The Devil

"This pain is not to make you sad, remember. Thats what people go on missing. This pain is just to make you more alert–because people become alert only when the arrow goes deep into their heart and wounds them."

Osho

 For all the light and love I've written about for years, there are days when I feel that some sorcerer has scourged my soul such that I am eternally damned to desire to dance with sadistic malevolence.

I might enjoy a movie, get sustenance in sustaining friends and family around my table, take pleasure in a walk through the well-established gardens of the east side, but I am only completely alive when I can tango with a well coiffed vampire, all the time wondering if tonight is the night when he might display his fangs.

To live on the edge, to face my fears, to walk into the arena and offer myself up, this is what thrills me. To be removed from the arena pulsates with pornicious provocation. The devil knows this. The devil uses this against me. The curse that plagues me demands challenge and defies easy. The visitation cannot be undone.

My sighs during the day that disclose the inner need for sadistic stimulation of my spirit are only put to rest when this masochist is in mutual motion with her oppressor.

I want dastardly. I want demanding. I want the devil.

The arrow is securely lodged. I surrender.