Birth of Ego

You know, there are huge advantages to subscribing to the blogs of other people.

The most obvious is that I have something to distract me for about two minutes at a time every now and then. How nice! I can prevent myself from actually thinking! But after reading a few things on a few blogs my mind starts to bubble, and lo and behold, I post myself.
Thought begets thought, I suppose.
Anyway, for today's romp through my thought processes for the benefit of Future Me, I present to you the following quote and the reasons that it made my brain immediately kick into overdrive.
"The truth is I hate myself. And I think that is better than being obsessed with myself."
This quote comes to us by way of the Sky Sailor's Handbook, a link you can find in blogs that I follow publicly (or if you're the author, who I know is one of my few readers, hello!)

For those of you who know me, or who read my blog, or have seen me walk down the street or even made eye contact with me - in short, it's really obvious that I am intensely egotistical. I am arrogant. I am self-absorbed, I am self-centered - importantly, though, I am not overly selfish - and in short I love myself with the white-hot intensity of a thousand suns. If I could clone myself and have sexual intercourse with an exact duplicate of myself, I would never want for sex again. If I could hook my brain up to machines and spend the rest of my life exploring how it works, I would never talk to another human being. I. LOVE. ME.

I forget exactly where I was going with this. Where was I?

Incidentally, I've probably posted on this topic before - but as I was pointedly reminded the other day, who I am now is different from who I was a year ago and it is interesting to get my point of view on the same subject over time. Interesting for Future Me, anyway.

Also if you know me, you'll know that I am not secretive about my ego. It exists and in a lot of cases it is quite destructive. I'm going to tell you today why I, an instrospective, self-editing individual, allowed it to grow.

I suppose I should warn you that this is probably going to be a little morbid.

Recently I was questioned by my brother. He had seen and heard of some of the things I had done to people, right before I left Canberra. They were not kind things. In fact they were downright cruel things, probably undeserved by those I did them to (though not all were undeserved, but that's another post). Basically, he demanded I explain myself; convinced that I was not at heart a bad person, he wanted to know why I did what I did, what motivated me. I told him that my ego demanded closure; that those people had at one time or another perpetrated actions that had displeased me, and my ego demanded satisfaction - so I made them suffer, or vented my spleen, or tore up relationships. And then he asked me why I had an ego.
There's probably a post somewhere in my backlog about what my previous stepfather did to me. I won't go into the details here, not too much. It isn't important. But I will paint you a very brief picture.

Imagine a confused, frightened teenager who lived in mortal fear every day for over a year. Imagine that that teenager was told every day how worthless he was, how wrong he was - how he was disgusting and he must be kept a secret from everyone around him, or they'd hate him too. Now imagine that teenager physically abused, tormented relentlessly, and left to rot.
At this point, our hypothetical teenager has two options. He can agree. He can submit. He can lie down and let it all happen to him, and in his submission things get a little easier for him. The forces that wish his destruction lessen as he begins to do their work for him. He throws himself down stairs to try and break his legs. He toys with drinking everything under the kitchen sink. He tells himself that he is unloveable and unworthy and deserves the treatment he gets - and eventually, when the abomination of his mistreatment is lifted and he is free again, he does the demon's work for them - he treats himself like he is worthless, because it was easier than not submitting. That stays with him for the rest of his life - a life that he will probably shorten when he finally becomes incapable of living with himself and his self-hatred.
Short-term, the forces pass him over. Long-term, he lives with that choice for the rest of his life.

Or there's a second option, that he can go for after trying the first option.

The teenager can withdraw into himself again - not out of submission, but in strength. He can convince himself, utterly and completely, that he is the only thing that matters in the world. He is the most important thing, everything he is is the only reality - the forces outside that are trying to destroy him are nothing, mere illusion. If he is the most amazing person in the world, the forces that are conspiring his demise, that degrade and defeat him, well, they are merely setbacks! Through conditioning, the teenager convinces himself overwhelmingly that he is amazing, incredible, and above all better than those around him. In doing so, he becomes untouchable. And when eventually the danger is past, the pressures on him are lifted and he is free again, that sense of invincibility will stay with him for the rest of his life - for a small price. Every now and then he has to crush someone, be cruel, do something that reminds him of everything he convinced himself of - his power, his strength, his ability. It isn't always a bad thing - sometimes he can satisfy this ego with good things. Sometimes, though, he has to hurt people. A bad thing, now and then, for a good feeling. There are worse things in the world.
He stood proud while he was almost destroyed. Now, he occasionally hurts others, and is happy.

