When I first met the devil

When I first Met the Devil

I was not ready for him, but he was right there waiting for me the moment I fist saw the light. As the pupils in my eyes adjusted to the intensity of that light, and my throat was confused between the mechanics of spiting the fluid of life and excrement and breathing in the life that had been waiting for my arrival.

As these huge claws were grabbing me from behind my neck I screamed with passion in protest of the traumatic experience I had just lived, but all of them there were just smiling like idiots. I felt wet, and I felt cold. For the first time in my life I experienced this feeling of being incredibly vulnerable. I was in despair. I was suffering from separation anxiety, I was frustrated. I didn’t know what frustrated was, but I was frustrated anyway. I was defenseless.

It appears that in situations such as this, the devil’s presence is immediately felt. I felt his presence in my bones, in my wet skin, which now was being wrapped in something that felt not really that bad, but that was new. The cold feel of his being was all around me.

I immediately had a sense of further separation from being. The light seemed to detach from me. I started to perceive the fact that I was “me”, I was “I”...I was “self” …I was….

I felt the devil caught hold of my soul. And a chasm open between me and everything and the light receded even more. . My attention was encapsulated by these ideas of being, ideas of everything in relation to me. It was me and everything else.

No there were no horns, no pitch forks, no diabolic laughter, and no burning fires or perishing bodies. There was only I and my “self”, which I much later knew it’s called “Ego’. He has ever since controlled my every thought, my every wish, my every urge. It has slaved me to harm, to damage, to spoil, to destroy, and to pain, to forget others, forget who I am and why I am.

Once in a while I get to free myself from those claws and when I am able to see a little more light into the situation, see what seems to be myself in a glass room, where every glass shows a deformed part of my self. I could see that these images are only those images of a self that it is not really me. The real me, although a temporary prisoner, transcends the “me”, the self, the ego. The real me is me, but it is also you , and you and you….
To be continued…..

ACD 9.5.08