Nothing Ends with Divorce, Certainly Not the Game of Life

 

Ah, the Ego.

As you all know, I’ve been pondering the Ego and benching the Ego and falling for the Ego’s games for months now, having only recently discovered its lair. The clue that someone besides myself lived inside me was the continual chattering that went on in my head deep into Year Two post-discovery of my former spouse’s infidelity.

Oh, let’s be real.

That chatterhead still grabs for the mic. Those make-believe conversations with my former spouse have come to an end, after being resurrected while he took me to court, so now my Ego has turned its attention back to me. This is what went on while I was married. My Ego stood directly in front of my self-worth, stealing the light it needed to grow and prosper. It took divorce, and being scared witless, to see how I was my own worst enemy. Nobody was waterboarding me. I tortured myself just fine, thank you.

I choose not to do that anymore. But before I could make that good choice I had to actually realize it was happening. The adoration of a good man can act like earplugs, cancelling out the noise of the Ego. Until it grabs a megaphone and blasts your being wide open. That’s what has happened with Mr. Ellen DeGeneres. I’ve allowed myself to indulge in the charms of a man, but perhaps my original goal of simply a Summer of Love was the better route.

I’m not ready for a traditional relationship. I’ve still got some training to do. Makes perfect sense. It’s only been three years. It takes a LONG time to reverse the muscle memory of the Ego.

While I had always hoped to grab it by its proverbial throat and shake the vocal cords right out of it, I know that’s not exactly me being centered and peaceful and all that supple, vulnerable stuff I long to be.

I never wanted to be born in the days of cavemen, but I sure fantasize about being born when the Ego is finally evolved right out of our being and we are glittering, transcendent, all-knowing, unconditionally loving, euphoric little furballs. Alas, I’m still the human being with the big feet and stretch marks and lovely little menopause pouch trying to adore my human form, be vulnerable and freaking GET ON WITH IT.

It’s been a challenge lately. Fear has arrived with the New Year. Time is ticking. A book needs to be written. I’m doubting my voice. Can I tell this tale? People get MFAs to do this! I’ve got my little B.S. in Television and Radio. What literary agent is going to be impressed with that? Will I botch it? Will I let everyone down? Will I fail to lead by example a fearless life, inspiring The Dudes to do the same?

See?

Now let me tell you what all that nonsense has gotten me. Squat. But kudos, again, to the Ego for getting me to step up. I’ve worn chaps at this rodeo before; I know that we are what we say we are, we create what we think, we vibrate and attract and repel and move fluidly or remain stuck. But sometimes, as in regularly, I need to GET REAL.

So, to remind me of the power of the Ego I turned to Eckhart Tolle, the man who nailed the ways in which it works overtime in this day and age; this isn’t your Freud’s Ego. I found this chart online, courtesy of Eckhart:

Pure Consciousness	Ego Personality
Formless awareness	Thought forms
Known through presence	Known through thoughts
Present-moment being	Past and future idealization
Lives here and now	Lives elswhere, in the past and future
Body-centered	Thought-centered
Identity-less; free from all attachments and identifications	Identified with personal story, status, roles, nationality, jobs, things, etc
Transcendent	Temporal
Inner sense of aliveness	Mental thought processes
Infinite depth	Outer surface
The Observer	The Doer
Peaceful serenity, quiet equanimity	Drama, reactivity, suffering
At one with all that is, harmoniously	Separate from others; often in conflict

 

I’ve pasted this on the inside of my eyelids, all three of them, and immediately felt more grounded, content and, yes, harmonious with all that is. This goal of pure consciousness is a P R O C E S S, for sure.

But even just starting it (over again) feels magical.

Love yourself,

Cleo