Intentionally Untitled.
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| 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.
