Mr. Disillusion and comrade Ego

I met a man at the corner of newness and traditions. . . at the edge of confidence and self-assuredness. . .he stood on this edge, looking on to it with trepidation. . .He takes a step forward, sweat breaking out of his forehead, he thinks intently. . . but I watch hopelessly as he turns the corner to traditions, shoulders slumped. . .I feel an acute sadness for him . . .yet I can`t help it. . . I still hope that his next decision will lead him back to this precipice . . .and maybe then his choice will be different. . .

He is a fully formed man . . .

His ears large, his eyes bright and his mind, oh that mind. . .

His mind is a capable tool, logic, pragmatic in all things, linear. . .straightforward and tidy. In the known principles, none is his equal. Yet he is unable to account for humanity, the random and uncontrollable are incomprehensible to him . . . He cannot reconcile with the nature of man, yet he is himself also a man . . . in every way human. . . I hesitate to call him self-serving for he is not always this, neither is he entirely selfish, no . . . his selfishness comes from a place of mental rigidity, he only allows himself grace. . .only himself. . . the rest of humanity he criticizes both aloud and in silence. There is always a quiet malevolence that hangs around him, you are never too sure when it will raise its head. . .this malevolence is dissociated mentally from him, he does not believe himself capable of wrong. . .  no . . .worse, is that he holds on to the appearance of fairness. . .yet he is only fair to his pride, where fairness calls him to step away from his pride, he stops. . .nothing else matters . . .  only his own mind, what it adjudges as fair, to him is fair.

. . .I have not met anyone that fully trusts his mind like he does. . . his decidedness convinces even me sometimes, and I can become doubtful of even what I was previously sure was truth. . . I almost stop seeing the grainy dark dots in his thinking when I immerse myself too readily into his utterances, when I do not carry that `pinch of salt` and apply it to his words. When I take it all in. Both the truth . . .  and the self-preservation.

Yes, self-preservation is what warps his mind into the confusing twists. That invisible fear for ego, we must protect ego, yes we must, regardless of how useless he is, yes, protect him. He enjoys occupying the recesses of Mr. Disillusion`s mind, he hovers in it, a mental parasite that convinces him that it is useful, all the while draining all hope of peace and love from his mind. Ego has somehow convinced him that he can do without the joys of love, . . . yet the inner hopeful man still tugs at him, trying to lead him towards a lighter, more hopeful state of mind, into a place of possibility . . .not ego though, in these lucid moments of hope, when ego`s encampment is threatened and its hold shaken, it holds on ever tighter, convincing the man that he is in mortal danger. . .

An idea cannot kill the man, it is abstract, and has little hold over his physical reality. . . yet that is when the battle truly begins . . . one between ego versus truth, hope and newness. It does not walk alone the ego, it often dispatches it`s trusty henchmen fear and `tradition`? yes tradition, how things `ought to be` according to Mr. Disillusion . . .his comfort zone of thought, what he has come to be convinced is his truth, his bastion of protection when anything contrary chances his way.

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It is not obvious, this mental rigidity in Mr. Disillusion, for he wears all the tropes of open mindedness, he speaks like a man enlightened and sophisticated, reasons like one. . . at least, to the extent that ego allows. You see, it is not that Mr. Disillusion does not have a capable mind, except he is in a mental prison and believes his jailor is his friend, protecting him, when all it does is create a mental barrier to progress. The parasitic ego drains all hope from Mr. disillusion, leaving him with a paper confidence, brittle and unworthy of his potential, so strong is the infection in his mind he is simply unable to transcend to his true position.  

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At Mr. Disillusioned side I saw Ms. Misplaced Empathy, they love each other. . . they do. . . yet, a parasite lives in the mind of Ms. Misplaced Empathy . . . it mimics ego and it`s hold on her runs symbiotic to ego . . . it is confusion. Confusion maintains a grand presence in Ms. Misplaced Empathy`s mind. . .often, in attempting to decipher ego`s hand in Mr. Disillusions actions, she relies on confusion, who often dispatches emotions . . .Emotions is a double edged sword, she brings her joy, but she also gives her doubts, pain and hopelessness. What she does not realize is that ego and confusion are on a mission to take away their love. They are partners in contriving mischief between the two and convoluting the truth. Emotion is also used by ego, everything wears the possibility of truth when coated in emotions. Ego often wields emotion on Mr. Disillusion to strike actions from him that push Ms. Misplaced Empathy further away from him.

