All of this thought coalesces, and gives birth to the ego, the story of me. With each thought the story grows, becoming more real and compelling. My accomplishment becomes a badge of honor, my failure a source of shame. There are so many entries in the file that describe me. I graduated college with a 3.6 GPA, Magna Cum Laude so I'm smart. That makes me proud. Other characteristics, I am a good writer, a good listener, a good father, give me honor too. I'm not such a good husband, at least according to my first, second wives, but maybe the person I'm in a relationship with now will say that's not true. But, if things don't go well, in a few years they may agree with the first two.
There is so much in my file. It gets thicker every day, as I note and anticipate events, real and imagined. The file takes on a world of it's own. Even my day dreams and fantasies are noted. Eventually the file is so thick that it weighs me down.
My experience of now is filtered by the information in the file. I see a trailer for a movie and I am attracted by the few words I hear, immediately I am convinced I must see it, that I will like this story. Last month my church put on a Cabaret. Five years earlier I had watched a few minutes of the movie Cabaret and didn't like it. I became convinced that I didn't want to attend the event. How funny. My best friend wanted to go, so I grudgingly agreed to buy a ticket. I loved it, yet I almost didn't go because of an entry in my ego's file.
Don't we all have lists of things we don't like, things we don't do. I didn't like Disney movies, yet I find I actually enjoy some of them. I don't like jazz, or country music, but then from time to time I hear a song on the radio from these genres and fall in love with them. I download a copy and play it all the time.
About ten years ago I went to talks by a Lama who used to say "maybe we should ask who angry" when talking about negative emotions. As a psychology major this always rubbed me the wrong way. I knew who was angry, it was me, I needed to know why I was angry. Now, I'm beginning to get what he was saying. when I was angry I was caught up in the story, I was reading from the file and acting in accordance with the guy it described. If I was going to get beyond the anger I needed to step back and realize there was a file, but that is really was about a guy that I made up. He was an actor, with lines and descriptions and wardrobe but when the play was over he vanished.
If there is an I, someone who doesn't vanish, he is the watcher, and writer of the story. I am the awareness, and I arise fresh moment to moment.
