I have a secret ego. It’s that part of me that thinks I can do anything. The part of me that believes – no, knows – that if the rest of me would just believe it, I could literally fly.
It imagines God, sitting high above us, endlessly frustrated that we won’t accept our greatness; explore our potential; float up to sit amongst the stars (like Lulu, for those who remember her).
But this post isn’t about God, though in some way it is; nor is it about potential, though she has a role of importance. This post is about my secret ego.
She’s getting louder, you see. As a child , the little black cloud pushed her aside, and I kept her placated through daydreams and nightmares.
But now, the little black cloud is gone, and is not welcome back – at least not to stay – and I’m starting to listen to her again. She tells me the greatness I imagine, the hidden hopes of my strengthening heart, are but seconds compared to the vastness of my potential. Thus,she says, I must dream away, uninhibited, allowing my wildest fantasies to become my reality, and know that all I can really hope for is but a sliver of the greatness within.
She’s forcing herself out, making wild promises of success, and glory, and satisfaction.
“Create,” she says.