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Blessings -
E

Conversation With A Polar Bear - Short Story

We were laughing as we approached the polar bear exhibit at the Portland Zoo on a crisp fall day just last week. It was a Monday, but we had taken the day off to come to the big city of Portland, Oregon to celebrate her birthday. We were newly married and she had not been to the Portland Zoo, so we joined the collective white (mostly), hairless (mostly), ape-like (mostly) crowd, gaping at representative specimens of our conquered earth.  

It was a beautiful way to spend the day. We were safely exploring specimens that had long ago given up considering us as a meal. An encounter with the lion, tiger, mandrill or bear would have looked much differently had we met them in their natural habitat. Instead we stared at their calm and wise faces dumbly through protective glass or tall fence, mouths agape in wonder. My eyes met those of a Bengal Tiger, who averted his eyes dismissively. “Move it on down the line, mister,” he seemed to be saying. In another exhibit, an otter played alone in spite of my pleas for some kind of soulful exchange. Tapping on the glass was frowned upon, but I did so anyway. I was not even acknowledged. Even the hippos, who had been sunning themselves in the early morning warmth got up and, seemingly sensing a growing crowd, turned their faces to a rock wall and went back to snoozing. One farted noisily in our direction to uproarious laughter.

And then came my experience with the polar bear.

“Wow,” I said to Heather, pointing to a wall exhibit nearby, “he’s far larger than even a grizzly.”

Heather nodded. “Did you hear about how the polar ice melting is causing real concerns for them? It’s so sad. I saw a documentary on them the other day. They’re starving because they can’t move around on the ice like they used to.”

Turning to the exhibit itself, I noticed mechanically generated waves lapping against the great animal. He sat staring vacantly ahead. He had a scar on his snout in the shape of a question mark. His great body moved gently back and forth, but the water also seemed tamed, apologetic for not being truer to its nature for the benefit of the massive mammal in this sterile place.

A great sadness descended on me, darkly.

“What have we done?” I whispered to myself.

The great bear appeared to hear me, somehow. He turned his head ninety degrees and looked at me alone. Our eyes locked, and a conversation ensued. It took maybe a minute but it seemed to last an hour, so much information passed between us. 

“What have you done?” the polar bear said to me.

I felt my eyes widen but knew enough not to look away or it would break the conversation.

“That’s what I said, yes, but I meant…”

“I know what you meant,” he said impatiently. He regarded me coldly. “You humans see me here and you say to yourselves, ‘look, a polar bear.’ But I am no bear. I am an exhibit. A bear is an extension of his habitat by his very nature. He has no choice; it’s what he is. He is Life exhibiting itself in the Manner of The Bear. You humans take the bear out of the environment and think what you are seeing is the same thing you would see in the wild. But you are wrong. What you see is Life manifesting itself in the Manner of the Captive. I look like a bear, but I am only a captive, a refugee. I have been eviscerated of my natural life force which I gain from the ice, the blood of the seal and the fish people, the great and wild tides of the ocean. These things have been removed from me, so I am but a shell. The same can be said of the waters that lap against me like a cowed and submissive serf. I have no respect for them. The same can be said of these rocks. The same can be said of the food I eat. They are all tame, and I have no respect for them.”

My mind was aflame. I knew he was right, but I felt I had to defend myself, to tell him we are trying to help. “We know about global climate change,” I volunteered. “We know that at least a portion of it is human caused and we are trying to do things that slow it, like driving cars with better fuel efficiency and turning off lights in the house and… recycling...” I trailed off. The words sounded hollow to me, too.

“You’re turning off lights you don’t need in the first place, and driving cars to places you don’t need to go that get thirty miles per gallon rather than twenty three?” The great animal snorted.

“Whole fisheries are being decimated. Salmon are becoming harder to find every year, and they do not return to rivers where you humans used to marvel at them, let alone survive by them. You see pictures of grass growing in frozen lands where no grass in human memory has ever grown. You see great rivers fed the year round by melting glaciers in places where rivers never ran. And you’re driving less? Some of you are recycling? That’s your solution?”

He paused. Then we said the same thing simultaneously. “It’s not enough,” except I added, “…is it?” and he added, “…by a long shot.”

My heart sank. The conversation was over except for one last piece of advice.

