no linear consequence could not deny me access to alternate futures. I was safe. I didn't have to fight so hard. I became confident that I would continue to exist, that I would still be heard, and that I would still find love; even if it was called by a different name. I let it go. Knowing that however you chose to define the world had no bearing on me. And we could still share the moment. We could be we, while I was still completely me. But now what? What about this now? What about today? Alone again and aware that I have no idea where each date will lead, and with only the subtle understanding that the last year of "momentous" living left me here. . . searching for connection again. What is the same? What baggage remains tied to my thigh leaving me unable to leap freely into the next love story?

Answer:

I am still obsessed with form. I am still caught up in the presentation of an ideal; MY ideal. ME. The construction of my personal identity has become impenetrable diamond; beautiful, sparkling, and unbreakable. Yet still not real; a perfectly designed illusion of self . . . but in all actuality just a construction of the Ego. Or so they say. . .

The Paradox of Authenticity

The problem I'm having with honesty is that it’s so easy to manipulate.

Any good actor knows how to me authentic…
I mean, that’s how you know you are good.

Just ask Oprah or Angelina Jolie.

I bet Gandhi would have been BRILLIANT with a script.

Eulogy: A Writing Project.

Corey was Beautiful and he believed you were beautiful; and he took every opportunity to tell you so. A free spirit with boundless ability to access joy, his laughter was his greatest achievement. He was a talented writer, performer, and activist, but he was mostly a human being; keenly aware of his flaws and short comings. . .but he loved; and he was loved, and through that he found his salvation. So today we do not mention death, but say that he has transcended, for. . . “God is Love. And he that lives in love lives in God, and He in him.”