Self #2: The Blamer
If your daily life seems poor, do not blame it; blame yourself that you are not poet enough to call forth its riches…
–Rainer Maria Rilke
The Blamer is my second-most vituperative Self, trailing only The Pity-Seeker.
Whereas The Pity-Seeker melts hearts and evokes concern with teary, puppy-dog eyes, The Blamer hurls thunderbolts.
He rages—oh, how he rages!—against everyone and everything.
My genetic inheritance, my upbringing, the Universe, God (whose existence he doubts, but why relinquish such a juicy target for indignation?)—all are fair game.
He fears two things above all else:
a) Introspection: He cannot bear the inward gaze—it reveals him.
b) Surrender: He loathes the cessation of denunciation—it starves him.
I look within and stop asking why things unfold the way they do.
When I look within, I see The Blamer and give him the space he needs—a need that cannot be accurately assessed without tuning in.
When I stop asking why, I can hear The Blamer clearly and attend to him, as a host should.
Eventually, like the others, he tires of wailing and drops wearily back into his seat.