Intentionally Untitled.

Title Unknown, by Fabien Delaube

It dresses elegantly,

pretending to be

a caring empress,

a humble, 

sober emperor.

At least that's what

it wants us to think.

It pretends to be wise,

successful,

generous.

Its kind offers of help

are condescending.

Its smart free advice

is often selfish.

It is allergic to

the truth,

to the honesty

that doesn't quench its thirst 

for manipulation.

It is competitive.

It is prejudiced.

And often seeks

to distract us,

to entice us

with the delusions

it intelligently creates.

It believes its lies.

It is convinced

that its own presence

is ubiquitous,

real.

It is a master

in manipulating our thoughts,

in controlling our actions,

in torturing our values,

in forcing us to boycott

our sacred boundaries.

It’s made of deep insecurities

and fear.

It indulges on our weaknesses,

on our attachments,

on our hurtful abandonments.

It is blind to compassion

whenever we battle

with the sadness

of letting go of what we love,

or with the pain inflicted

by our generational demons.

It is jealous of our light,

of our strength,

of our candid happiness.

Its essence is sadist.

It is parasitic.

It encourages self-destruction.

It makes us anxious.

It gallops in our mind

like a wild horse.

Only,

there's no horse.

Just a racing, untamed illusion,

bullying our divine desires,

planting doubts in our courage

whenever we dream

of an abundant selfless life.

Have you ever noticed

that there's no dress?

That there's no caring empress

or sober emperor?

Yet,

why is the ego

so powerful?

so omnipresent?

so attractive?

so easy to fall for?

As long as we sentient humans

stubbornly believe

that we need to feed it

to feel valued,

important,

loved,

its boastful shadow,

its masked ignorance,

will ever so remain

our self-fulfilling prophecy.