You're in the Unity Choir. All singing harmoniously.
The ego whispers: "Go on, do a solo."
So you do. You're now special and different and separate. You stand out. But:
There is a voice that does not blend.
The unity is no more (at least in perception: after all, you're still in the Unity Choir).
And the Choirmaster (God), so the ego says, is angry.
And is pointing the finger.
You feel guilty.
You could just blend back in, and it's over.
But the ego, who is now your guide, is being threatened with redundancy.
So it says:
"Keep your specialness; keep your difference; keep your separateness. But make it someone else's fault."
So you cast around and find someone to blame.
"I have picked up a resentment," you say.
The ego is now kushti, sitting pretty. It's got you at odds with God, using it as your guide, and now reasonably comfortable in your separateness, because you've turned your guilt into blame.
You're full of resentment, sure, but at least you're yer own man. Self-made. Distinct. With an identity. And with dreams. Oh, such lovely dreams.