Yesterday I posted my blog and went for a walk. While I was walking I realized that I hadn't been completely honest. I wrote about the apprehension and fear I have as a writer each time I have to face an empty page. I speculated that my fear was a fear of failure.
Actually, I think that my fear has more to do with facing myself. It is not unlike the fear that comes up for me around meditating. I am so invested in the egoic facade that I have created, this sense of self that I have built brick by brick in my mind. I am afraid to look in the mirror. What if there is nothing there, only emptiness staring back at me?
There are times when I am writing (or sitting) when the self starts to fade away. The past and the future are each revealed as figments of my imagination. There is only this moment. It is clear that there is no enduring self. The ego dies. I am afraid.
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