Satan, Sabotage, and Shaking it Off

Regrets collect like old friends
Here to relive your darkest moments
I can see no way, I can see no way
And all of the ghouls come out to play

And every demon wants his pound of flesh
But I like to keep some things to myself
I like to keep my issues drawn
It's always darkest before the dawn

My Mom believes in the devil.  Maybe not the whole forked tail, cloven hooves and pitchfork deal, but she believes.  I know, because although God comes up in conversations with my Mom far more frequently, Satan shows up quite a bit too.  To my Mom, Satan is 100% real.  And he’s no passive Lord of Evil, either.  He is an active force in the world, a foil to all that is good.  “When people are trying to get close to God,” my Mom says.  “That’s when the devil attacks – to make it is a difficult as possible for them to do what they want.”

I never really know how to respond when my mom starts talking about Satan – the concept of some ultimate force for evil is a little much for me to wrap my head around.  But there is something about that belief of hers that I DO get.  I have a few old journals, and all it takes is to flip through them to see that my history is full of failed quests for self-improvement.  They all go well for a while, with journal entries full of positive energy and good intentions.  Then, they just… stop.  And I know how they stop.  Healthy living becomes too many beers and junk food.  Desire for deeper social connection becomes me, sitting on the couch playing video games.  Alone.         

And I've been a fool and I've been blind
I can never leave the past behind
I can see no way, I can see no way
I'm always dragging that horse around
All of his questions, such a mournful sound

If grasping the concept of Satan is a little tough, it’s pretty easy for me to envision the devil on my back.  He’s the one whispering all these questions in my ear.  Sometimes he’s mean.  “You’re going to talk to people about what you are doing?  Ask for help and advice?  Don’t you think they’ll just think you’re stupid?”  Sometimes he’s all sympathy. “You’ve had a hard day/week/month, don’t you deserve some veg out time?  One more beer?”  But mean or sympathetic, he’s really just saying one thing:  “You can always do things differently TOMORROW.”  The problem with tomorrow?  It never really comes. 

It would be easy for me to lapse into feeling like I haven’t moved very far since I started this quest for meaning.  But you know what?  I think that’s just what that metaphorical devil wants.  He likes having nobody else talking in my ear, because the ride is so much smoother when I’m settled on the couch.  So I guess I’ve got some questions of my own.  If I haven’t moved very far, why do I feel physically better than I have in a while?  And kind of strangely level headed, and open?  Why do I feel like I’ve got a clearer direction for moving forward, and even if I move slowly, I’m not looking to make a pit stop for self-pity?  

Hope you enjoyed the ride, you little fucker.  Because whether you like it or not, I’m shaking you off.