Anger’s desire is to make someone guilty. Love can’t ‘see’ anger, as light cannot ‘see’ darkness, but anger does see love and flat-out hates it. Virgil, if I’m on the road to apologies and promises, whisper this: Anger never healed, held or loved anybody.
Luther’s theological ejaculation “Sin boldly” confronts the problem of secretiveness. Hiddenness is an obscurity, a fearfulness, vastly worse in our imagination than what is hidden. We cannot love what we do not see.
Ego doesn’t just up and quit the premises; it dies hard and howling.
Ego’s root extends into a black recess of insufficiency, of not enough. It obsessively wants, grasps, gets, wants more. It’s never satisfied, is endlessly on the make, has ADHD up the wazoo. What’s its end game? What does ego really want? It wants to kill you.
Until my early thirties, I was so identified with my ego that I didn’t know I had one.
True self doesn’t coerce, insist, negotiate or try. Also, it doesn’t speak overmuch.