The Hidden Conflicts That Shape Us: A Meditation Revelation About Michael Jackson and Identity

I was settling into my scanning breath meditation, feeling a little out of sorts, when Michael Jackson's "Beat It" started playing on the radio in the background. Suddenly, I was transported back thirty years to when I was fifteen or sixteen, and my younger sister was obsessed with the King of Pop. That familiar surge of conflicted emotions hit me like a wave. Part of me had always thought Michael Jackson was incredibly cool—his dancing was almost too perfect to be real, mesmerizing in a way that grabbed me at some visceral level. But another part of me deeply despised everything about him. I would publicly criticize my sister's taste, avoid his music, and maintain that he was nothing but a fraud.

The Weight of Tribal Loyalty

Looking back, I can see how my older siblings had shaped my musical identity. They were headbangers—heavy metal and hard rock were the soundtrack of our house. When Michael Jackson emerged with his pop sensibilities and smooth moves, he seemed wimpy by comparison. My teenage brain couldn't handle being caught in the middle. You had to choose a side, and I chose to reject him entirely. But there was something deeper at work. I felt that Michael Jackson was wearing what I called "the mantle"—like putting on a beautiful piece of clothing that makes you look stylish and good, but isn't really you. His coolness felt like a costume, a facade he wore during performances. In interviews, I found his personality unlikeable, which made his stage persona feel even more artificial. It was as if he was lifting something that belonged to the gods and putting it on himself—a kind of superficial borrowing that felt like a lie. The dance moves were cool, the music was catchy, but it wasn't authentically him. At least, that's what I told myself.

The Deeper Truth

What I couldn't admit then was that I envied that coolness desperately. I wanted what he had—that effortless charisma, that magnetic presence. But acknowledging that desire felt like betraying everything I thought I stood for. How could I want something I deemed so superficial? The internal contradiction was too much to bear, so I buried the admiration and amplified the criticism. This wasn't really about Michael Jackson at all. It was about identity protection. Our loyalties—whether requested or not—become part of who we are. Changing those loyalties means changing our identity, and that requires dropping one sense of self to pick up another. There's an uncomfortable in-between space where you don't have any clear identity, and that can be deeply unsettling. What I've come to understand is that attachments have a way of perpetuating themselves, almost independent of our conscious will. They hook onto us and resist being unhooked. We think our attachments are us, but they're separate entities that have grafted themselves onto our sense of self.

The Meditation Breakthrough

During that scanning breath session, something remarkable happened. Instead of focusing on thoughts or external events, I put my attention directly on the feelings this memory stirred up. When you do this, emotions that were fuzzy and blurry in the background suddenly become clear and workable. As I breathed into the conflicted feelings about Michael Jackson—both the attraction and the repulsion—something extraordinary occurred. The scanning breath technique allowed me to isolate and work with both attachments simultaneously. I breathed the feelings in and out, in and out, intensely focusing on them until they grew stronger and more defined. Then, suddenly—poof. They were gone. The feelings shimmered, grew thinner, and dissipated completely. I could barely remember what the attachment had felt like because there was no trace of it left. It was off my radar, out of my field entirely. In that moment, I was free from both the tribal loyalty to heavy metal and the secret desire to be cool like Michael Jackson. Both attachments had dissolved, leaving me with a clear, objective space.

Freedom in Daily Life

This kind of freedom from attachment shows up in practical ways. In my classroom, for example, I used to try to please new students because I'd immediately form attachments to them. Now, I can resist that initial attachment formation, which gives me the distance I need to be truly effective as a teacher. When I remain objective rather than becoming a friend trying to make demands, students respond with respect. There's something clean and honest about authority that comes from objectivity rather than subjective attachment. Think of it like chocolate. You might love chocolate, but if you're attached to it, that attachment controls you. You want it all the time, and not having it makes you unhappy. But if you can reduce the attachment without losing the ability to enjoy chocolate, something beautiful happens: you become free to choose. If you eat the chocolate, you enjoy it just as much as before. If you don't eat it, you feel perfectly fine. The taste hasn't changed, but your relationship to it has transformed entirely.

A Message of Independence

What I've learned is that resolving internal contradictions isn't about picking a side—it's about finding freedom from both sides. You don't have to love or hate Michael Jackson. You don't have to be a headbanger or a pop fan. You can exist in a space where the world doesn't instantly attach itself to you, where you can observe and choose your responses rather than being controlled by automatic reactions. This kind of independence creates space for genuine personal growth. When you're not defending old positions or fighting internal battles, you have energy available for seeing clearly and responding authentically to whatever life presents. The teenage me who was so conflicted about Michael Jackson was doing his best to navigate competing loyalties and desires. I have compassion for that struggle now. But I'm grateful that meditation revealed the possibility of something better: the freedom to watch the world with objectivity, to engage without immediate attachment, and to enjoy what's enjoyable while remaining fundamentally independent. That's the gift that emerged from a simple song playing in the background during meditation—a decades-old conflict resolved in an instant, and a new understanding of what it means to be truly free.