Self-observation
Today, just a short while ago, you went in search of The Frail Will, the armor of The Fake Self that it dons first thing to start the day so to protect whatever needs protection. The will is the last thing at night to slither away into dream work if it's active and antsy, and the day's deeds have not already been integrated, ordered by wakefulness, so to set the stage for lucid dreaming and beyond.
You have not far to travel, of course, to find the scrawny thing, the weak will of your craving. You have but to watch the self as it makes its daily rounds, does its chores routine and whatever else begs to be achieved. What to look for is as simple as looking for a knot on a log but so hard to notice, so easy to miss, that you can easily fall off that log and feel like a knot itself, yourself bound by embarrassment from the fall.
You look for which self is at home in any transaction. In The Solitary Phase, you notice your breathing in and out, and in your mind's eye when you just sit, doing nothing but noticing. In The Sociable Phase, you watch for what self's at home in various transactions with the people, places and things in your world, The Nouns they teach in the schools early.
Naturally, if you stop your self a few prescribed times a day and employ the single verb of noticing then you have all The Verbs involved, as well, for that means not only looking but also listening, say, critical to the beast with speech. All the senses get involved eventually in The Verb Singular, so Noticing could be said to be The Verb Supreme for self-observation (Selfing?) as well as for wording.
One more thing and the basics are before you. There are two and only two options to be on the look out for, and each depends on your outlook. In noticing what self's at home, you will look out for either a self true and real, or a self false and fake. And to make this simple and plain, you can ask a singular question to guide you in spotting all the other differences, Does The Self Cling, Or Not-cling, To The Nouns. This one outcome says it all. The Fake Self Clings; The Real Self clings not-so-much.
By the way, when the fake self's at home, it won't feel at home, so you may feel lost and alone, sad and sorrowful, angry and on edge, afraid and particularly vulnerable, in pain and pity; or if the fake is ambitious enough, and wearing its will of armor, you may feel especially big and important, even invulnerable, in control, and appear bossy to the world. Not to worry; who hasn't felt that way, some days. But that's another way to notice what feelings are arising at any moment, lingering beneath any speech, every act of will. Felt-integrity looms as the sign of the true self at home, which feels neither regal nor insolvent but blessed, sanctified, The Feeling of Being, The Being of Being.
Noticing Your Day
Now, with the mind open and the basics committed by heart, you set out for the pharmacy to get a thing or two and practice just this much, on the lookout for the weak will. Today you walked, for the distance is short and the benefit long. The day was a delight and the soul felt just right. Here's what you noticed today, just three observations to make the points necessary.
You ordered up a prescription and the pharmacist said there'd be a ten-minute wait. You noticed your response inner: Not-A-Problem, you overheard the self say. You feel not in a hurry, so not to worry. The true self's at home waiting.
Standing there still in the pharmacy for your drugs, looking here and there, inside and outside, but all inner work, ten minutes turns into twenty, then you hear, What's The First Name On That? Immediately you check out the self at home, who's there? Your response is tolerant and understanding, for who can read a doctor's scribbling, That Would Be Lawrence, And That's Two L's. Then the comeback, In Lawrence, she says, and you realize the confusion, so you say, with a titter, In Willson.
Notice, by watching, you stay out of that place where the false self dwells, The Room Of Willfulness, an elaborately adorned place of pretension, where Your time is Your time and You dare Any One Else to intrude upon it; and where every place should be like Cheers and everybody should know Your name, and get the spelling right, too. Instead, you hang out in The Waiting Room Of The True Self, a room plain for waiting without waiting for anything particular; no agenda, no neediness in that moment of delight; that means no goals, no will to achieve anything, either. Being in that fun place, you can wait the necessary time with ease, noticing that such transactions are utterly out of your control, anyway, as so much of life proves.
But so often life gets treated to The Cellphone Syndrome. No matter how hard you punch the key, if the key's not properly connected electronically to the pad, nothing will happen. But the self important and impatient, desires to punch and punch, harder and harder to gain control of a thing that's so far from your control as to be useless to struggle, yet there's a lot of struggling going on out there, if you notice the big picture and all the cellphone use.
