I am, by constitution, suspicious of narratives that center around the dissolution of “the Ego”, or (worse yet) explicitly one’s sense of self. One might make an argument that this is a product of my Western individualism, but it owes as much to my suspicion of any programme so clearly open to abuse by a charismatic leader. This is one of the reasons I just can’t love Peter Carroll as much as many of my friends do: what they read as “become more malleable” I read as “become the perfect victim”.
Conversely, on the other hand, we space ghosts – witches, magicians, sorcerers, psychonauts, et al. – spent quite a lot of time conceptualizing ourselves as the center of the universe. My refusal to give up my individuation is not an endorsement of megalomania. I, for one, take great comfort in my cosmic insignificance.
The following meditation serves as a reminder of that insignificance. A grounding before or after ritual, or when the pressure of our obligations to the larger world become too much. As a note: the phrases “ouden eimi” and “nemo sum” are Greek and Latin, respectively, and mean “I am no one.”
Nullification
Ouden eimi.
Nemo sum.
I am no one.
I came from nothing.
To nothing I shall return.
I am forged of dirt.
I am a sack of meat.
Ouden eimi.
Nemo sum.
I am no one.
My mind is a morass
of lies and memes.
My soul is enslaved
by the mad godling Demiurge.
Ouden eimi.
Nemo sum.
I am no one.
I am made of starstuff.
So are cockroaches
and brain-eating amoebae.
So are gods.
Ouden eimi
Nemo sum.
I am no one.