“We animals in this zoo all speak the same language. We speak it when there are fewer humans around to interfere with the energetic transmission of the ideas. Go see the black bear. He has lost his mind. He no longer knows to which species he belongs. Being so close to his natural habitat, seeing it just beyond the great fence, has done that to him. Go see him, and be aware of the other sights that present themselves to you today, for in those sights you will see the fate of the humans, all because you will not listen to Life.” He turned away. “We are done speaking now.”

The grey animal blurred, as did the rocks and the impotent waters. I turned and said to Heather, careful to hide my tears, “Let’s go, huh?” She quietly nodded and I wondered if she had heard anything, as I had. But I wasn’t sure how to ask that, so I just took her hand and we walked towards the black bear…exhibit.      

We saw two more things that day that stick in my memory and that haunt my dreams.

On a paved walkway through what was once a deep, old growth forest we looked down upon a mid-sized black bear. He paced twenty yards, turned and walked back, walked twenty yards, turned in precisely the same spot, and paced back. This he repeated for the five minutes I could stand to watch him. He never looked up and showed no signs of curiosity or intelligence. He just appeared to be searching for something he would never find and that he could never make appear. My heart was sick, as if I had caused this, which of course I had - by my compliance with a system that profits from the exploitation of all Life.  

Finally making our way to the condor exhibit, we saw a massive, prehistoric-looking bird on the ground. He was violently eating, tearing the flesh away from some very dead animal.

It was the grey, bloodless body of a man.

--aspen

April 2016

Hair - Prose

HAIR

When I was a child

So full of pure light

Somebody I loved

Looked at a hippie

Sauntering smoothly

Smiling his own song

And said, dismissing

“Just look at his hair…

Looks like a woman.”

I was sad. To me

It looked really cool.

I wanted my hair

To flow like that, too.

But I cut it.
For forty years

I cut my hair

On the strength

Of that one

Episode

And the myriad lessons

Along those strange lines

That followed it.

But now…

I have shed that cocoon

That safe net

Those holy teachings

That live within a paradigm

That has both great worth

And tremendous limitation

I wandered far out

Into the mad world

Faced my holy Fear

And got my hands slapped

More than once

By something Bigger

Than those teachings

And now

A middle aged man

My own hair grows long

And I saunter just like

That young, lone hippie

That I once both saw

And recognized as

Somehow resembling

Me

Four decades ago

I’ve come full circle

The Medicine Wheel

That I have now walked

Returns me back to

That young soulful child

Who’s now a grown man

My hair like tendrils

Pick up energy;

Dogs wag tails at me

Young children know me

And babies do too

And even the birds

Those closest to heaven

Nod their feathered and

Joyful approval

While above us all

The great blue giant

Is still quite willing

To slap my young hands

As much as need be

But there exists a

Kindliness  I’d once

Sadly forgotten

For I am but a child

New in the vast world.  

--Aspen

March 2016

Soul Full - Parts 1 and 2 - Lesson

Soul Full – Parts 1 and 2

A wandering soul was walking through a vast field in summer sunshine. The field was covered in knee high grasses that swayed playfully in a soft, warm breeze. Patches of wildflowers dotted the landscape in a pattern that the soul recognized as mandala-divine, like that of a pine cone or a sun flower. There were no clouds in the deep blue sky. There were no other souls in view. It was just the soul, the field and the sun. The soul had no memories. It knew no time, nor joy or sadness, want or aversion. It simply existed, content, grateful to be. As the soul walked in the great field, it noticed a large, crystal clear, gallon-sized jar laying on the ground. It was labeled, “My Life”. The soul had seen these before and had chosen to walk by, knowing on some level that if it were to be picked up, everything would change.

But this time was different. The soul was inherently curious and playful. Its contentment was so complete, its Connection to All so certain that it could not imagine ever feeling differently. So this time, the wandering soul bent over and picked it up.

As it did so, a vision of the world in which you and I live flashed into view; all the good, all the harder to recognize as good, all the technology and roads, the buildings, machinery and powerful institutions. It appeared that this jar presented an opportunity for the soul to journey to another place; a place where it could expand.

As the soul considered this, into it’s mind appeared choices that the soul could make should it decide to use this jar for its own journey – a vast number of them. They included species, gender, the overall health of the body, general living conditions and friends that would come and go at certain times. It was a curriculum of sorts with lessons to be learned, and taught.

In that moment everything shifted. For where there was once no possible boundary within the experience of the soul, there was now for the first time in the soul’s experience, the potential for something called “limitation”. There was, after all, only so much that could be put in the container and once full, the soul comprehended, the jar would have fulfilled its purpose.

