Out of my meditation this morning came a need to call myself on my own bullshit. (Before someone else does so, I guess). I am guilty of a cross between sour grapes and whistling in the dark. I am pretentious in my claims of unpretensiouness. I claim to embrace my dullness, in a not so thinly veiled attempt to stand out.
There is a part of me, and a part of every non-popular person I assume, that wants to be popular despite their protestations to the contrary. I have, up until lately, not liked that part of me. Shunned it. Hid it.
But lately, Pema Chodron has convinced me to bring the little guy out and make friends. Neither grasping nor aversion, right?
So this morning in meditation I was making friends with my needy attention-grasping self. Smiling at the me that checks his email every hour, checks his Orkut status often to see if he has any new friends or profile views (none since last time. damn.), checks his blog for new comments (none. damn.) and his site hit count (90% search bots. damn.) to see if anyone notices his postings about how humble and dull he is, all the while secretly hoping to be hip, noticed, and interesting.
My blog is a Self-absorbed, self-referentially self-deferential, self-contradictory tangle of words. But so is my mind most of the time. I am, therefore I post. What else am I to do?
So my next question is: Is my self-deferential post about the hypocrisy of my self-deferential posting self-deferential or hypocritical? Ooh, now I’m getting dizzy…