Very early this morning, I lay in bed with the fingers of my two hands knitted together and rested high on my chest. I was having trouble sleeping, so instead I was meditating. I started to notice a sensation that seemed to be occurring in my hands and my chest, a sensation of fullness and expansion, a feeling of pressure, a quality of immensity. There are memories of this kind of thing happening in the past during meditation. It feels like my whole being is an erect penis, impressively making itself as big as it can possibly be. It evokes fear, as if something wants to run away from it, to escape from everything. But this morning, instead of trying to escape, it seemed as though something else, something more me-like, was letting it be as it was; at least that was the story; a kind of tumbling into the experience of it, of losing myself in it. But I think this is actually what I usually try to do with it: to allow it, to accept it, to welcome it. This morning, again, I was a marvelously erect something, petrified in my engorged immensity.
I’m not sure exactly how what I wrote about above relates to the topic at hand, but I enjoyed writing it, and I’m sure one of us will be able to construct a fun Freudian interpretation from it. Today’s topic is ego. I’m not talking about the pistons-and-cogs construct of Victorian-era psychodynamic psychotherapy. I’m talking about new-age ego, the ego that…
