Dear Readers —
I have composed a Love Letter to Our Egos. It’s below. I invite you to create a ritual space and then read the message aloud to your own precious ego.
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Dear Beloved and Necessary Ego —
I apologize for the mistreatment you have endured from so many teachers who regard themselves as spiritual leaders.
They have turned you into a villain in the human story, blaming you for every excess and distortion, as if you were nothing more than a flaw to transcend rather than an instrument to refine.
I acknowledge that you have sometimes tweaked my destiny and sent me wandering down dead-end paths I wished later I hadn’t followed. You have periodically caused me problems—like everything else life brings us!
But the more important truth is this: You were the first architect of selfhood. You’re the brave little maker of continuity, stitching together memory, longing, wound, and wonder into a coherent somebody.
Thank you for caring how others perceive me. It has helped me learn the social art of being among others: how to listen for feedback and how to recognize that I am immersed in a web of mutual reflection.
Thank you for letting me believe I can make a difference in the world, whether that belief is objectively true or gloriously delusional. Without that presumption, I might never have risked making art, offering love, speaking truth, or attempting repair.
Thank you for not letting me disappear behind counterfeit humility.
Thank you for resisting the temptation to make myself small in order to seem agreeable or spiritually evolved.
Thank you for the self-promotion, for the sometimes awkward, sometimes necessary declaration: I am here. I made this. It matters to me. Maybe it will matter to you.
Thank you for pushing me to crave validation through my acts of service. Even if the motives are mixed, a lot of good things still gets done. Care still circulates and healing happens. Plus: Motives can be composted into cleaner motives over time.
Thank you for helping me to be singular. I love being one peculiar, unrepeatable human being with preferences, hungers, aversions, and passions.
Thank you for reminding me that self-interest may be the sacred instinct of preservation.
Thank you for delightfully reminding me I have a story during the good times and the bad. A narrative, however imperfect and fragmentary, gives shape to chaos. It helps me locate myself in the vast glorious turmoil of life.
Thank you for my drive to be “successful,” and for allowing that marker to evolve. What once meant applause may now mean integrity. What once meant achievement may now mean depth.
Thank you for pushing me to take myself seriously enough to cultivate my gifts with devotion. Not because I am more important than others, but because my particular offering is mine to tend.
Thank you for helping guide my decisions and reveal my fears. Your defensiveness and ambitions are often diagnostic. They show me where I’m attached and unfinished.
Thank you for questioning the collective trance around me. You encourage me to refuse to dissolve into the herd. You help me cultivate discernment when consensus becomes conformity.
Thank you for letting me be human and messy. For letting me contradict myself, embarrass myself, overreach, recover, and try again.
And thank you for carrying the impossible burden of being the temporary steward of a mortal life.
You’re not the whole of me, but you’re an essential part of me. You’re a companion to educate and a wild animal to befriend.
With gratitude,
Your Soul
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In composing this Love Letter to Our Egos, I was inspired by Dawn Robertson. Thanks, Dawn!
THE SHINING TEMPLE OF THE ANNIHILATED EGO
In my dream, I am riding in the back seat of a souped-up tour bus in southern France. The name of this fancy vehicle is the World Riddle.
I’m traveling along a road known as L’Autoroute du Soleil, the Motor-way of the Sun. Our destination is a tourist trap called Le temple resplendissant de l’ego anéanti, translated as the Shining Temple of the Annihilated Ego. It’s a shrine that the tour advertisements tout as being devoted to “le culte de l’individualité éteinte,” or “the worship of extinguished selfhood.”
What the hell does that mean? I’m not sure. I’m thinking it may have to do with the Sanskrit word “nirvana,” whose literal definition is “the blowing out of a flame.”
Many of our fellow travelers on the bus are religious disciples dressed in robes and sackcloth. I see Buddhist monks and nuns, Christian monastics, Hindu mendicants, and turban-wearing Sikh Brahmgianis.
In contrast, I’m dressed in red leather pants, an orange silk shirt, a sparkly gold vest studded with opalescent beads, and a black ankle-length cashmere coat. I’m also wearing rings on all my fingers.
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I recognize the person sitting to my right. He’s Shunryu Suzuki, the well-known Zen master whose books helped popularize Zen Buddhism in America. Years ago, I read every word the man published.
In person, he looks conventional. He’s wearing a dull brown suit and narrow striped blue tie that make him look like a business executive from the 1950s.
