"I have to let it go," says someone.
"Let what go? What's the it?" I ask.
"Power."
Really?
The picture my ego paints: I am Pharaoh, emperor of Egypt, grand, responsible, dignified, and all-powerful. I command, and the world obeys. I am concerned, chiefly, with the building of my temples and pyramids to, well, me. From this starting point, turning my life over to God seems unappetising. Would I not be selling myself grossly short?
The truth: I'm one of the slaves. Mocked by my ego (which is the Pharaoh in this scenario), I am made to wear a Pharaoh's headdress, and, fool that I am, I am tricked by this into believing that I am something other than a slave, that I, indeed, am in charge. All day, I have to toil to build the temples and pyramids meant to glorify not me but my ego. My ego is not my friend. "My head would kill me if it did not need me for transportation," says Sister Bea M. My ego does not care whether I suffer or what sacrifices I have to make, because its mission is what matters. It does not particularly care if it kills me, because it does not realise that, if I die, it will die with me—so dissociated is it from reality. It has no loyalty to its maker.
The most important thing to remember is that pyramids celebrate nothing but death and are mausoleums, not places to live—the devil's gifts are of no real worth.
The only thing to let go of is the illusion that I am anything but a slave. Drop the headdress. You're not fooling anyone.
We are not a chosen people. We are a choosing people. If we choose God, we can be released.
"Let what go? What's the it?" I ask.
"Power."
Really?
The picture my ego paints: I am Pharaoh, emperor of Egypt, grand, responsible, dignified, and all-powerful. I command, and the world obeys. I am concerned, chiefly, with the building of my temples and pyramids to, well, me. From this starting point, turning my life over to God seems unappetising. Would I not be selling myself grossly short?
The truth: I'm one of the slaves. Mocked by my ego (which is the Pharaoh in this scenario), I am made to wear a Pharaoh's headdress, and, fool that I am, I am tricked by this into believing that I am something other than a slave, that I, indeed, am in charge. All day, I have to toil to build the temples and pyramids meant to glorify not me but my ego. My ego is not my friend. "My head would kill me if it did not need me for transportation," says Sister Bea M. My ego does not care whether I suffer or what sacrifices I have to make, because its mission is what matters. It does not particularly care if it kills me, because it does not realise that, if I die, it will die with me—so dissociated is it from reality. It has no loyalty to its maker.
The most important thing to remember is that pyramids celebrate nothing but death and are mausoleums, not places to live—the devil's gifts are of no real worth.
The only thing to let go of is the illusion that I am anything but a slave. Drop the headdress. You're not fooling anyone.
We are not a chosen people. We are a choosing people. If we choose God, we can be released.