Demon says “Lie down! You can’t do anything about things. You will die soon. I will be here waiting for you.” Darkness falls deep within my soul. The smell of smoke and the oppressive warmth of an unseen fire.
Daemon says “Wait. Breathe. The sun still shines. Use your weapons. Write! Tell us of your struggle!” A very small ray of hope pierces the dark. Is that a breeze and the faint scent of a wildflower?
Why are the demon and his devices so much more real? Why does the daemon try to save me?
(Perhaps these were the originators of heaven and hell.)
I know this only occurs in some portion of my neural network (probably), but there are many others who can identify with these characters. And there is a power in making them separate from each other and from myself. Such is the power of the imagination.
Demon is the willingness to succumb. So easy to do nothing and allow the weight of living to slowly end. “Depression is unbeatable. Be angry. It will speed the coming apocalypse of your soul! Hate the hope that you have been given. Be sorrowful for all you have not done.”
Daemon is the seeker of life, that which knows of creation, growth, and survival. “There are more things to experience, create and do! Write! Do not give yourself over to the profane, to the mud and ugliness of the world. Let the celestial winds carry you.”
Ah, but I feel so old. And my mind has never been quite right. Will I lose EVERYTHING? I don’t know. Will I be able to seal up this house enough to get through the winter and not have the pipes freeze? Probably. Can I beat this cycle of depression and re-stabilize my emotional turmoil? I have to believe so. Can I handle my situation by myself? I don’t know.
Demon says, “With so many bodies in the water, it would be selfish to ask for help. Swim harder and don’t make excuses. Are you looking for pity?”
It’s what I’ve always done. It’s hard to believe that anyone would willingly save me. And pity is abhorrent.
I know that I am not “worthless”. My dreams and ideas soar, but I have been physical for all my working life. If I was still 30 or 40 or even 50 I could do much more to save myself and the people close to me. As I approach 70, I find that my body and motivation are somewhat crippled. I rebel against the change that I am going through and beat myself up for not knowing how to really handle it. It makes me sad.
The small voice of the daemon urges me on. “It is not over. YOU are not over. This is not your first time questioning your existence and life is still good. Love who you are. Share who you are. ‘Accept the things that you cannot change…’ You have overcome many obstacles in your life. This pain is not so new. Let yourself be loved.
Open yourself to the world. Teach them. Inspire them. The old fears and hatreds are not now. You know that life is change!”
Oh, but the change is so slow. Things creep up, and now I have to adapt to a reality that I have denied until it overpowered me. A thief…no, not a thief, but a spirit or entity has come up behind me. It has been tapping on my shoulder through dark alleys and barren streets. And, now it has my attention.
Change does not mean that I have to grow up, but I must accept a new playing field. Playfully, creatively and humbly I can build on my assets, small though they are, and live.
I will continue tripping over fears and being lifted by inspirations. Change happens, it is neither good nor bad. We are triggered by the processes of living and embrace love and fear as they appear.
a mountain clearing
grass — green and brown
bones of a long-dead cow
The journey continues…