Walking through a glade with Martineau, Lucifer discussed with him his worst dread. “I’m afraid I’ll find one day that I AM the Devil. That my first name really is who I am.” Marty nodded waiting for him to go on. “Maybe, it’s not just a name I was given. Maybe, it’s my destiny.”
“It’s possible,” Marty agreed. “But before you decide, would you like a chance to prove it to yourself?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if you’re really the Devil, you couldn’t stand to help someone else out. Given a chance, you would choose to sink someone rather than save them.”
“Yeah?” Lucifer wasn’t sure where Marty was headed.
“So, I’ll give you a chance to prove it. Either you are the Devil or you’re not. And given a chance, it just has to come out.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“I have a friend called J who needs some help fighting off a devil named Sasifraz.”
* * * * * * *
(1987)
The 29 year old me cried. (What? You think it’s easy to go through this? You thought my 29 year old would be the strong, self-assured type all the time?) My counselor, Barbara, held me tight.
The 29 year old me cried. (What? You think it’s easy to go through this? You thought my 29 year old would be the strong, self-assured type all the time?) My counselor, Barbara, held me tight.
In coming to grips with my feelings, I was amazed how much of my present life was still shaped by my past. A pattern created long ago repeated itself endlessly until I called attention to it or until the unmet need subsided.
Sitting on the floor with Barbara, I dipped into the well of sadness and cried for all that lost time, all that energy expended on creating the same painful pattern again and again in my life, because that’s all I knew. Knowing it was part of creating who I was didn’t help. To feel the well is to sense its limitlessness if only for a moment.
My body trembled as the pain was brought up and grieved for in the present. When I left, I felt spent but spent in a way that was refreshing. I knew there was that much less pain to carry around with me.
* * * * * * *
(1972)
Sasifraz didn’t come back, and he didn’t come back. And, he still didn’t come back. Alfer Centurie couldn’t figure out what the problem was. The waiting game was proving to be more intolerable than actually having the dreams.
Sasifraz didn’t come back, and he didn’t come back. And, he still didn’t come back. Alfer Centurie couldn’t figure out what the problem was. The waiting game was proving to be more intolerable than actually having the dreams.
Definitely, his mental cyst had gone but he couldn’t help feeling there was another shoe to drop. Tanya was patient to a fault. At some point, they had to acknowledge that a new game plan was in order. For the time being, they each went back to their normal routines. Alfer Centurie started seriously working again. Tanya stopped staying the night.
Alfer Centurie wished he could believe the great rumbling of the past was over. He just couldn’t bring himself to believe that after being so dramatic Sasifraz wouldn’t follow up with an encore performance.
* * * * * * *
After about a week, (God, I’d have been a lot safer with my grandparents) it was decided I should go live with my father. It wasn’t that my grandparents didn’t want me or that I didn’t want to live with them. It was a sense on both our parts that a child is supposed to be with its parents.
I felt guilty not trying to live with my other parent and imposing on my grandparents. My grandparents felt guilty taking me away from both of my parents. Maybe they were a little frightened of the responsibility. So, I left to do the right thing. Thinking that I must test the food in the proper order before getting on to the main course.