Why I am full of shit - or Speaking the Truth #3

(Start with reading part 1 or part 2)

Okay, I just finished the book and there is one last thing to do to complete the experience. Anyone who has read 'Radical Honesty' knows what it is (just look at page 80 onwards): It is telling the truth about why I am writing this blog. Bluntly and without hiding any of the dirty little secrets that we so often try to gloss over by pointing at ethical, social or altruistic motivations. So here it is:

I am writing this blog to prove that I am smarter than all of you dumb-ass. I am writing this blog to create a trap for all your desire to admire, your dependency, your hunger for direction and lack of self-worthiness. I am writing this blog to exploit and to build my own self-esteem on the lack of yours. I am engaged in the worthless business of sharing bite-sized pieces of bullshit and putting lipstick on them and painting them in gold and silver to make them look like something that's worth 5min of your time. I am lost and at wits ends on how to live up to my own delusions of grandeur; that's why I have become an addict on recognition. And because all the recognition I get from my job, my wife, my friends, even my dog still isn't good enough and still doesn't satisfy my ever hungry ego I am begging all you strangers to look at my bullshit and pay me tribute by leaving comments or clicks on this page. I hide behind aspirations of egoless-ness and not taking money for the shit that I am sharing simply because deep down inside I know it's not worth a penny. Because I am a fake, a phony, a poser to life and magick. Get the paradox my crooked self is caught in? While I look down on you and people around me, I crave for recognition, I starve for attention. I would drink your blood any second if I knew it refreshed my own life-less piece of shit that I call a living... I am so afraid of the dark, to be alone, to be unrecognized, to vanish unperceived, to disappear from this world without having left a trace, without having changed anything. Because that's what my fucked up mind demands of me in order to have a right to live.

One of my finest hobbies is to imagine myself as a teacher. Oh, I know this hurts. But here we go: When I imagine myself as a teacher I am not a teacher of any special subject. I am a teacher of live. You come to me, enter into my house and disappear like a fish disappears in the cave of a moray. You sit down and I become the mirror of your broken life. In talking to me you start to re-energize like a flower in the sun. And once you leave my house all your faith is caught within me. I have become the egregore of your vision of a better life, the demon of your hopes and the living image of your journey to a better self. I am the teacher that inspires. Just to open a channel between our hearts through which I can suck life out of you. I don't give a shit about what happens next to you. As long as you are blinded by my sun and left speechless and quiet while we sit in front of each other in the moray cave that I call my mind.

So here I am, caught in my ocean of ugliness. And once I die and fade away I can finally let all things go. I will disappear, fade away, fall to dust and make my ugly face and shadow disappear... And when I pass out there will be silence and I will rewake on the other side. I will be a new born and wander through the garden in sunshine. An Jesus or Buddha or Zoroaster will approach me and give me a warm welcome and long warm hug. And I pull the knife out that I had hidden in my throat and will stab him in the back and kill him in our embrace. And as he sinks down on the garden of eden I will have finally proved to myself that I don't need the love that I do need so desperately.

Well, I guess that's it. My little dirty truth about why I am writing this blog. 

And here is the thing: all of the above is utterly true. This is me. And at the same time I also truly care about all of you out there. I care about all the people around me and I so wish it was easier for us to let our fears and pains and delusions out and share what we keep inside. Each day I am shocked by the feebleness and powerlessness of our selves in face of the unspoken, hidden desires that actually drive our actions. And while I know that I am full of shit I still want to find a way to make a difference... While I know a moray lives in my heart, I know the only way to kill it is to act as if it wasn't there. Not to pay attention to it and keep my face in the sun rather than getting lost in shadows. 

I am also writing this blog because my life is truly beautiful. Because I feel blessed every day when I get up and see my beautiful wife and my dog. Because I could cry each time I smell coffee in the kitchen and we start another day of our wonderful life together. I had never thought I could lead such a happy live, my childhood certainly suggested something different... But it was all the people that I met that made the difference and allowed me to break free. And you know the real paradox: many of them carried dangerous animals in their hearts as well. I think I saw spiders in the heart of my teacher and I know there is a snake in the heart of my wife. But it doesn't matter. Their flaws and shortcomings do not cut short their ability to change my life for the better. My teacher didn't need to be flawless to teach me what I have learned. And I certainly love my wife for being flawed. Cause every time I see her shortcomings I am less afraid she might leave me one day for mine...

Here is what I have learned about myself and all of us: the truth changes. I am ugly and I am sacred at the same time. I am deeply flawed and divine at the same time. I am ashamed of what lives inside me. And still each day I keep feeding my evil demon. Because that is who I am. A human, a demon on my left shoulder, a guardian angel on my right. I am the one who is in between. I am the one that cannot be defined by what it is, because the truth changes.

So what's next? Nothing, said the Zen priest. Nothing comes ever next. Everything is here all the time.

Well, I guess we need to settle on the fact that none of us can ever be defined by what is deep inside of us. Because everything is there: morays and angels, the knife in my throat and the morning coffee at the table. So the thing that comes closest to defining us, to make a true statement about who we are, are the things we decide to act on. It's not what you are underneath, but what you do that defines you.

Actually, this last sentences isn't from me - the moray hates to admit this. But it is from Batman Begins. Here is to giving a shit on what's underneath and doing the best thing possible every moment, every day.