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f@#k Your Ego!

Fuck my ego first. Then, fuck yours.

Every week I stand on stage delivering speeches, training, and shows in events, workshops, and theatre, in front of hundreds of people with no preparation or script. I always wonder where my messages come from. I know it's not me, because I know I am a lazy person who does not prepare!


If it's not me, then where did those messages come from?


Every day we create. Every day we send our work to the world. We bring to life inventions of hope, cures for diseases, and messages of impact.


With that, our ego inflates.


We feel that we become more than what we used to be. And our presence in life becomes more justified. We might temporarily feel as immortal heroes. We'll start to think that we really have a shot at staying around in life, long after we die.


Days later, death hits a relative, a friend, or a stranger. Suddenly we are reminded of our temporary existence in this life. We feel the anxiety again. So, what do we do?


We create again.

And the cycle continues!


The byproduct of this is a constant cycle of inflation and deflation of the ego. Over time, we start to claim everything we create as our own.


In addition, people, as Tara Mohr says, start to confuse admiring the work with admiring the person. They worship the messenger instead of the message, creating a false feedback loop to the messenger.


I don't believe in human creation. I believe in inspiration.

We don't create. We just receive.

We don't own. We just communicate.


The sooner we accept this, the deeper truth we can create.


Here is a little inspiration channeled through me yesterday, that I would like to leave you with:


You think you know,

And you want to show,


How great you are,

Like a shining star!


You think it’s you,

Who made that breakthrough.


Trust me you did not,

You don’t own what you got.


You think what you write,

Deserves a copyright.


What you’re protecting,

Are inspiration you’re collecting.


Always looking for a praise,

And someone who pays.


For what you call your own,

You believe you made alone.


If you ask me who did it,

It’s time to admit it.


Your pen. Your paper. Your laptop.

They get most of the credit.


Don’t be a fool,

Your body is a tool.


Through you, its your fate,

The universe will create.


Underneath every breath,

You’re trying to beat death.


That’s the reality,

You’re fighting mortality.


Maybe you should face.

The tragedy of human race.


And drop your fallacy.

Of having to leave a legacy.


My advice, if I may,

Get out of your own way,


And sorry, I must say.

Fuck your ego!


Don’t allow your pride,

Let the truth hide.


What you should do instead,

Is to get out of your head.


Inspiration keeps passing by,

Every second until we die.


All we need to do,

Is to let life come through.


And open our hearts.

And all our parts.


For the truth we call art.

In this life, before we depart.

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