Universalist Unitarian Church
Santa Paula, California
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Who Am I? Finding Oneself
by Reverend John Alexie Crane

I. I Love Lucy
I expect that most of you know Lucy and Linus and Charlie Brown. Many of you will also know that I frequently find them a significant source of insight into the human condition, a resilient springboard for theological reflection.

For example, one day Lucy was out in the summer sunshine jumping rope solo when her little brother Linus approached her, dragging his beloved old blanket behind him. "Do you ever pray, Lucy?" he said.

Lucy immediately stopped jumping, looked directly at Linus, fixed him with a beady eye, and said, "That's kind of a personal question, isn't it? Are you trying to start an argument?" Then, growing increasingly irate, she began shouting, "I suppose you think you're somebody pretty smart, don't you? I suppose you think..."

In the last block, Linus is shown seated on a curbstone next to his friend Charlie Brown. Linus is sucking his thumb and holding his blanket against his cheek, and saying, "You're right... Religion is a very touchy subject!"

Did you ever think about the fact that we each of us contain a Lucy within ourselves? Sometimes there looms up in ourselves a little creature who is quick to take offense, easily aroused to suspicion, anger, and hostility; ready to be bossy, to take charge, to lord it over others; entirely without sympathy or compassion; cold and assertive; grumpy, self-centered, without mercy. Prone to violence.

Yes. I recognize something of myself in Lucy. And also in Charlie Brown, the eternal failure, doggedly determined, yearning to be liked, to be loved, yearning for achievement and recognition, having irrepressible pretensions to leadership, and consistently failing to win, always falling short, hating himself for doing so.

Then there is Linus. We all of us have a tiny little Linus inside: intellectual, sensitive, with high moral aspirations, distressed by conflict, easily wounded, retreating frequently to the comfort of the thumb-sucking and blanket cuddling.

It is as though we contain a small population of little people, of sub personalities, like Lucy, Linus, and Charlie Brown. Little people whose voices speak to us, poke us and prod us, tell us what to do or what to hold back from doing. They tell us what to see, how to think and feel. They may color and control our understanding of the world and of ourselves.

Indeed, it is apparent to me that this is why comic strips are so popular. They speak to, speak for our various subpersonalities. We contain not only Lucy and Linus, we also, each of us, contain a Mary Worth and an Andy Capp.

Mary is intelligent, caring, sensitive, wise, an active force for good in the world, generously providing help and guidance to those who need her. I have Mary in myself. And you have. I also carry an Andy Capp within me: rowdy, irresponsible, self-centered, fun-loving, a beer-lover, a homely playboy, a laboring class Lothario.

Or consider the popularity of Superman. There is a tiny Superman in each of us: omnipotent, benevolent, with x-ray vision, capable of swooping through the skies, carrying a beautiful maiden in one arm, rescuing her from the evil forces that repeatedly erupt in the world.

Our mighty powers, our gifts are usually disguised in ordinary street clothes, hidden behind cheap spectacles. Outwardly we look disgustingly ordinary, but inside there is Superman. In each of us. We hear his voice now and then.

II. We Contain Multitudes
Within each of us there is a troop of little folks, aspects of our personality that encourage us or inhibit us, that warp our perceptions, distort our understanding, but that we have to learn to live with in some way.

It is important that we get to know these little fellows, recognize them when they appear, avoid pretending that they are not there at work within us.

One little character I see in myself frequently (and that you may also find familiar) is Your-Hunble-Servant. He always feels guilty, though it is seldom clear about what. He is invariably self-effacing. He is anxious not to be a bother to other people, does not want to put them to any trouble.

He would much rather suffer himself than cause the slightest, even the tiniest difficulty for other people. "Oh, don't make coffee just for me." Or, "I'm sorry. I very nearly backed into you. I didn't notice you there. Please forgive me." Are you acquainted with Your-Humble-Servant?

Then there is Quasimodo: a nasty, ugly, devious, amoral, thoroughly revolting creature. You can't look at him without repugnance, without feeling the impulse to look the other way.

Most of us, I think, must carry with us a little Quasimodo character in the dark depths of ourselves, and we hear his gravelly voice from time to time, get glimpses of his twisted face. Many of us fear that this evil character may at any moment gain the upper hand in the milling crowd inside us.

