Death of an I
Samael was direct, even harsh, about what the work was actually for.
I am not the I that is dying. I am the watcher that lets it pass.
Choose one I you have watched many times. Today, watch it once more, with the same patience.
- Week 1 Foundation
- Week 2 The Aggregates
- Week 3 Comprehension
Samael was direct, even harsh, about what the work was actually for. It was not for spiritual experience. It was not for inner peace as a feeling. It was for the slow, patient dying of the I's that had been running your life. He called this the death of the ego, and the language frightens many people, so let us be careful with it.
The death he meant was not the death of you. It was the death of one of the many small selves that pretended to be you. The I of resentment that had run for thirty years. The I of self-pity that comforted you and trapped you in equal measure. The I of needing to be right that had cost you friendships. Each of these is a small self that has a kind of life of its own. It feeds on situations. It feeds on attention. It feeds on the energy of identification. Cut off the food, and over time, it dies.
What does it look like, when an I dies? Quietly. There is no funeral. One day you notice that something that used to make you furious no longer does. Not because you suppressed the fury. Because the I that produced it is no longer there. You have observed it so many times, with such patience, that it has lost the energy it needs to arise. The situation comes. The fury does not. The space the fury used to occupy is just empty. Then, slowly, something else fills the space. Often it is simply presence. Sometimes it is unexpected warmth.
This is the slow harvest of weeks twelve, fourteen, sixteen of patient watching. You cannot rush it. You cannot will it. You can only keep observing the I when it arises, and trust that what is repeatedly seen will eventually lose its life. Samael called this the death of the ego, and he meant it literally. The I that has been killing your peace for years can be unhooked from existence by your patient seeing of it. The killing was not violent. It was the simple removal of belief.
Today, choose one I that has been with you a long time. The one that came up most this week. The one you watched on day eight or ten or twelve. Sit with it again. Watch it without engaging with it. And know that each watching takes a small piece of its life away. Not all at once. Bit by bit. The death is slow. The death is real.
Sit upright. Three slow breaths. Soft eyes.
Today, choose one of your most familiar I's. Watch it without engaging when it arises. Each watching weakens it.
The death of an I is not violence. It is the removal of belief. What is no longer believed cannot live.
Samael Aun Weor
Speak each line slowly, with a breath between. Where the lines break into a new group, pause longer. Let the words land in the body, not the head.
Sit still. Three slow breaths.
There are many small selves in me, and they have lived a long time.
The I of resentment. The I of self-pity. The I of needing to be right.
Each has run a part of my life for years.
I have called them me. I have defended them. I have fed them.
Samael said the work is for their slow dying.
Not violently. Not by force.
By the patient removal of the food they have been eating: my belief in them.
When I observe an I instead of becoming it, I take a small piece of its life away.
It cannot live on observation. It lives only on identification.
This is the death of the ego.
Not the death of me.
The death of the small false selves that pretended to be me.
It looks like nothing dramatic.
One day a situation arises that used to make me furious.
The fury does not come.
The space where the fury lived is empty.
Then, slowly, something quieter fills the space.
This is the slow harvest.
It cannot be rushed.
It cannot be willed.
It is the patient result of weeks of watching.
Today I choose one I that has been with me long.
I watch it without engaging.
I know each watching takes a small piece of its life.
The death is slow. The death is real.
I am not the small selves that have been dying.
I am the watcher that has been emptying them, one observation at a time.
Review: did the I arise today? What did it look like to watch it from a small distance now, after weeks of practice?
Which I has been with me longest? When did I see it most clearly this week? What does it feed on? What would my life look like with one less of these inside me?
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You have done the work of one day. The work itself is the gift.
With Love,
Dr. Athena
What if I miss a day?
You will. Most people do. The program is not a punishment and a missed day is not a failure. Pick up where you left off, or repeat the day you missed if it called to you. The order matters less than the return.
What if I didn't feel anything during the practice?
That is normal, especially early. The feeling is a muscle, and the muscle is new. Shorten the practice. Soften the image. Borrow a remembered feeling if you have to. The feeling builds. It does not always arrive on the day you scheduled it.
What if doubt was loud today?
You do not have to argue with the doubt. You only have to perform one small physical act as the one who has already received. Pay something with calm. Sit upright. Take a deep breath. The body teaches the mind. The doubt loses its grip without ever being defeated.
What if the I never dies?
Some of them never fully die in one lifetime. The work is not to eliminate the entire crowd in twenty-one days. It is to begin the long process. The earliest ones die first, usually after years. The deeper ones take longer. Samael's whole teaching was based on this being lifetime work. Twenty-one days is the seed. The tree grows for decades.