I made my choice.

Why this world isn't illusion.

This is my 151st post. How very interesting.

"Illusions can kill if used with skill, but fake healing is only a feeling."
- something from somewhere that's stuck with me most of my life.

"This world is just illusion, trying to change you."
- a song.

"What if everything you lived for, was an elaborate dream?"
- another song.

I'm going to be as raw as I possibly can be in this post. I am not going to postulate about the nature of reality, because I could produce endless, rambling posts on that topic that wouldn't prove anything. Hell, I could probably prove to logical satisfaction (my own, at any rate) that existence is a dream and all that we see is as fleeting as mist in a bucket.

But I'm not going to do that. Instead I'm going to set out what's running through my head at the moment.

There's this heavy emphasis on piercing the illusion that masks our lives and the nature of our existence these days. People on drugs and religious people are the prime offenders, but there are others who seek to pierce the fog that veils the true purpose of humanity or whatever it is they are saying they are doing. Most of them say that true understanding lies somehow outside the body, that the secrets of the universe can be unlocked by ethereal experimentation or communcation, and that all can be understood if we just open our minds to outside influences.
To put my position at this point in time quite clearly -
Fuck. That.
Everything I am is encased in my skull and operates through a very intense system, a system completely beyond my comprehension - but here's the important thing, identifiable. I'll put it in simple terms. Remove my brain, and I cease to be. Most other organs can be augmented or replaced. The brain cannot be. Ergo, I am my brain. Sure, there might be a 'soul' or something that is part of me that I am not capable of accessing or controlling while I'm alive - but I know for a fact that right now, I am my brain. Physically, I am that grey matter in my head. Looking outside my head for who I am ultimately is pointless.
As for fulfillment, that couldn't be simpler either. When I hunger, I eat (sometimes, anyway, my body being a fickle creature). When I lust, there are ways of dealing with that too. When I am cold, I clothe myself. When I am hot, I sweat. For every desire, emotion, need and want, I have the tools to meet those demands upon my brain - my shell makes demands of my self, and in turn the shell satisfies the self. A good meal and a pretty boy will cause me to be happy. Wielding power - an entirely physical insitution - makes me fulfilled. These reactions are real, as real I as I myself am. If I am not real, the nature of the world isn't important - but I do believe that I myself am real. I think, therefore I am, blah blah blah.
I'm rambling. I'll try to simplify again.
I am real. Therefore, the things that satisfy and fulfill me are real. Those things have physical groundings. Therefore, the phsyical world is real.
I have sex, I eat food, I feel happy, the world is real.
I get punched in the face, I lose a lover, I am mocked, I am sad, the world is real.
Fuck looking elsewhere for meaning.

For now, anyway.

It'll All Melt Away

The walls are white.
As though they might,
Project the light.

And in the night,
It seems they might,
Consume the light.

You're such a fright.

The sky is blue,
Crisp, clear, and new,
And just for you.

What will you do,
When nothing's new?
Nothing for you?

Bid it adieu.

You walk in day,
Breathe, come what may.
That much, I'll say.

Don't lose your way,
I will not stay,
To walk in day.

For you are prey.

Arrival

High ceilings, shuttered windows.
Winding roads with tumbledown houses.
A terraced garden and a cat on the staircase.
The smell of sweat and a feeling of loss.
If only I could put it all together.
I know it means something.

I've been in Melbourne for almost two weeks now.
Moving away from home has proven to be paradoxically ten times easier than expected and at the same time crushingly difficult.
The people who I treated with utter disdain are now almost a thousand kilometres away. That's not to say I regret treating them with disdain, but rather I am upset because now I have nobody to treat with disdain.
Making friends is a laborious process and one that doesn't exactly have a clear beginning.
I am surviving. I am surrounded by nice things and the essentials have been made available to me. I'm a very lucky person.
I need to get out of my head a little bit.