Another character that I can see plays a substantial role in many people's lives is The Slasher. This is the creature who crops up to be acidly critical of people and the world.

He is constantly criticizing what others do and say and think, how they dress, the movies they see, the dinners they serve, their grammar, their diction, their eating habits, the place where they were born, the names of their children, how their kids behave. Slashing is a reflex response for him. The put-down is a turn-on experience for him.

Many of us, I'm sure, contain also a Miser and a Grabber. The Grabber is an aggressive little fellow, hot for food, possessions, jewels, recognition, the limelight, quick to reach out in his greediness for sensations and satisfactions. The Miser, on the other hand, wants to hold on tightly to what he has. He is not at all eager to give things away, has to be driven to spend any significant sum of money.

I tell you there is a multitude of voices within us, clamoring for our attention from time to time. There is also the Clown: always making jokes, making light of things, being funny all the time. Nothing is serious to him. It’s all a big joke.

On the other hand, there is also a little John Calvin in there who insists that we are not good enough, that God will surely find us out, that we will in no way be numbered among the saved, will burn in hellfire for all eternity.

Then there is the Martyr. See how I am suffering, and nobody notices. After all I have done for my children, look how they treat me.

Or a cute little Marilyn Monroe who is in a constant state of intense, diffused, erotic response to the world and all the people in it. Or perhaps the Good Provider: it is my responsibility to look after them all; it's all on my shoulders.

There is the little chap who pops up to say "You're Entitled." You really deserve this chocolate-whipped-cream pie (or this entire bottle of wine) after all you have suffered today.

Related to him is The Weeper, the little fellow who says again and again things like, "this hike is interminable. I am never going to make it. I think I am getting a blister on my foot. I am sure I will never be able to find my way back. Nobody knows how I suffer. Why can't they be more considerate of me?"

There is the Good Girl and the Good Boy who are always obedient, no matter what, who never deviate in any way from the rules, from what is expected of them.

There is the Okie in some of us: "I am just a dumb Okie, and I couldn't possibly do that or follow that. You are so smart, but me, I don’t know from nothing.”

There is the Wardrobe Mistress, the one who makes the decision about which mask we are going to wear on any given occasion. Which face we are going to present to the world.

Do these little people, these diverse voices strike a responsive chord in you, as they do in me? It is clear to me that I contain multitudes, and that I must find a way to live in harmony with the milling crowd in there.

III. The One Who Watches
A crucial element in achieving this harmony is an awareness that, in addition to all these little folks we contain, there is in there an extraordinary being, a Watcher, an Observer. This is the center of ourselves. Our essential self.

The Watcher observes the world, its people and objects and events. It observes also the thoughts, the feelings, the events within us, including the activities of the troop of little people.

A chair is an object. A tree is or a rock or a book. The whole world is an object to us. Even our thoughts we experience as objects, having form and limits. It is the same with our feelings, our memories. The Watcher observes all of these objects, but can not itself be observed.

We cannot observe the Observing Self. It is not an object. It is the ultimate subject, the fundamental ground of awareness of self and world. There is consciousness, and then there is the ever-changing contents of consciousness. The Watcher is consciousness. Pure consciousness.

The Watcher is of extraordinary importance in our lives. It is the center, the ground of our being.

The Observing Self, the Watcher is radically different in character from the little folks we contain.

Our everday consciousness is heavily cluttered with images, thoughts, feelings, perceptions, fantasies, reveries. Underlying this tangle of inner experience is this transcendent element, this Observing Self which cannot be observed.

It has no form, no dimensions, no limits. Everything else we can experience as an object. But we cannot make an object of the Watcher, the Observing Self. The Watcher is entirely unlike anything else that we know.

The Observing Self has always been and now is present within us, but we have difficulty grasping the idea because it does not fit into the dominant world view among us. The Observing Self, however, is at the center of the world view of mysticism. A major aim of mysticism is to put us in touch with the Watcher, with the Observing Self.

It has for a long time now been apparent to me that both the scientific and the mystical world views are essential to us if we are to be whole, if we are to be wholly in touch with ourselves and the world.

It is not that we must merge the two. They are, in fact, disparate world views, and do not mix. But we must be capable of moving freely from one to the other if we are to do justice to the complexity, the wonder of life and the world.

