Credit: www.glutendfreeforgood.com
Just as I was buttering my toast about an hour ago, a vasana (core issue) went off.
I don’t remember what I was thinking, but the thought came to me: “Nobody cares about me.” I was dramatizing at the moment, “hamming” it up the way my Mother and I used to enjoy doing.
But another part of me, more alert than my everyday consciousness, caught that thought and held it.
Nobody cares about me. Let me try that one on. There’s some resonance or I wouldn’t have grabbed it.
And voila, it fits.
Let me process the vasana it’s a part of, publicly. I’ve had a lot of experience processing vasanas so this may not take very long.
Almost immediately, I began to be flooded with memories of situations where I’ve concluded that nobody cares about me. I didn’t need to ask my mind to give me a thought or image of the original incident. I was deluged.
When I had excema and was tied to the crib, having cried myself out with no one coming to my aid, I remember saying to myself that nobody cares about me. That’s probably the original incident.
I remember saying that when Mom and us boys moved to a really decrepit house after Mom’s separation: Nobody cares about us.
Gosh, after every break-up, up would come a variant of this conclusion. I’d be so blue, I’d be hiding from people and saying to myself nobody cares about a sad sack. So in one way or another I can find this conclusion running throughout my life.
It’s a variant of the “poor me” script, whose intent is to win sympathy and cooperation – to get what we want.
Of course the conclusion isn’t true. They seldom are. This one is ridiculous and can’t stand the light of day. Which is probably why I said the phrase sheepishly to myself, dramatizing it.
Nevertheless, this conclusion that nobody cares about me becomes one line of programming in my habitual, conditioned mind. It’s joined by other conclusions and living them out as if they decided the situation is how I turn myself into a stimulus/response machine, a robot, a constructed self.
I just removed one more piece from that robot.
No further processing is necessary. I have no difficulty letting this one go. It’s no longer useful to me, to manipulate, as it was designed to do, or empower.