I was in fifth grade when the nation discovered Bubble Yum.
Bubble Yum was an amazing invention; it was gum like the Juicy Fruit that my Dad chewed at church except better. It was fruitier, sweeter and better yet, it came in mini-bricks, unlike his brand—the brand of the establishment. It provided so much acreage for my young mouth that I couldn’t chew it without making at least some noise, at least until it softened up.
And then there were the bubbles.
In my parent’s growing-up years, there had been bubble blowing contests. These returned. I suspect that this was one of the reasons we enjoyed as much freedom to participate in this noisome pastime; it reminded them of their own youth which must have seemed so far in the past, with a senseless war, (Vietnam) governmental corruption, (Watergate) and sudden shortages in gas, unheard of in simpler days.
The craze swept like pink and purple wildfire. Special calipers were invented to measure the circumference of these terrestrial orbs in order to contrast it with your friend’s. It was nothing to find one of my classmates, usually one of the girls, engrossed with picking pink or purple goo out of her hair before class started, the result of a cranial bubble that had exploded in an unfortunate direction during recess.
All the fun notwithstanding—or maybe because of it—gum chewing was quickly outlawed by the school. The teachers correctly saw it as a distraction as the students were engrossed in questions of who had it, who didn’t, what flavor Sam had and the new pack Susie was holding. “No gum in class” was the rule, and a new game ensued: who could chew gum in class without getting caught. In the end, it was simply more fun to chew gum than it was to be law abiding. It made sitting still tolerable for a boy that was far more likely to be planning the next football team for recess or drawing pictures of rock bands. In short, as worthless, loaded with sugar and built-in obsolescence as it was, Bubble Yum was endless fun. At least it kept my jaws busy.
Why are you reading this rambling reminiscence in this publication which is dedicated to the rising consciousness of man? The point is this: the mind with ego is like a kid with Bubble Yum.
With most egos, there’s plenty of entertainment, but not a lot of substance. When under the influence of ego, our minds eschew stillness for action—any action. Distraction becomes paramount. After all, stillness for the ego makes it feel like it’s not wanted, not important, that life would be better without it. It’s a type of death, and all beings, especially egoic ones, don’t want to die. If the mind is still or, god forbid, content, the ego will absolutely attempt to get involved. It senses a void and seeks to fill it by creating movement, any movement, as long as it serves the ego by telling it that it’s still vibrant, still alive and still needed.
When the “void” of stillness is sensed (which is anything but a void in reality,) our egos will hold a type of convention where it’s determined which identity has the most applicability at the moment. This happens instantaneously, automatically and unconsciously, unless we’ve trained the fertile ground of the mind differently.
For instance, a man sitting in unexpected traffic when he is supposed to be at a meeting may feel his bile rising to the extent that the simple act of someone cutting in front of him may send him into a rage that is nowhere near his non-egoic nature. The driver of the car could have a woman in childbirth in the back seat and it wouldn’t matter to the man that was identified with a certain type of ego—the one that says, for instance, “I am a responsible person therefore I am prompt.” The implication is, “if I am not prompt, I am not Responsible … so then what am I?” If he’s not Responsible, a type of egoic annihilation would ensue for this entity. This would be unacceptable. The fear that arises in the breast of this worthy, charitable, compassionate man is no less than the fear of death; the death of Responsible Me. Therefore, he acts like his very life is threatened when, in reality, if he were to look in his rear-view mirror, he might see his boss four cars back, stuck in the very same traffic mess.
But ego will have none of it. Instead, this entity begins to gnaw a Bubble Yum brick of inhumane proportions.
Usually, it will do this by fantastical future-thought, such as, “my boss will fire me. I’ll lose my bonus. There goes the vacation I promised my wife. What if we lose the home? My kids might start smoking crack with all the other homeless kids. Everyone will know I’m a fraud and no one’s hiring in this market. I’m no good. God doesn’t love me. I’m not good enough.”
It’s probably no surprise—through self-reflection, hopefully—that “reality” and “rampant ego” have nothing to do with one another. For most of us, a reliable sign that ego has popped a massive cube of bubblegum into its mouth is preoccupation with the future. This is not to say that planning for the future is not a good idea. But this has nothing to do with conscious action. The ego is reactive, almost exclusively.
Worse yet, once the possibilities of the tragedy of traffic are exhausted for our usually good-hearted, road-weary man, the “shoulds” start, which are generally involved with the past.
“I should have gone to law school. I should have stayed with the family business. I shouldn’t have bought that car, or agreed to such an exotic vacation. Who do I think I am?”
Keep in mind that the ego doesn’t care about the man. It cares only for its own survival. In the end, ego is parasitic; it’ll feed off the worthy energy, hopes, and dreams of the man until, in an act of rage or frustration, the man makes a choice that serves no one, which might be as extreme as suicide. But at least it proves the viability of the ego. After all, “I am Responsible.” If I am not that, I am no one.
All this said, in the final analysis, there is nothing wrong with almost any ego, in and of themselves. After all, we need “Good Parents,” “Awakening Men,” and yes, even, “Responsible People.” These may all be egos that can be helpful. The train goes off the rails when we equate our self-worth with any of those titles. In the end, the greatest title of all is one that we all share with God, I AM. I AM is never threatened, has no enemies and never dies. It dwells in a state of harmonious magnanimity, unaffected by the human drama. It feels without needing sensation or drama. It’s content by nature. It lives almost exclusively in the present moment.
I AM does not chew Bubble Yum.
The antidote to the need for extraneous action and manufactured drama is as simple as a tipping of the scales from identification with ego to identification with presence, the deep I AM of our Being. Once we identify with this Being, Our Being, the emotions that rise and fall are as natural and inconsequential as we choose to make them. At any rate, we cease constant identification with them and we can, like the Jaguar of the Andean Earthkeeper lineage, track them to their (often) egoic genesis.
All this is, of course, easier said than done. But what else have we to do? We’re all here. We all have programming to be looked at and gently enhanced or compassionately undone. We’re all in the same boat.
So, the next time you’re handed a chunk of flavored sugar wrapped in seductive packaging, ask yourself if that head-sized bubble is really worth it.
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Photo: Getty Images