Theirs is another love thrown into the litter bin of hopelessness by their own individual choices to rely on ego and confusion.

Maybe a love that is not fought for does not deserve to bloom. Maybe the continued refusal by Disillusion and Misplaced Empathy to transcend the mediocrity that is the false safety of emotional stagnation,. . .their refusal to question their held belief systems, their traditions. . .still leads them down the same path of pain they so determinedly avoid. . . the only difference between the eventual pain and difficulty from not challenging the ego and the expected pain from challenging it, is that, the pain from courage comes with the inner satisfaction and joy that you tried and whether you can see it or not, progress has been made . . . while emotional pacifism only gives a false sense of reassurance. . .more like an ostrich burying its head in the sand, a route of dull pain and dissatisfaction.

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Heey! a slightly serious piece today. . . this is the first of what I hope will be a series on `mental bastions`, abstract strongholds that capture us hostage in our minds whose relevance I question.

This piece was on the ego, whatever thoughts you have on the ego. . .these a mine. . .

Thank you!




Into the light

Today I choose you. . . today I choose the light. . . the cave that has been my living space is now a constriction. . .I want to leave it, to be re-born, to find life. My skin itches as the flood of light focuses on my tender skin. . . Skin that has abided in darkness too long, lurking within the stagnant shadows of ignorance, pride, negative pacifism . . . and fear. . . I want to roar. . . to choose violence.

The brightness of the sun burns, I feel like a Phoenix ready to burn to ashes . . . so that I can be reborn a new creature, firmer, newer. . . Stronger.

My skin looks wrinkly, an unhealthy cloud of ashy white clings on my melanated skin. I look like the dead. . . Initially, its uncomfortable,. . . the change,. . .however, as I continue to absorb light’s strength, my skin slowly begins to sing . . . As it absorbs the power of light. . . The transformation is eclectic, multi colored beams of light erupt from my skin, . . . Light has created a luminous, multi hued layer over my skin, I rise, reborn. . . finally strong, healed and renewed.

I became an incandescent creature. My hair glimmers. . .shiny, curly, healthy and the darkest shade of black. My eyes glitter, like two dazzling silver gem stones. . . they are pools of intense light grey, luminous. . .and. . . hungry?. . . My skin is a glowing chocolate brown, glowing. . .no, singing in the light. . .

Then I smile. . . and the spell is broken. . . I glimse my image reflected from the small pool of water outside the cave. My canines have grown sharper and longer, my smile is terrible. . . Predatory. . .
I quickly hide my new fangs. . .

My legs are no better. . . they shake as I stand at the threshold of light`s presence. . .unused to the glare and majesty. . .They are shaking, mimicking the tentative movement of a newly born calf`s.

I slowly move towards light. . . Facinated at the change my previously gnarled hand is going through. I turn my hand slowly around to the right, then to the left. Watching as it gets plumper.

I then lift it up to my mouth, feeling up my new canines with my fingers. . . A wonder. . . My legs feel strong, so I walk out, radiant, dangerous, hopeful. . .

Is reality a consequence and action of the supernatural? A thing we cannot touch, or influence, . . .change or configure. . .is reality this constant, unchanging rock(majaliwa) or do we influence our reality with our attitude, actions and choices. . .might reality be fluid. . .really a thing that conforms to our own nature . . .a thing driven by our own fears, optimism, action or lack there of. . . ? I believe it is a bit of both. . . That belief will always fuel hope and faith, and hope and faith will fuel passion which in turn fuels discipline and action. . . You can do it 😊 you will do it.

Heey! this is about changing our attitudes (we do this together☺️) and about finding my own way. . . finding a new way to navigate this life as myself, imperfections and all( those vampy canines on the new body),

The bad will always be with you, you choose how much leeway to allow it, adopting healthier thinking and growing out of our fears. Understanding that it is in knowing our value that we add value to others, being great full For progress and living to be of value. . .❤️

The day will come when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom~ Anais Nin

I know the truth, what I need to do. . . Deep inside me. . . I instinctively know. . . The day I will choose to ignore any other voice but that one. . . I walk out of my cave.

Thank you!