I’m the one on the left. The pale one. Shy, quiet, following the lead of the pretty one, the strong one who tells off the world without thinking twice. Each person has an ego formed of this world while identical twins, I would venture to say, could easily share one. This ego we share was born from the egos of alcoholic parents delighting in the acts of shaming children who didn’t follow protocol. This ego was formed by getting socked in the stomach or nose when we least expected it. This ego was formed by parents who enforced a strict, infected rhetoric while informing us we wished you were never born. These are things ego says and does which are passed down from one generation of ego to the next. Just like little crickets chirping, my twin sister and I would mimic each other. Maybe it was an S.O.S signal, Morse code so our One Spirit wouldn’t get lost in the insanity. When we were around the age of 12 Mom read a piece of psychology in a magazine or listened to our pediatrician (who had us strip naked to walk before him to make sure we didn’t have a curvature of the spine),
who recommended we be “individuated”: separate classrooms, different friends, no more sleeping in the same bed. Then one evening before summer camp, Dad’s ego was muttering, sputtering, stumbling over burps of vodka and my twin had had enough. “Shut Up!”, she stuttered bravely and angrily to him. My head dropped into our defeated ego’s lap. We knew what was coming. “Get to your room!”, Dad’s ego raged. Our ego obeyed, dragging my twin to her room for the private assault. She looked at me, betrayed as she walked dutifully to her execution. My head was lowered. Ego was thinking, “Why did she say shut up? She knew what would happen! It’s her own fault what happens to her. Dad’s ego hulked into her tiny bedroom and punched her until blood flew out of her nose pooling on the floor. My twin would soon drop to a weight of 73 lbs and be hospitalized.
One day during the last year of Ballet Camp, my sister made a friend, then looked right through me as if I wasn’t there the whole 8 weeks. I was unseen and unheard and maybe, just maybe I didn’t exist. That is when I slipped away to the quiet of the library to read “The Collector” by John Fowles. After about a week, the drama teacher at the camp went looking for me and found me immersed in the novel. I felt seen, heard and real again and recovered just a bit to “mix in” again. My sister never knew I was gone. I hadn’t saved her from Dad’s ego therefore Ego had erased me. We never developed our own callous, brutish, false and wounded minds carved out by a dualistic, twisted world worshiping independence and separation. No, we shared one.
A few years ago, when we both turned 65 I went to visit her for that benchmark birthday celebration: 65 and still alive, I can hear her cackle. As usual she was on her second bottle of Chardonnay and of a sudden our ego pops its ugly head out from beneath her shoulder blades like a misshaped gargoyle. You know, I can’t remember the words she spoke but I can remember the feeling of vowels slicing me up like knives. Usually I fall silent or leave the room, this time I spoke up, “Get out of my sister, NOW! You don’t belong there! Get out, you’re hurting my sister!” My sister flinched and then I saw her wake up out of the dream terror she was in and there she was, my sister, my real sister, not the imposter. Sputtering and popping at first like firecrackers at the 4th of July, she calmed and softened back into her True Self. Wow, I got my sister back for the rest of the time I was there which wasn’t very long.
A few days ago my twin calls me to chat on the phone around that twilight zone time called HAPPY HOUR! And of course our ego has set us up to enter the Coliseum for a good, old, rousing time of jousting, slicing and dicing but this time my internal alarm system had not gone off: RED ALERT, RED ALERT, RED ALERT. My twin started to chirp with a lot of “you knows” thrown in and then I heard nothing. I felt the words twist and become daggers. I felt them whiz past my ears as I went deaf. I felt the rejection hit my body like a full on collision. Then I heard a short sentence, “You’re a con-artist”. Our ego had found my Achille’s heel. I then retaliated becoming our ego and did a fine job of defending myself and pointing out the inaccuracies of her offense. (I was even startled at how on my game I was or maybe our ego was on its game.) She started to break up like static on a radio. I was winning. Normally, I’m the one that never wins. My twin wins. So there our ego was, just toasting how slick and quick a wit it was while playing both sides of the chessboard immaculately. I can’t remember who clicked the phone down first.
I had told my twin just how mean and hateful she was. I was still fuming mad. (I never get mad.) “How dare she call me a con-artist”! In retrospect I realized it had been our shared ego who had called me that.
Then a few days later, my sister called me on the cell and once again my “alert system” failed to warn me. But it finally dawned on me. The only con-artist here is our shared ego. My twin was all sweetness and light as she took her prozac gummy bear. Of course she talked and I listened until the words slid together and finally oozed over the cliff of unconsciousness.
I know your game now, ego. I’m watching you, bro. We are not you, ego. My sister and I are Spirit. We are Spirit-artists. We will no longer join you in your manipulations and murderous raging. We invite you to strip yourself to the nothing that you are. Only then will we trust to invite you back into the comforting folds of Spirit.
Dear Twin Sister, I love you. I will be here waiting for you. Thank you for helping me push through victimhood and take responsibility for the unhealed, fearful aspects in both of us.
Now, a refined and more loving point of view of the Essence of Ego:
Downloaded from The Christ Oversoul:
What is ego really? Now, see ego as the Orphan: an Orphaned Aspect of Love trying desperately to shed the clothes of traumatizing experience and not knowing how to. Create a Heavenly Space within the Heavenly Heart of the 3 Chakras within you dear Human, the Womb Chakra, the Soul-ar Plexus Chakra and the Heart Chakra. By inviting your Orphan in, the clothes of fear, deception, conniving, anger, pain and abandonment begin to fall off a part of yourself that ran away from Home. As these tattered rags fall away and dissolve you will recognize a dear portion of yourself you forgot you even had. This scary, hateful, raging was a vibration, an energy of despair in the form of protective clothing. Could underneath this thing you call Ego or Orphan be your Inner Child? Is this the Orphan you left behind? When all falsities dissolve, you will see your Inner Child. She is good. He is Love. Hug them back into the Wholeness of the Heavenly Heart.
“Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.” ~Jesus~