The Devil Isn't What's Scary

The idea of a Devil as malignant power that can punish or take control of us is really the grown-up version of a boogeyman to scare children. It's the process of creating a character to act out the idea that the world is full of unknowns and beyond our control and that this should make us afraid.

The truth is--and most children seem to know this, which is perhaps scary to adults--the "unknown" and the "beyond our control" are some of the richest, most compelling, wondrous aspects of being alive. Another truth is this: many things we consider unknown we do in fact know; we just haven't allowed ourselves to recognize that we know.

Pretty much every time I have an "epiphany," after the euphoria of realization the next beat is "Wow, but I already knew that!"

Here's an example: the Devil is supposed to be terrifying, but we actually say "Better the devil you know." What is it that we really know here without acknowledging it to ourselves?

The truth is, our bad habits, our nemeses, the words we wish we could un-say, the foods we wish we could un-eat, the afternoon goofed off leaving forever unwritten that particular day's poem--these are our familiars. They are dear to us.

"Familiarity breeds contempt"--we can be awful to our nearest and dearest. And conversely (or nearly so),  when the contemptuous becomes familiar, we treat it as something near and dear to us.

That's why the best advice to someone trying to change a destructive habit is that they must first figure out what the habit is providing for them. You wouldn't be doing it if it wasn't meeting a need. If you know what that need is, you can explore other ways to get it, or to make the decision that there's something else you want more and you can't have both.

Ten years ago, when I started to surface after being almost completely dysfunctional with anorexia for years, I witnessed myself go through grief and terror at the thought of surfacing--of letting go all that physical pain, all that mental/emotional "stuckness," of being physically extremely weak. Those things were keeping me safe, and they were giving me a sense of identity. 

I wanted to be able to do more things, but I had to make an effort to keep wanting. "Better the devil you know," until you can see a desirable alternative.

And that's the other part--we prefer the known and familiar. Or do we? Weren't you always curious about what was over the next hill? Isn't curiosity for the unknown intrinsic to who and what we are?

Oh, better the devil you know, you know, because curiosity killed the cat...

In the past couple of weeks I've been getting some exciting and tingle-inspiring pointers as to what my work and calling on this planet is to be. And yes, I'm curious, and yes, I'm eager, and yes, I'm excited and humbled and grateful to imagine how I might be able to serve.

But I'm also terrified. When I observe myself being weak or sloppy in how I speak, or eating an item or a quantity that I know doesn't elevate my consciousness, or not being proactive in how I invest my attention, I challenge myself why I'm behaving in these ways that don't match the being I aspire to become.

And the answer is, I'm scared. I want it so much, but will I be able to recognize myself? Will I still be me? To which I respond that whether I recognize myself or not won't matter. I am not my behaviors; I'm not even the dates I put in my body in celebration of Pesach even though they're way too high in carbs.

The habits, the foods, the media--these are just props, as are even my body and my voice.

My curiosity about the unknown, the unclearly seen, the next installment of the story, makes me feel vibrant and alive, expanded. My fear makes me feel stiff,  bowed in on myself, contracted.

When I hold my devil up to the mirror it says "LIVED." Because life is moving forward (even though I don't experience time as linear), and clinging to the familiar is living backward.