The soul stood in the ever present sunshine and felt it’s great warmth. It was free to place the jar back on the ground and continue it’s wandering through the vast fields where it was so very content. But something within the soul stirred this time; a feeling that it would be beneficial to do something else. As there was no feeling of separation between the field, the sky, the sun, the flowers and grasses and the soul itself, not to mention the jar, all things were in agreement with this conclusion.

So the soul began to play.

While holding the jar in it’s hands, it chose a species, should it decide to take this opportunity. It thought it might be interesting to be a human. It chose a gender. It was to be a male. It chose a land in which to live. It was to be America. It chose a family with two parents that loved one another. It chose a fully healthy, beautiful and nearly flawless body and a mind that could focus and rest at will. It chose a package of talents that the soul understood were to be discovered as it held the jar. This was all pleasing to the soul. Finally, and of greatest interest, were packages of games to play that would make the experience one of growth and fun. They arose in almost infinite variety, each with its own benefit and challenge. Both concepts, “benefit” and “challenge”, had been foreign to the soul, but it comprehended well enough the idea.

But which package to choose?

Now, already morphing into a male in his Being as he stood, he considered a package that seemed beneficial. He noticed immediately that the package itself shifted slightly the choices he had already made, like gazing at a colorful stone first in the hand, and then through clear water. For instance, his family structure changed from two parents to one. Placing that package back, he chose another. He was now to be born to two loving parents, but in India. He placed that one back. He chose another and his gender changed to a female. Laughing, he placed that one back as well. This was a game in and of itself, and entirely enjoyable to him. He stood in the field under the sun and examined “My Life” packages as his heart cheered in awe. It appeared that the package took precedence. The message of his life was more important than some of his preferences of his soul.

Finally choosing one that fit his fancy, he held the jar and looked towards the sun. He smiled in gratitude for the opportunity to find such a jar. He gazed at the fields, as everlasting as eternity itself and wondered for the briefest instant if he should leave at all.

At once, a Voice within his already developing mind assured him that it was actually impossible to leave this place. He would be going nowhere, just standing in the field holding the jar as he experienced the package that he had placed within it.

The soul smiled, understanding for the first time how the packages could work. They apparently depended on the illusion of separation from All That Is, all while simply standing in a field of grass and flowers to which the soul belonged. Well ok, that seemed easy and safe enough, not to mention supreme fun. Both concepts, “ease” and “safety”, had also previously been foreign to the soul, but even while simply holding the jar and observing the package he had chosen he could see that both these would be good to have in some amount.

“But,” the Voice added, “you will make choices as the packages progress that will affect the amount of ease you experience, as well as the Connection to this place that you feel while playing with the package you chose. The feeling of Connection will affect the amount of safety you feel.”

The soul considered this.

It was a unique experience, this holding of the jar in the vast field. He observed that just by holding the jar, a sense of separation had formed in his mind. For instance, he now identified himself as male, and the Voice and himself appeared to be different, for the first time in his existence. The jar contained packages that were different – or separate - from one another as well. He saw all this separation correctly as an illusion, but also sensed with great respect the comprehensiveness of that illusion. He knew the reality of Unity while he stood in this place, even while things were shifting slightly for him as he held the jar, almost as a preview of what could and would be. But he could tell from the packages that while he played the game, that distinction would be far less clear. Whether he sensed Connection or not at any given moment within the game appeared to depend on his choices while there.

Should he really do this? He could put the jar back down and continue his walk with no harm done. His self-identification as a male would fade away as well as his temporary sense of separation from the Voice, the field, the flowers and the sky.

The Voice seemed to sense his hesitation. “You are in complete control of the amount of Connection to this place that you feel while you are experiencing the package you chose.”

The Soul looked up to the sun, the apparent source of the Voice. He looked at the jar in his hands, staring at the package within, and considered this. 

“How can I feel Connection while I am within the illusion?”

The Voice smiled. “The answer lies in those things that you allow yourself to value. Just as the jar is limited for space, so it is for something called “time”, which exists only in a warped way within the jar. Remember, you are not leaving here. It will just appear that you have left and you may believe that you have. But you’ll be standing right here as you experience the package you choose.”

“Well,” the soul replied, “I value Connection. I want to feel safe while I play my game. I want to remember that I am standing here, even while I’m there.”

