Old routines of self

I am becoming so aware of the ways in which I am addicted to myself and my ego. This addiction, this battle that my ego wages takes a dozen different forms, but they are all variations upon a theme.

Recently, it has been a novel. The screaming ego child inside me pleads to read, even when my mind is already abuzz or when I can barely keep my eyes open and I know that it is time to sleep. I choose to bring it with me when I go to take a bath, rather than meditating.

And when the irritation from the novel becomes a little too overt, well, then I think a movie might be nice, or another clip of Rowan Atkinson performing live, or maybe I should write another review on Yelp.

I have been warned of motion that might come in as my mind starts to become (just a tiny bit) quieter, and oh, how true it is. In my mind I ask myself what I will do today... and there is never the possibility of just taking care of my body, my mind, and my soul; there is always some desire to achieve, to organize, or... as stated above, to fill my mind with even more words.

But, of course, I cannot fight. The battle would just be between the obvious ego and the one that pretends not to be the ego, so as to preserve itself with another emotional encounter.

No, instead, I must simply be aware. I must simply listen to that quieter, calmer, stiller part of me.... and not just fall into those old routines of self.