IV. Learning to Live with Lucy
Within myself, there is a little Lucy-person, a little crabby, cantankerous, beady-eyed, irascible, aggressive, violence-prone creature who comes rushing up into consciousness now and then to shout at me, to tell me what to do, to tell me not to take it lying down, not to let them put anything over on me.

There is also Your-Humble-Servant: anxious to avoid offending anybody,avoid being any trouble to others, ready to beg pardon at the drop of a hat. You no doubt are similarly populated within, though your troop may have different characters than mine.

We all have a tendency to indentify with at least several of the subpersonalities who hang out with us. We come to think that we actually are these little people, that they make up our real and essential selves. This is a serious and self-destructive mistake.

The little folk are part of what we might call our object-self, that part of us which we can perceive as an object, that part of ourself created by the social conditioning that instructed us in what to believe, who to be loyal to, what to value, what to strive for in life, what to be afraid of.

It is attachment to this tense, tangled object-self, its needs and anxieties, following its instructions, that is the source of most of the pain, tension, and trauma in life. Getting in touch with the Observing Self by clearing away the clutter is the way to find reality, to find peace and fulfillment.

It is of high importance, ultimate importance that we be able to still the voices within us, to reach a point where we command them, rather than having them control us.

This is necessary if we are to know our essential selves, if we are to perceive the world as it is, apart from the distorted perception of it generated by the activities of that troop of little people within us.

We have the power to silence the voices within us, the power to prevent them from controlling our actions and decisions. We must not think that they define who we really are. We are capable of governing ourselves from a deeper center within. When we achieve this, we experience a profound sense of liberation.

How do we go about achieving this ultimately rewarding act of identifying ourselves, not with the object-self, but with the Observing Self? How do we go about clearing away the clutter within us? There are several useful tools.

Becoming conscious of the presence of the Lucys and Linuses and the Charlie Browns within us, becoming aware of the little folks in there, observing their actions and their impact on ourselves. Gaining an understanding of how seriously they distort our perceptions, how they cripple our lives. Gaining and keeping alive in ourselves a vividly clear awareness of the pain, the anguish they cause in us. How they prevent us from being fully alive.

All this will help to clear away the clutter. But the insight alone is not enough. Having gained the insight, we must commit ourselves to the task of gaining command of that little cavalry troop within.

Psychotherapy can be helpful in clearing away the clutter. A sensitive counselor or small group leader can help us to observe the contents of our object-self. Can help us learn how it affects what we think, say, feel, do, what we are afraid of, what we hold back from doing, feeling, saying, thinking.

As a matter of fact, there is a branch of psychotherapy called "psychosynthesis" that has a deliberate and systematically worked out method of enabling clients to get acquainted with the subpersonalities they contain, and learn to transcend their control. If you would like to know more about it, a book, What We May Be by Piero Ferrucci gives a clear and provocative account of it.

The major tool used in the mystical tradition for centuries (in this task of clearing away the clutter) is meditation. This means sitting very still, relaxing the body, and, at the same time, emptying the mind for a sustained period of twenty to thirty minutes.

This is a practice so at variance with our hustling way of life in America that it is almost unthinkable. Sitting still and doing nothing, producing nothing tangible, earning no money, not getting ahead -- what an idiotic thing to do! It's totally un-American!

And it is, at the same time, one of the most ultimately productive things we can do for ourselves and for the world. It is a way of liberation from the prison of the object-self, the tyranny of the little people.

Related to meditation as a tool is prayer. People used to think that prayer was a form of communication with the All High Ruler of the Cosmos. Many of us can now see that it is actually a personal, intimate art form whose medium is meaning; a form of communication with our inner depths. It is a life-giving art.

It is important because it can keep alive in us essential insights we have gained. It can keep alive in us an awareness of significant goals we need to achieve. It can keep us in touch with the center of ourselves by clearing away the clutter, and focusing on what matters most to us.

It can move us toward centeredness. It can enable us to deal with that troop of Little People we contain. It enables us, as it were, to fall into conversation with the Observing Self, and thus to find our way to liberation, to wholeness.

Dr Alexie Crane
2880 Exeter Place
Santa Barbara, CA 93105
(805) 682-3476

Lex1304@aol.com

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