Something is changing,
Meaning keeps escaping and now,
It proves impossible to say.
I don't have to do this,
The point is easy to miss,
And I know that there is another way.

The Woman Who Thought She Was Ugly

Once upon a time there was a woman who thought she was ugly.

This woman lived all by herself in a shack in the middle of the woods, with nothing but a full-length mirror to keep her company. The shack was old and rickety, and the roof would blow and rattle in the wind at night. One day, the woman grew so weary of looking at her reflection in the mirror that she kicked her door in and set off into the forest in a towering rage.

“Woe is me!” she raged to herself. “I am so monumentally ugly! There is nothing on this earth that is as ugly as I am!” As you can see, this woman was prone to melodrama.

It came to pass that while walking in the woods, she was set upon by a hideous monster in the woods. She was not afraid of the ugliness of the monster, because she believed that her own ugliness was far worse – but the monster had sharp fangs, and pointed claws, and she began to fear.

“Stay away,” she warned the monster as it panted at her from the path. “I am far too ugly for you to trouble yourself with.”

“Ugly you are,” the monster growled, “but I am ugly too – and I will take what I can get!” And with that, the monster leapt upon the woman and had his way with her. After putting up with the horrible monster’s attentions for over an hour, the woman finally managed to beat the monster away. It fled into the woods, whooping with evil glee, and the woman felt disgusted. “I must be ugly,” she said to herself, “for a beast such as that to trouble with me.” And so it was that she continued on her way, shaking her head in sadness.

After walking for many hours, she stopped by a stream to quench her thirst and wash her face. Looking across the river, she saw another woman washing her hair in the stream. This woman was not particularly good-looking, but to the woman who thought she was ugly, she was beautiful indeed. “What a beautiful woman” the ugly-thinking woman thought to herself. “I shall steal away from here quickly, and not trouble her.” But as she made to leave, the hair-washing woman called out to her.

“Who are you, that wanders in this forest without a friend?” The hair-washing woman called.

“Nobody,” replied the woman who thought she was ugly. “Just an ugly, ugly person trying to walk through the woods.”

“You are very ugly,” said the hair-washing woman, “but I have an idea. If you will have sex with me, I will call you beautiful, and maybe you will feel better about your horrible ugliness.” The woman who thought she was ugly was so overjoyed at this suggestion that she tore her clothes off at once and leapt across the river. The hair-washing woman was equally keen on the idea, and they coupled for a while.

When it was over, the woman who thought she was ugly swam across the river again to retrieve her clothing, and when she turned back, the hair-washing woman had fled – not even bothering to dress before escaping. The woman who thought she was ugly was very sad. “I must be so ugly that she couldn’t even bring herself to pretend I was beautiful,” she said to herself, and she continued on her way, very weary after her adventures.

After walking for many more hours, the woman who thought she was ugly found herself in a land of ice and snow. The wind blew cruelly and stung her face, but she did not mind as she thought herself so ugly that the wind could only be an improvement. Not only was she melodramatic, she was foolish – and she soon became lost in the blizzard. After stumbling blindly about for some minutes, she found herself outside a windswept palace made of glittering frost. “I am far too ugly for a place like this,” she thought to herself, “but if I duck inside quickly perhaps nobody will see me.” And so she did.

Inside the palace there was absolutely nobody to be seen. The halls echoed with the woman’s footsteps and search as she might she could not find a single person. Finally, she thought to check in the throne room of the frozen palace, and there she came upon the Ice Queen sitting in state upon her crystal throne. The woman who thought she was ugly took fright and made to flee, but the Ice Queen beckoned her forward with a bony finger.

“Who are you, that enters my land of ice and snow?” the Ice Queen demanded imperiously.

“Just a very ugly woman who has lost her way, your Majesty,” the woman who thought she was ugly said with fear.

“You are very ugly,” said the Ice Queen, “but you may rest here for a time, and tell me how beautiful I am.”

