My New Roommate: Pam

3 Aug

There’s a woman with whom I’m lifelong roommates and her name is Pam.

You, too?

Well, Pam takes the cake.  She’s highly paranoid, debilitatingly sensitive, equally pessimistic AND alarmist, not to mention bases 99% of her decisions and actions out of fear.  She snaps at people unnecessarily, is pretty damn judgmental and she struggles, more than anything, with self-love.

I wish she’d move out, but she can’t.  The two of us are going to share a house till the end of time.  Why?  ‘Cause Pam isn’t just someone I’m stuck with for reduced rent; Pam’s my ego.

Pam, meet everyone.  Everyone, meet Pam.

Pam, meet everyone. Everyone, meet Pam.

 

It wasn’t until recently I valued the necessity of personifying the ego.  In and of itself, the ego can seem like a sexless, nameless, amorphous Freudian thing; but lately, due to some much-needed meditation, it’s become clear to me how much my ego, AKA Pam, influences my life.  I decided to diminish her, to take power away from her, to assign her a gender and facial expressions and even a fictitious grocery store list.  Naming Pam was the first step in the process of creating distance from Pam so I could have a room of my own in the house we’re stuck in till the end of time.

Can we ever fully annihilate our ego?  Probably not.  Its roots, after all, are in survival.  I can’t imagine a world where we don’t have a self-created image of ourselves as human because it’s part of our spiritual experience, sitting in this animal body and perceiving this animal experience.  But I think all too often our decisions, our perceptions and even our relationships are guided from the influence of crazy women like Pam.  I know, for instance, I was astonished to realize that she was tucking me in bed at night and waking me up in the morning; she followed me in the kitchen to eat lunch and stood over my shoulder when I’d brush my teeth.  Let’s face it folks, our egos get up in our grill.

 

This is Pam getting up in my grill.

This is Pam getting up in my grill.

What I didn’t realize was Pam was dominating all the rooms in the house except one, the room in my core.  When I began my meditation, as each minute passed, I permeated through each of her rooms one by one, moving through the paranoia and pastel curtains, moving past the fear and the highly pungent potpourri.  When I reached my core, when I began breathing and perceiving my life from my center, from my own room with the colors I wanted to be there, I realized it was a room of knowing.  In this room, I knew on a cellular level everything was going to be okay; I knew I was on my life path and I knew everything I have been trying to manifest is on its way to me at just the right time.  In my room, the room she isn’t allowed to go to, I was accessing my authentic self and her madness was nowhere in sight.

The truth of the matter is, I created Pam.  We’re all responsible for the monsters we cultivate to shield ourselves in these animal bodies in this physical world.  And yes, it’s a freaky revelation to accept that we’re always going to have to share a house with them.  But our egos are only as strong as the flamboyant hairpieces we assign to them.  And by giving her a name and  a grocery list, my room is now farther away than it’s ever been from her’s.  In my room I’ve got my favorite wallpaper, but also the answers.  And that’s the room I want to live in from now on.

 

ANSWERS

 

 

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