Pride is the snipping of the proverbial umbilical chord between us and the divine.
To tell yourself “I got this,” will grant you just that. (Hint: we don’t “got this.”)
Pride is anti-truth. It is innately confused. All life is interdependent on each other. All life is connected. Each and every one of us is shit out of luck without each and every other link in this enormous chain. Indra’s net is large. Each knot is critical to the survival of the whole net itself. If one knot is torn, the wind may get through and rip the entire web.
To be so utterly blinded by hubris that one convinces themself that they would be fine without the rest of the system is like a plant refusing water, sunlight, and soil.
The prideful are uprooted plants determined to survive self-sufficiently. The prideful are plants that think they grew themselves, ignoring the nourishing fellowship of the Sun, of the Soil, and of the Water.
There is no greater strength than humility. The humble willingly receive water, Sunlight, and nutrients from the soil. They grow big; they grow tall; they grow strong; but they never forget that their greatness was fueled only by the life-giving elements.
Pride credits itself with its apparent greatness, rather than that which truly created it. In refusing, and separating, oneself, from that which truly created its greatness, it inevitably withers.
Pride cometh before the fall, like a withering plant.
THE CLOSET MYSTIC 