Obediently the woman sat down at the feet of the throne and began to tell the Ice Queen of everything that made her beautiful. But the more she spoke, the less beautiful the Ice Queen seemed. Her fingers were bone-white and looked like claws, her cheeks were sullen and corpse-white, and under her ermine robes she looked to be very bloated and large. After a time of talking, the woman who thought she was ugly realized that the Ice Queen was not beautiful in the slightest, and when the Ice Queen finally fell asleep, frozen to her crystal throne, the woman who thought she was ugly made her escape.

The woman who thought she was ugly left the land of ice and snow, and found herself in a pleasant field. The sun had revealed itself once more and the woman felt a faint stirring of hope. There in the center of the field she came across a young man, and she was filled with fear, because she remembered the monster from the start of her long journey.

“Stay away,” she warned the man as she had warned the monster. “I am far too ugly for you to trouble yourself with.”

“Ugly?” the man replied. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen!”

The woman who thought she was beautiful did not believe him at first, but over many hours he managed to convince her that he was being serious. She thought him a very strange man at first, but as the days in the field grew longer and the young man continued to speak of her beauty, she started to accept that he was honest. She did not believe him, of course, because she knew herself to be very ugly, and over time she left him and travelled back to her home in the forest with the rickety roof and the full-length mirror.

Many years passed.

One day, the woman who thought she was ugly woke up and looked in her full-length mirror, as she did every morning to remind herself of her ugliness. But this morning, something had changed. The face that looked back at her out of her mirror was beautiful. Absolutely, soul-blisteringly, utterly and completely beautiful. With a cry of joy, the beautiful woman rushed out of her house and down the path. She could think only of finding that young man, who she had met in that field all those years ago, and showing him that she finally was as beautiful as he had said she was.

It came to pass that while running down the path in the woods, she was set upon by a monster. This monster was frightfully ugly, and somehow familiar. It had sharp fangs, and pointed claws, and the beautiful woman was afraid.

“Stay away from me, monster,” she said to it with fear, “for I am far too beautiful for you now.”

“You’re right!” the monster said, gnashing its teeth. “You are far too beautiful, and I will always be ugly.”

And with that, the monster loped off into the trees, and the beautiful woman felt pity for the ugly thing, because ugliness was all it was and all it deserved.

Continuing on her way, the beautiful woman came across a stream, and was looking upon her beautiful face in the water when she heard the sound of crying. Across the stream was the hair-washing woman from all those years ago, fully clothed again and crying pitifully.

“Hello,” said the beautiful woman. “I am very beautiful.”

“You are so beautiful,” sobbed the hair-washing woman, “and I am so alone! I ran away from an ugly woman many years ago, and married a man. He said he would call me beautiful forever, but now he’s run away from me!” And with that the hair-washing woman dissolved into tears, and the beautiful woman felt pity for her. “I wish I could stay and comfort you, but I have a long way to go yet,” the beautiful woman said, and left the hair-washing woman crying on the banks of the stream.

After many more hours of travelling, the woman came once again upon the land of ice and snow, and in the center of that land was the windswept palace of ice. “I wonder if the Ice Queen still rules over this land,” the beautiful woman thought to herself. And with that, she pushed the door open and entered the empty palace again, no longer afraid of being cast out for her ugliness.

Like before, there was not a soul to be seen, and the palace rang with the footsteps of the beautiful woman. Pushing open the huge doors of the throne room, the beautiful woman saw that the Ice Queen was still sitting on her throne – but the throne was encased in a huge block of ice.

“She must have frozen to death on her pedestal,” said the beautiful woman to herself, and she beheld the frozen face of the Ice Queen – a face that was revealed to be most ugly indeed. Quietly, the beautiful woman left the frozen palace and left the Ice Queen to rule over her empty, icy wasteland. Her goal was now in sight.

Finally, the beautiful woman came upon the field from her memories. She was very weary by this point, but she knew the end of her journey had come as the sun began to set. In the center of the field she found that young man from all those years ago waiting for her, and she cried out to him with all the strength she had after her long journey.

“Look! Look! I’m finally as beautiful as you said I was!”

The young man looked her up and down, and laughed out loud.

“Really? You don’t look any different to me.”