I have dark thoughts churning around in my head. Fantasies of the violent kind. Fantasies of the sexually deviant kind. Fantasies of power. Fantasies of laying waste to everything that makes me angry, like the weaknesses of others and my own weaknesses. I have wasted a long time wondering why I'm this way. Is it genetics? Is it my environment? Is it my own fault? The fault of others? Have society's pressures bludgeoned my mind into a house supported by splintering stilts, ready to be washed into the sea at the next high-tide? Is there a way to change how my mind works on a fundamental level? How do I stem the steady stream of uninhibited rage and disappointment that flies into my mind on a regular basis?
I have tried a number of things in my quest to get the answers to these questions about how and why my mind works in this manner. So again, it's time for some deliciously indulgent self reflection on some of the details that have presented themselves to me along the path.
The first thing I tried was to pretend that there were no demons lurking around in the basement of my mind. I would lie to myself about what was going on and say, "I have nothing but pure nice guy thoughts going on up here." This is a rather bizarre state of mind to be in. I have a tendency to adopt very poorly thought out viewpoints on matters, especially if those viewpoints are extreme. My theory at the time was that if I simply ignored my dark fantasies, and wouldn't even observe or interact with them in the playground of my own mind, that they'd simply get tired of bothering me and leave me alone at some point. Well, when I tried this approach, what ended up happening is that the dark thoughts keep coming regardless of my policy of willful ignorance. It's like if you were show up at someone's house and they have devilish dog and the person you're seeing is doing their best to ignore everything wrong that the dog is doing. The dog barks right at you, tries to bite your hand, and jumps up on you as you're trying to have a conversation with it's owner. And what does the owner do? They sit there sipping their tea like nothing silly is going on, while you suffer the whole while out of the courtesy of trying to be a good person who's there to listen to your "friend". I was the ignorant tea-sipper, idling ignoring the fact that there was anything morally deviant going on in my mind. I was suffering from the narcissism of someone who thought they were perfect because they had convinced themselves there were no issues.
So when that didn't work, when at least I realized that the dark thoughts wouldn't leave, I tried something else. I wondered that maybe if I could observe my mind, then perhaps there was hope to fix it. I thought, ok, the engine is fucked up. I need to get really good at understanding how it works so I can identify where it's problems are. When I started adopting this attitude, that's when I got heavily into the practice of meditation. I had a pretty rigorous schedule for a few months, in which I sat for thirty minutes with straight posture, where I tried to stay focused on counting, but inevitably my mind would win and I would get distracted from my task. It wasn't a complete loss though, because I finally had the chance to observe the nature of the thoughts that regularly busted down the door and rudely announced their presence. This is the time when I learned how to be an objective observer. I would observe thoughts like:
When I actually observed what my mind was like, it was like walking into a room filled with trash all the way up to the ceiling. But I saw that as progress because at least I could see what the issues were plainly. So, I thought at the time, I could begin the process of starting to clean up my mind. So I would try to think "positive thoughts", give off "good vibes", and act happier by forcing myself to smile when I felt sour. This seemed to help a good bit in my day to day happenings. People smiled back. They started approaching me for conversation. I was less judgmental since I realized that I was no saint myself, and I was more pleasant to be around. So that was a good change. But when I sat down to meditate, I noticed the volume of dark thoughts that filled my head hadn't really been reduced by that much. The negative, selfish, and indulgent questions, judgements, assertions, and assumptions that I made of myself and others still plagued me. So I felt guilty. I felt guilty that I couldn't rid myself of impurity and punished myself because I had no compassion for myself. So the engine was left broken and I didn't know how to fix it.
Slowly, I began to confide in my close friends about some of the darker aspects of my personality. I had learned that pretending to have a pure mind was pointless, and that trying to stop myself from having impure thoughts was also pointless. So I figured that I could have a bit of fun with it. I'd joke with my friends about dead babies, animal fucking, and wiping out populations of stupid people from the face of the planet. The thoughts and desires that I had were expressed as jokes, but a really good joke has an element of truth to it. That's what gives it punch. When I tell a good joke, I can feel some tension leave my body, like I've exercised a demon that's been possessing me for a while. A good joke leaves someone else on the edge of wondering if you're serious or not. I was still careful not to show my dark side to people I wasn't comfortable with yet, however.
Eventually I began to express some dark things about myself to people I didn't know that well. I began to more freely divulge my frustrations with people at work. I'd talk with someone who was just as frustrated as me about their situation and we'd reinforce each other's views:
Me:
I am really sick of this job. You know my manager is making me do a bunch of things I shouldn't be because X won't pull their weight.
Them:
Yeah that's really unfair. You should say something!
Me:
Yeah, you're right. I'm going to go right up to the boss and tell him what I think!
Them:
Fuck yeah you are!!
Those conversations were fun and they temporarily pumped dopamine into my brain, but at the same time, I realized that they were a bit hollow. The next day after a conversation like that, I'd carry out my duties like I always had without saying a damn word to the boss or giving further consideration to the issue. I'd silently fume away at my job, convinced that I was the victim of a bully without asking any questions about if it was really the case that my boss was trying to screw me. And, despite my willingness to express myself more candidly to others who weren't that close to me, my mind continued to projectile vomit puke everywhere. It'd say, "Jesus man you talk so tough but you couldn't stand up for yourself if someone was about to steal your favorite book. You'd say, 'Well, maybe they deserve that book more than I do and they can keep it because maybe it will help them down the road.' How are you going to respect yourself if you keep doing things like that?"
