As if pathology were something to defy. As if you could somehow not be ruled by old demons, and trapped in ancient hallways, the cartography defined before you were born. These obsessions, barely personalized make their way though your life like a snake moving through a paper town, flattening the landscape wholesale. Imaginary skyscrapers bow beneath them while you try to remember the top 10 tricks effective people have or do.
It doesn’t work that way. Tricks and tools keep demons invisible, helpful, yes, but demon hunters they are not. Thinly veiled and wrapped more tightly around your throat, you can’t see demons now, because they operate with glacial slowness, why f*ck up a moment, when you can f*ck up a life?
Well what is it then? What is the cure for demons?
You want what you want.
Oh darkness, come here.
Something that you hate to love, that pollutes the meaning of love,
desire, just endless.
The better you know your demons,
the more open to how very simple and sad these hurts are,
that they dress in the most outlandish clothes just to catch your eye, the elaborate stage settings, the convoluted serpentine plot lines enacted to hold your attention…
This time it’s different, and it is sometimes different…
So how do you know?
Which part is the fairytale & which is the true story?
Which is the medicine, the poison, and which is the cure?
Sweet poison, bitter medicine, no the other way, I’m sure of it.
Unsure of anything, welcome home.
Acceptance kills demons,
or shrinks them anyway. It’s alright.
It’s alright these feelings, these thoughts, these paths you have traveled.
However not alright it is, it’s alright.
There is room enough for everything,
for every unwanted pain, and every unloved encounter. No separation.
You don’t have to feel differently, but you do have to take a chance.
To stretch where you feel the light coming in.
You can bring your demons with you,
they’ll leave when they’re ready.