Lying to Myself

[references to “work” mean “work on myself”–increased self-knowledge]

I lie to myself, and regardless of who else believes it, I believe it:

Find a lie from the list below, especially one that puzzles you as being called a lie, or discover one of your own:
I am able to conceal my contempt.
I am able to conceal my irritation.
I am able to conceal my fear.
Nobody likes me.
I don’t like anyone.
I like everybody.
The traumas of my life make it impossible to work now.
I’m a good person.
I’m basically no good.
Nobody recognizes how skilled / perceptive / smart / generous / friendly / sweet / nice / steady / good-looking / witty / helpful / cheerful / inventive / cooperative / hard- working / selfless / wonderful / spiritual—I am.
I could work if only I felt something.
I could work if only my feelings weren’t so strong.
People don’t understand me.
It doesn’t harm anyone for me to think ill of others.
Some of this work is beneath my dignity.
How I really am inside is more important than what I say or do. People should understand that.
I don’t need to suffer.
I just don’t fit in.
Relationships aren’t important.
My work is to think about how unconscious I am.
I have states only I can understand.
I can’t work.
Containing my energies / sensing / working in the way I know I can is not important right now.
I could never learn that.
I’m young—I’ve got time.
I’m too old—it’s too late.
This is too much.
I’m too upset to work now.
How can a nobody like me work?
I can’t connect with these practices—it’s not relevant to my moment-to-moment experience.
I’m tired.
I need to understand the theory of this work before I can practice it.
If I don’t say this thought, I’ll burst.
If I don’t know exactly why I come here, I shouldn’t come.
I couldn’t stand to see myself as I am.
I’ve been around a while, but I still don’t know how to work.
I’ve got too much to do already—I can’t add this new thing.
This task doesn’t make sense.
If I feel guilty about not working on myself, that’s almost as good as working on myself.
I’ll do it later.
That’s done well enough.
A little daydreaming now and then is okay—it’s actually good for you.
I can overcome daydreaming by force of will.
This task is a piece of cake—I should be able to do it easily.
Certain other people need to work on themselves a lot more than I do. Just look at them!
Others’ faults and my reaction to them are more important right now than work and they certainly justify my irritation / anger / contempt toward them.
My service to the Work is not appreciated enough.
Life has treated me badly, and I have a right to feel sorry for myself.
I have a right–even an obligation–to condemn you.
It is important that I control other people’s impressions of me.
In this case, revenge is justified.
The world is a screwed-up place, but I’m okay.
If this other person weren’t around now, I could work.
I know how this should be done—better than anybody.
I’ve seen it all—nothing surprises me any more.
This is so boring.
I deserve better.
I’m not at all like you.
People are so crazy, but I’m not.
People are always trying to get you—you gotta look out for yourself.
God loves people in sailboats better than He loves people in motorboats.
I know all about you.
You gotta take what you can.
No one can understand my situation and help me
If we’d take turns at discussion, I’d speak.
The older people don’t accept me.
The younger people don’t accept me.
Everyone else seems to have forgotten what our teacher taught.
I am indispensable at this work center.

My wish to work is strong and clean, but Nature opposes it, and acts through lies to myself to divert my energies.

As the Ancient Mariner describes this:
“I looked to heaven and tried to pray,
But or ever a prayer had gushed,
A wicked whisper came and made
My heart as dry as dust.”

I–wish–to reclaim my life.

Lou Gottlieb 11/8/98