So that went on for awhile. I would say things fueled off of anger but not take any meaningful action. The bitter angry person inside of my head would express himself through words alone. He was the guy who chatters away about fucking everyone up but, oddly enough, always seems to find a way to slink off when a real fight is about to go down.
Then, there was a radical shift.
I started to actually pay attention to the mentors I had secretly admired for so long. I had never before let myself feel good about admitting to myself that I admired these men. Folks like, Jocko Willink. Something drew me in to this man. Jocko would wave around a knife while talking about soldiers walking around in a trench full of human shit while artillery fell on them and shattered their eardrums. When he spoke of these things, I could tell that he loved it. He dove headfirst into every story he could find about war, crime, and the depravity of human nature. You could view his whole podcast as a quest to find the darkest waters available, and plunge into them, headfirst. And when you surface, if you do surface again at all, you might not know how you're supposed to feel about yourself anymore.
Jocko got me into reading a book About Face by David Hackworth. He made me pay attention to "Hack". In Hack, I saw a man who was fed up with himself and all of his weakness. I saw a man who attempted, however stupidly and unsuccessfully, to destroy his weakness, and to do the best job that he could no matter what. I saw a man who treaded lightly in the forest, being careful not to make any noise, lest he let his prey, his own fear, slip away into the trees so it could hound him again during the night. I saw a man who ran down a hill, clipped by a bullet to the head, covered in blood, singing jolly songs of war as he moseyed back on down to base camp, as his friends looked on him with disbelief and convinced themselves that he was just "different" than they were in some seriously fucked up ways.
I watched an episode of the Jocko podcast with Tim Kennedy as the featured guest, and when Jocko asked Tim what he felt about the armed forces getting rid of bayonet training, he crushed the can of coconut juice he was drinking from and was visibility pissed off. He thinks that getting rid of bayonet training is a feeble attempt to hide the brutal nature of war. He doesn't want people to have any illusions about what war is. His point is, that if you are going to war as a front-line soldier, you should be prepared to stab someone with a bayonet and watch their guts spill out onto the ground.
Hearing that from him, a lot of people are going to accuse Tim Kennedy of being many things. Insane, self-absorbed, a moral monster, etc. And by expressing my admiration for the man, I am going to be accused of the same things through association. My line of thinking on the matter is that at least he's giving you an honest view of who he is. His actions align with his thoughts. He doesn't hold back from expressing himself out of fear of the consequences he'll face from exposing the darkness he harbors within. Let's imagine you could choose who your boss is. Which person would you choose to make your boss? A man who is evil but puts on a face of moral goodness? Or a man who's completely frank about the stains of black on his soul? I think one chalice is less poisoned than the other in this instance.
I saw men who accepted their darkness as a gift, not as something that they had to toss away as quickly as the people around them wanted them to. I saw that they had kids, loving wives and girlfriends, successful businesses, and insightful, intelligent conversation. I saw them give themselves up to the darkness, consciously and carefully, by loving their own brutality and the brutality of others as they cracked the blackest jokes and belly laughed in the faces of people who had their jaws hung ajar. I saw that they were coaches and mentors, trying to help people improve their lives. I even saw that they could feel guilty about something as stupid as taking credit for baking a cake that they didn't make.
And then I saw myself. Many of you will laugh when you hear me say that I see myself in Jocko, Tim Kennedy, and Hack. You will laugh and say, "You're a nerd who lives in corporate America. You're quite the narcissist for comparing yourself to American heroes."
There's an Indian story saying that whichever wolf you feed most often is the one that will win over your mind in the end. I think a lot of people interpret this to mean that if they feed their white wolf, he will grow strong while the black one grows frail, frustrated, and ineffectual. But won't the black wolf grow resentful and use his resentment about not being fed to start plotting revenge against the white wolf? Won't he recruit other wolves who harbor the same resentment into his mutinous party, thereby sundering the pack unharmoniously into two?
My white wolf doesn't ignore my black wolf anymore. They both see each other. They don't fight over food. When I let loose a guttural grunt during a workout and think about smashing my day, I feed the black wolf. The white wolf does not get angry when he sees the black wolf eating. He waits. He knows he'll have his turn. When I finally get sick of my social anxiety and help a co-worker with an issue at work, the white wolf eats. The black wolf waits. The black wolf still gets a little resentful when he sees the white wolf eating because he is darker by nature. Even so, the black wolf knows that it's important to let the white wolf eat too, even if it means being a little hangry for awhile. That's how the balance is kept. That's how they both get what they want. When the pack gets invaded by an opposing pack, the white wolf will call on the black wolf to take the lead in the defense. The white wolf knows that the black wolf will allow himself to become consumed by rage but that he will make short work of the intruders. The black wolf will often be shunned by the others of the pack but he will watch the white wolf and how he goes around checking on everyone, licking them, playing with them, and laying with them. But the black wolf will not become completely resentful. The black wolf will understand why the white wolf does this and he will admire the white wolf even if he ends up pressed up against the mountain-side with no one to lick but himself. The white wolf will admire the black wolf's ability to go scouting into the forest and return on his own.
Take the time to understand your black and white wolves.