“You will be able to do this to the extent that you place value on Connection above comfort.”

“What does that mean?”

“You haven’t experienced pain, but it is one word that describes the feeling of separation one feels within the game. There are many types of pain – any of which can be great teachers, reminders that there is something else.”

“So when I play the game within the jar, I should avoid pain?”

“No, not exactly,” the Voice replied kindly. “A preoccupation with avoiding pain, particularly in the form of simple discomfort, is actually one of the great challenges contained in the jar you picked up. I see that you are interested in a human incarnation. If a human is consumed with avoiding discomfort, then discomfort is all they will feel. Worse, they will begin to fear losing what comfort or conveniences they enjoy, and that fear will begin to color their actions in myriad ways. It can become their focus - just a little more ease, slightly more comfort, a little more control over their environment until those are the most important things.” He paused. “Even more important than feeling Connection to this place, a place that seems far away.”

The Soul frowned. “So how do I keep Connection when pain, or discomfort, is upon my body in the game? How can I stay away from the fear?”

The Voice seemed to smile at the Soul’s choice of words. “You make Connection your focus, in spite of discomfort, and in spite of fear.” He paused, allowing the Soul to consider this. “In short, if your focus is on discomfort or fear, even avoiding these things, it is only these things what will manifest in your game until you realize that they are not worthy subjects of focus. On the other hand, focus on Connection and you can only get better at staying Connected, in spite of discomfort, no matter your fear.”

“So, I can focus on Connection while discomfort or fear arise inside me… would I feel less of them then?”

“Precisely,” said the Voice.           

“How do I remember this while I am there?” The Soul was smiling excitedly now, unscrewing the lid on the top of the jar.

“I have provided ways. You’ll learn them when you arrive. It’s inherent in every package.”

The soul held the cap in his hands and looked within the jar. A small, tidy, spinning universe greeted him. Within it was a small, bright blue speck. It was to be his home. The Soul looked up at the sky, and then at the grass and stands of wildflowers and, all at once and with great joy, began his great journey.

PART TWO: Questions

Are we as humans too concerned with convenience?

What have been the effects of advances in technology on our souls?

What effects do fear have on our ability to Connect to Creator?

Does our level of physical comfort affect our ability to feel our Connection to God?

Are we safer now than we have historically been in terms of our spirituality or our physical beings? What is the cost of the safety we enjoy?

Do we feel more or less Connected to Creator and to one another as a species? Why?

How has organized religion affected mankind? Do we have access to God outside of religion? Is it dangerous to do so in some way?  

What difference is there between organized religion and individual spirituality?

How do modern-day conveniences affect you, your family and your world?

Is there such thing as an innocuous distraction from God / Creator? 

Jim and the Devil - Story and Questions

Jim and the Devil

“The devil went down to Georgia - he was lookin’ for a soul to steal. He was in a bind ‘cuz he was way behind, and he was willin’ to make a deal….” – Charlie Daniels, “The Devil Went Down To Georgia”

There once was a man named Jim. He was a good man, all things considered. He had a job in a local factory, which he had held for years. He was married to a good woman whom he loved and who loved him. He had two children: a boy and a girl of early high school age who neither excelled nor failed with any frequency but they were pleasant and polite, treated their elders respectfully and were generally good people, like their parents. The family attended church when it suited them, which amounted to once or twice a month, but no one held any leadership position and all eschewed the Women’s League fundraisers and other extraneous church positions, which always seemed to Jim to contain a certain self-righteousness with which he was uncomfortable.

One night, while on his way home from work in the mid-winter dusk, an idea came to his mind to take a left onto the highway and drive into the country rather than to turn right, which was the road home. He obeyed this impulse without reason or apology, as if he had done it a million times before. However, being the respectful and courteous man he was, he called his wife from his truck and left a message on the family land-line telling her and them that he might be late coming home.

With that, Jim drove into the night.

The rest of the story came to me in bits and pieces, but the gist of it is that Jim drove quite far that night, to an area with potholed back roads that twisted and turned into the mountains some distance from his home. As if by an invisible cord, Jim’s truck was drawn along with Jim inside it. And the night grew darker and the stars brighter.

Finally, at the edge of a cliff that overlooked a valley he had never seen, Jim stopped the truck and got out. A chill, icy wind blew by him, rushing over the desert stones into the bleak valley below, which he could only discern by the light of the stars on this moonless night. Jim wondered for the first time what he was doing here.