This is a welcome opportunity for me. For years, I have had a bone to pick with him. In one of his books, he told a story about the importance of keeping one’s ego under strict control. A student had asked him, “How much ego do you need?” Suzuki’s austere reply was, “Just enough so that you don’t step in front of a bus.”
I felt reverence for that hard-ass attitude years ago when I first came upon it as a young spiritual punk. But later, I came to regard it as puritanical, pretentious, and retrograde. At this moment, piqued by his presence, I feel peeved about it.
It takes a while to work up the nerve, but I finally initiate a conversation with Mr. Zen.
“Long-time listener, first-time caller,” I say to him, copping the approach of a person who has reached a radio talk show host on the phone. “Loved Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind. Made it my bible for a while.” That was Suzuki’s first book.
“Probably better not to make any book your bible,” he replies, in a tone that is neither friendly nor dismissive.
“Don’t worry. I’ll always love you, but I’ll never worship you.”
“There’s nothing here to worship, anyway,” he says, gesturing toward his torso. “I don’t even exist.”
“Good. I will keep that in mind if I feel any pangs of desire to turn you into a holy icon.”
“Have you ever tried it?” he asks. “Not existing?”
“Well, that idea is a pet peeve of mine,” I say. “As it turns out, I eventually discovered that I preferred existing to not existing. That’s when I had to burn your books down at the beach and take your photo down from my altar.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says. “I mean the part about you preferring to exist. Burning my books and banishing my image were not unwise.”
“I’ve always wanted to ask you a question,” I say. “Do you mind?”
“I’m not sufficiently here right now to say yes or no. You are free to proceed.”
“Remember how you said that no one needs much of an ego; that the best ego size is just big enough to keep one from getting hit by a bus, but no bigger?”
“I recall that a mirage resembling me once said something like that.”
“I wonder if you would consider the possibility that maybe your old advice could benefit from revision. I mean, yes, I acknowledge that the ego is the root of much sour mischief. Maybe as much evil as the craving for wealth and control.”
“In Christian terms,” Suzuki interrupts, “it’s the original sin.”
“Yeah. Even for me, some of the stupidest and cruelest things I’ve done could be blamed on my infected and inflamed ego.”
“Which is why it’s better to live without it,” he says. “Purge that nasty pest completely.”
“I don’t agree,” I say. “I think the ego has crucial redemptive uses. And besides, just because it’s potentially dangerous doesn’t mean that spiritual seekers like us should nuke it.”
“Redemptive uses? Like providing you with the fuel to become an all-knowing rich and famous and powerful sex god?”
“No. Like providing me with the fuel to become a compassionate and creative and curious devotee of the Great Mystery.”
Suzuki makes a sound that might be mistaken for a chortle. “The ego appropriates those noble aspirations and turns them into disguised versions of being an all-knowing rich and famous and powerful sex god.”
“Well, sorry to be so blunt, but that’s how a fundamentalist thinks,” I press. “It would be like me practicing abstinence because I’m afraid of the chaos I might stir up by risking the gifts that sex affords me.”
Suzuki chuckles derisively, but I am unflustered. I’ve argued with famous people before. David Bowie didn’t take it personally when I questioned his feminism. Playwright David Mamet was annoyed when I asked him what specific events had turned him into a rightwing jerk, but he didn’t punch me.
“Instead of repressing the ego,” I say, “we should sublimate its brute force. Use all our best psychological tricks to transform its greed into generosity. And turn it into a beautiful work of art.”
“Good luck with that delusional fantasy,” Suzuki says.
“How about this?” I say. “Let’s be spiritual artisans who devote ourselves to crafting exquisite egos. And let’s do it with the same rigor and panache as a great actor who’s preparing to play the role of Buddha or Joan of Arc. Let’s add ‘egos’ to the list of beautiful artifacts that talented creators produce, along with songs, books, films, sculptures, paintings, electronic games, and dances.”
“What you propose,” he replies, “is like putting lipstick and mascara on a donkey. Or worse yet: on a lipsticked and mascara’d donkey that has explosives strapped to its body like a suicide bomber.”
I don’t feel defensive in the least. On the contrary, I’m delighted he’s fighting back.
“You’re on the wrong side of history,” I tell him cheerfully. “Like the reactionary traditionalists who are quite sure that all humans are one of only two genders.”
“So what do we have here?” Suzuki snorts. He’s getting emotional! “A staunch advocate for the rights of the ego! Good for you, you brazen rebel. The ego has been the victim of appalling oppression over the centuries. I am glad someone is defending its honor.”