It was then that he heard it. Although “heard” is not quite the right word, there was a communication, they say, so that's the best word we have. But it's said that he felt it as much as heard it. However it is described, heard or felt, Jim became aware of a voice. It seemed to come from everywhere and yet nowhere, from his left, his right, and, alarmingly, inside his mind as well.

Turning his head this way and that, Jim saw nothing. But the voice came again. This time, he understood what it said. In a voice more air than substance, he heard his name being called in the wind, almost as a part of it.

“Jim…” it hissed.

A cold, prickly sensation started at the base of his spine and slithered its way up to his scalp. Jim straightened. As he did so, he sensed movement in the sky. Looking upward, he saw the strangest sight he'd ever seen, even on a night as strange as this had been. This isn't precisely the way it unfolded, but it was as if all the space between the stars, all the inky black, began to coalesce in the center of space, swirling clockwise as if it were going down a dark, unseen hole. It condensed into a pinprick of darkness so absolute the surrounding sky looked positively cheery by comparison. And then, most incomprehensible yet, he saw the blackness rocket down to earth, almost like a shooting star in photo negative, and land in a stand of junipers not twenty paces from where he stood. He trembled slightly, but not from the cold.

Staring toward the spot where he thought he saw the prick of darkness land, Jim began inching his way from the passenger side of the truck where he had been standing toward the driver’s side. It wasn’t really fear that motivated this desire to flee as much as it was the sudden awareness that something was amiss. What was he doing here? Why wasn’t he home with his family?

It was then that the Devil stepped from the junipers.

Jim had no idea it was the Devil, at first. In fact, his first reaction was one of great relief. The man smiled in an almost embarrassed manner, his eyes laughing. Jim’s body relaxed. Air he hadn't known he had been holding released from his lungs in an audible sigh.

“You gave me a fright there, mister!” Jim called good-naturedly to the stranger.

“Aw, buddy, I'm sure sorry about that,” the Devil called back in a farmer’s drawl that set Jim further at ease. “I'm just out enjoying this beautiful night like you, I guess!”

The Devil was now striding toward Jim, his hand extended to shake far earlier than necessary in order to show Jim he meant no harm. Jim came toward him, meeting him a few steps from his truck.

When their hands met, Jim looked into the Devil’s eyes for the first time.

His eyes mirrored the same blackness that had just appeared in the sky. For the briefest of moments there were no whites, just the swirling ink. And then the whites appeared and the eyes appeared normal again, albeit as particularly dark ones. Had he just seen what he thought he had? The warmth of the Devil’s handshake had disarmed him and sent his suspicions into hiding. But after seeing his eyes, the cold feeling returned.

“I know you, Jim,” the Devil said kindly.

“I know you too, Devil,” Jim replied, coldly. For now that the stranger had called him by name, doubt could no longer hide.

The Devil frowned, but his smile remained, as if it were impolite to treat him with anything other than an excitement usually reserved for long lost, wealthy and generous relatives.

“Hey, I just want to talk to you about an idea that's been rattling around this ol’ noggin of mine a while, you know? Ever have one of those…. What do they call ‘em… Epiphanies? Where you suddenly have a thought that makes you wonder what you've been doing for, I dunno, a few millennia?” He chuckled, tapping his head.

Jim couldn't help but chuckle, too, present company notwithstanding. Pleasant guy, this Devil. He knew from somewhere deep inside he should to do something to break the friendly connection between the Devil and himself and get out of there, but, as he no longer felt in any particular danger, he just nodded and smiled.

The Devil continued. “Now let me just say that you can, what do you say, cast me out, any time you want by calling the name of that guy from Galilee. Hell, even one of the ones from India or South America will work as long as you believe in him. You're in complete control, my friend. Sound good?”

“The guy from Galilee… You mean Jesus?” Jim asked, rather innocently, surprised it could be that easy.

The Devil cringed as if nails had been scratched across a nearby chalkboard. He then forced a smile that had more murder and maliciousness behind it than Jim had ever seen.

“Yep, that's the one,” the Devil drawled.

Jim thought for a few seconds. “No harm in hearing a proposal, I guess,” Jim drawled back in his native dialect. “I mean, if I'm in control and all. Be a shame to waste that epiphany, right?”

The Devil smiled and nodded, “Well, I think so, Jim.”

Jim frowned. “But what kind of guy trusts the Devil? You’re all about deception, aren’t you?”

“That’s a good point, my friend. And you’d be surprised how many people don’t ask about that when deals are being negotiated, so you’re pretty sharp. But the fact is deals I make with mortals are pretty important to me. If it got out that I didn’t hold up my end of the bargain, no one would be very interested. Plus, and this might be above your pay grade a bit, there are some laws I have to live by no matter what. So… in a manner of speaking… I have to do what I say I’m going to do or die trying.”

Jim raised his eyebrows at a question something that occurred to him. “Well…,” he started.

The Devil finished his thought with a sly smile. “Yes, I’m immortal, but you get the gist.”

“Ok, then. Let’s hear it,” Jim said.

“OK, so here it is. I'm going to give you three choices: three… levels of engagement with me, so to speak. And you choose the one that suits you best. Whichever you pick, I have to do. And if you don't like any of ‘em, well, you just say the magic word and I’ll vamoose. How's that?”

Jim nodded like he did when negotiating the purchase of a new truck and getting his way. “Sounds good. What are the levels of engagement?”

“Here's the first one, and if you ask me, it's the best deal of all. You allow me minor control over your body, and I’ll make you rich beyond your imagination. Money will flow to you like water downhill and your health will be fantastic. Powerful, interesting people will seek you out and your family relationships will thrive. I will visit you and, for lack of a better term, reprogram you. I will do this every night in your dreams. Hell, you won't even remember them most of the time.”

Jim raised his eyebrows, and the Devil continued, pleased so far. “You'll just know your life is different and that it had something to do with me. Best yet, you won't care. I will make you feel quite content with all your goodies and newfound power. You won't even miss that old Church if you choose to leave it, and if you stay you might be able to help others in ways you can't imagine now because it's not an option. Believe me, brother,” the Devil smiled, “the world is my oyster, and you can be my cozy little pearl.”

Jim was impressed and not a little tempted. “What do I have to do if I want to take you up on this?”

The Devil shrugged and said, “Pretty simple, buddy. Just a quick hug seals this deal.”

“A hug? That's kind of weird. Isn't it usually a handshake for business deals?”

“This one’s a hug.” The Devil’s eyes weren't smiling quite as much. He added, “I'm not going to pinch your butt or anything, chief.”

Jim chuckled nervously. “It sounds pretty good. What happens when I die though? Do you get my soul?”

The Devil smiled his winning rictus once again. “I'm glad you asked. Look, it's well known that repentance is pretty easy if you feel the need, and it's not like I'm going to make you into a bad man or anything. You do what you want, except now you'll be what they call, ‘blessed.’ You'll be one of the lucky ones. Knowing you, Jim, I'd say you're more likely to give money to your mother than hire a grip of whores, am I right?”

“Yeah, that's about right I'd say…” Jim trailed off. Why would the Devil make deals with anyone? He asked as much.

“I need things to run a certain way, that's all,” the Devil replied. “And having a wealthy guy that's, let's say, not too good and not too bad…well, it makes my life a little easier. And no harm done for you, either. Far from it. So what do you say?”

Jim thought about it. “What are the other options?” A seed of pride welled up in his breast. Here he was, ol’ Jim, actually dealing with the Devil.

The Devil gave him a look of approval and said, “A man that knows how to bargain, I can appreciate that. Well, the other two are the same thing, just a little less…conspicuous, is all I'd say. A little less power, a little less wealth. Door number two is about half the value of the one I already explained, and door number three is about half that. Any of them are more than you have now, old friend.”

“And the hug?”

Jim couldn't believe he actually asked about it again, and even the Devil looked at him incredulously.

“Do I have bad breath or something? You're really tore up about that hug, aren't you?

“It just seems weird.”

“Well, you're in luck, my body bubble brother. Door number two is a handshake, and door three is a simple touch of the tips of our fingers. Hardly any germs get transferred.”

Jim looked concerned.

“I'm kidding!” The Devil laughed good-naturedly. “Look, I know I'm supposedly this great Deceiver and all, but really I'm just looking to make a deal here. I need more guys like you to have fun with some wealth, gloss over some things, not ask too many questions, let things go without disturbing the waters too much. Is that ok?”

“OK, Devil, I get it, but if I’m kind of doing that now, why does increasing my wealth matter?”