“I’m not defending the honor of all the arrogant assholes who have mangled history with their megalomaniacal cruelty,” I say, as serene and amused as a meditator in a mountaintop sanctuary. “I’m proposing a crucified and resurrected ego, a gorgeous and lyrical and empathetic ego that’s a gift to humanity.”
“I’m guessing,” Suzuki sneers, “that someone with your views must have a deep attachment to the phantasms we Zen Buddhists refer to as ‘self ’ and ‘individuality.’ Am I right?”
“I’m more aligned with Gurdjieff ’s position,” I reply. “While it’s possible to create an electric, enduring, beauty-drunk individuality, many people don’t want to work that hard.”
“And am I right to assume you regard that electric, enduring beauty-drunk individuality as permanent and immortal? Going to live forever, are you, my young friend?”
“Yes, I am, thank you. And so you are, too.”
“No, thanks,” he scoffs. “My laughable hallucination of unique selfness has a future appointment with the worm-rich dirt. Good riddance.”
“I’ll bet you a trillion nirvanas that you and I meet again at the end of time.”
“You don’t have a trillion nirvanas to bet.”
“Are you sure about that?”
Suzuki shouts, “Immortality sucks!”, grabs my face with his hands, and smacks his skull into mine, knocking me backward and propelling me out of sleep.
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Dear Readers —
I am dazzled by and grateful for how you responded last week to my request for financial support. (Read it here: https://tinyurl.com/GentleJolt). I feel an infusion of renewed vigor as I rumble into the future, fueled with renewed ambition to provide words that contribute to your inspiration and liberation.
For those of us born under the sign of Cancer the Crab, like me, it can sometimes be difficult to ask for what we need. Many of us are better at nurturing than at receiving nurturing. But emboldened by your generosity, I’m going to dare to be greedy and ask you for one further favor:
If you like what you read in my newsletter, either the horoscopes and essays or both, please consider suggesting to your friends and allies that they sign up for a subscription. Doesn’t have to be a paid subscription. I love it when my offerings are useful, whether or not they earn me money.
I’ve trained my whole life to do this work!
With Love and Appreciation,
Rob
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Check out my Linktree, with links to other things I create: linktr.ee/robbrezsny
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FREE WILL ASTROLOGY
Week of September 3
VIRGO (Aug. 23-Sept. 22): You’ve been extra reasonable lately. How do you manage to be so responsible, measured, and composed? I’m not complaining. I admire your integrity. But now the cosmic omens are clear that’s it’s time to address your soul’s needs for more wonder and awe and reverence. So I will slip you a tantalizing prod: What’s the best, most healing trouble you could provoke right now? I’m not referring to recklessness and chaos, of course. I mean twists and tweaks that stir up inspiration and liberate creativity. Are you bold enough to follow the truth and beauty that thrills and intrigues you?
LIBRA (Sept. 23-Oct. 22): I am asking you to give yourself slack in situations where you sometimes treat yourself carelessly or unkindly. Instead of tightening, loosen. Instead of cornering yourself, offer an escape hatch. Ask: “What if I give myself 20% more mercy, 20% more time, or 20% less pressure?” Maybe you’ll get an extension on a deadline or allow yourself to be a learner instead of an expert. Rather than calling yourself a failure because you’re less than perfect, you’ll decide, “It’s good enough for now.” As you slip away from the traps you set for yourself, you’ll teach your nervous system a fresh truth: You can be gentle with yourself but still be responsible.
SCORPIO (Oct. 23-Nov. 21): Scorpio, you rarely need to be lighter and breezier. Your assignment is almost always to delve deeper and explore further. This is true now even more than usual. Other people might shiver and cower in the face of your intensity, but I celebrate it because it drives you to excavate the rich, messy truths and complicated feelings that really shouldn’t stay hidden. Regard this horoscope as your authorization to wield your emotional X-ray vision with precision, and to trust that the treasures you seek are often buried in places that scare others away.
SAGITTARIUS (Nov. 22-Dec. 21): In classical music, composers often develop a simple motif into a complex symphony. A short sequence of notes becomes the foundation for an entire composition. A key passage gets rearranged and elaborated in multiple ways. You will have a comparable opportunity in the coming weeks, Sagittarius: a seed of potential that seems modest at first could expand into more substantial riches if you cultivate it patiently. Your visionary aplomb and optimism can transform a core cell into a full orchestration.
CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): You seem to be wandering in a frontier for which there are no maps. You’re hovering in liminal zones, between worlds. So for now, I guess you will have to steer without your usual guidance. That’s a good thing! What I can do is name the gifts that are likely to come your way as you explore the unknown: 1) turbo-charged intuitions about your best possible future; 2) a talent for spotting surprising connections you didn’t even know you were looking for; and 3) a provocative unpredictability that magnetizes allies who can help tease out and illuminate your hidden and buried desires.
AQUARIUS (Jan. 20-Feb. 18): The placebo effect has a lesser-known counterpart called the nocebo effect: Negative expectations can create negative outcomes. If you’re told a harmless pill might cause headaches, you’re more likely to develop them. Your belief in harm creates actual harm. I bring this up, Aquarius, because I’m worried you may be nocebo-ing yourself right now. Your conviction that certain outcomes are inevitable is encouraging them to manifest. So here’s my counsel: Which negative expectations or predictions are you treating as facts? Consider the possibility that the problems you’re so skilled at identifying are being called into existence by your identification of them. And if you find that’s happening, STOP! Formulate some healing alternatives.
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PISCES (Feb. 19-March 20): “Dear Rob: Your horoscopes delight me in a spooky way. They make me feel as if you’re watching me from afar, not like a stalker, but like an eccentric guardian angel who gives me a heads-up before I do something foolish, tells me about opportunities I haven’t noticed, and shakes awake the part of me that’s inclined to quit. Thanks a million times! —Deep Pisces.” Dear Deep: You have exquisite timing, because now is an ideal moment to pour out gratitude for the people who’ve lifted you up and helped you. Offering appreciation now will function as a potent prayer that will be far more effective than pleading for what you don’t have. It will set in motion an irresistible magic that draws even more blessings in your direction.
ARIES (March 21-April 19): Most of us are surprisingly clueless about the inner workings of our own bodies. Do you know where your gallbladder and spleen actually live or what jobs they perform on your behalf? Can you trace the journey your breath takes after it slips into your lungs? Have you ever experimented to discover in detail which foods best suit your one‑of‑a‑kind system? Do you know, from experience rather than guesswork, how much sleep you require to stay vividly awake and emotionally balanced? The current astrological climate favors you becoming a curious apprentice of your body’s gorgeous mysteries.
TAURUS (April 20-May 20): The English idiom “cut to the chase” comes from the silent films of the early 20th century. When the plot dragged, directors would literally switch to a chase scene to restore audience interest. Other languages have other ways to say “get to the point” or “skip to the crux.” Spanish: ir al grano. French: aller droit au but. Italian: venire al dunque. Japanese: hondai ni hairu. In accordance with astrological omens, Taurus, I suggest you do that in the coming days. Skip the boring parts. Jump to the action scenes. You can return later and fill in the story details, but for now you’re best served by moving toward the exciting essence or the crucial core of things.
GEMINI (May 21-June 20): This is one of those unusual times when laziness and apathy work in your favor. Life is organizing a relaxing renewal on your behalf, and your main job is to not interfere. So I advise you to skip the hustle and enjoy the thrill of being still. Put a pause on doing and indulge in the fine art of simply being. Please, Gemini? Set aside your ambitions for now. Hide your to-do list. Inform your chattering monkey mind that it’s on temporary leave from its usual jumping and squawking. Feel guilt-free as you immerse yourself in the most relaxed versions of feeling good and welcome whatever fresh vitality wants to flow in.
CANCER (June 21-July 22): In the 17th century, Dutch inventor Christiaan Huygens discovered that two pendulum clocks hanging on the same wall gradually synchronized their swings. Why? He eventually realized that tiny vibrations traveled through the wall and made the clocks influence each other. Scientists call this “entrainment.” Now is prime time for you to capitalize on this phenomenon, Cancerian. I urge you to be extra alert for how your moods, rhythms, and intentions subtly affect the people around you, and vice versa. If you cultivate qualities you’d like to predominate in your relationships, you will find others unconsciously aligning with your rhythm.
LEO (July 23-Aug. 22): Now is an ideal time to have fun cultivating the art of receptivity. Have fun being as open to influence as you can imagine. Be innocent! Be amenable! Be willing and eager to be surprised! It doesn’t mean surrendering your drive or drifting aimlessly while life happens around you. I’m talking about an active, alert sensitivity that invites wonder and transformation. You think boldly, act with purpose, and radiate what’s uniquely yours, and yet you also remain humbly aware that learning never ends and that wisdom can arrive from unpredictable directions.
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Beautiful beautiful beautiful. Thank you.