The Devil sighed. This guy was becoming a pain in the butt. “It’s good for me to have something for people to shoot for, my friend, that’s all. I scatter a few people out there whose success has seemed to come pretty easy and it gives folks hope… just in the things that, for lack of a better term, don’t matter. A neighbor will see you driving that new truck, taking your family on vacation, your health vibrant… and it’ll matter to them even less than it does to you how you made it happen.” The Devil paused. “I’m not about making mass murderers although I have a few of them scattered around in places of power as well. I am all about one thing, Jim.”

“What’s that?” Jim asked.

“Sleep,” the Devil replied. “Peace for the individual at any cost. But it’s not really peace, it’s just insulation from certain kinds of trouble, but they call it peace. And then I create a world so full of chaos that the embodied souls of humanity crave that insulation, that sleep, above anything else. So I give them a taste of what they call peace, a way they feel some removal from the chaos, but it’s a penance: two weeks off in fifty-two, a debt-ridden house in the suburbs, inane music, television and movies, worthless games and smart phones. I teach them to abuse sacred plant medicines, rather than to use them as they were intended. In short, I give them freedom to do what they want without regard for the consequences of their actions to themselves or others – and they simply sleepwalk through their lives.  That’s why I’m so popular and always will be. It’s why religious people don’t know the difference between me and the god they think they worship. They equate their brief respites with peace, prosperity and righteousness. In the end, that respite is all they care about. The peace they think they feel is as false as plastic, but they hold on to it with all they have … because it is all they have.”

Jim stared back at the Devil, a sense of hopelessness smothering him like a blanket. He had pretty much described his existence, too.

The Devil continued, “You’re no different, and you will find no other way to exist in this world. You can do what you’ve been doing, barely scraping by, or have an easier time of it. Your choice.”

“I don’t want to be the cause of the downfall of mankind, Devil,” Jim said. A sense of self-righteousness had welled up inside him.

“Look, Jim, seven billion people walk this planet. Are you really so special you would walk away from the chance to give your wife a real wedding ring rather than that diamond chip she wears on her finger now? You think your kids wouldn’t benefit from a trip to Washington, D.C or, hell, even the Holy Land? You can’t control anyone else, my man. And if it’s not you with the early retirement, it’s going to be someone else on your street and you can watch him live the kind of life you wanted. So … your choice. Final offer.”

A chill blew through Jim, as cold as the man in front of him, as cold as death. The stars swam and his feet felt heavy.

Jim looked down at the ground for a moment and considered all he had been told on this surreal night. When he looked up, his eyes were locked on the dark, unsmiling eyes of the Devil himself.

His decision had been made.

CHAPTER TWO: Questions

The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.” Edmund Burke

I’ve just told you a story. Before I continue and tell you what Jim decides, let me ask you a few questions.

What do you think he did? Why?

What would you do? Why?

The Devil says that what people describe as peace is essentially distraction. Do you agree or disagree? Why?

At one point in the story, the Devil says, “You’re no different, and you will find no other way to exist in this world.” (Other than living by way of the “false peace” that he describes.) How is this true? In what instances is it false? How have the great spiritual teachers lived throughout history?    

Is there really a Devil? If so, what are his attributes? If not, is there a “contrary force”? What has been your experience with it? Are the effects always what you would call negative? Can they ever be positive? How?

Does the Devil really make deals? If so, are there certain terms he most frequently uses? Are we ever in league with him, inadvertently or purposefully?

What did Jesus do when confronted similarly? What were the results for him?

Are we ever confronted like this? How?  

CHAPTER THREE: What Jim Did and Why

“The day the Devil comes to getcha, you know him by the way he smiles…” Laurie Anderson, “The Day The Devil”

Jim’s face was stone when he stretched out his finger to touch the finger of the Prince of Darkness. Would it hurt? Would he change more than the Devil had promised?

The Devil’s eyes seemed as dead as a doll’s, his face a motionless winter landscape. A manicured nail capped his thin and bony finger. “So much like all the Devil does,” Jim thought to himself. “Death camouflaged as something pretty.” He would never have made the connection before this night, but now the metaphor shot into his mind as their fingers touched, one lifeless, the other full of life. It was hard to tell which was which at that moment. And in the next, it didn’t matter. Jim stood alone, looking down into a great valley he had never seen, dimly lit by stars. He had dreamt the whole thing, hadn’t he?   

Chuckling to himself and shaking his head, he got back into his truck, turned the key and cranked the heat. It was just after midnight.

He got home well after 2 am. He found his family quietly slumbering, cold dinner in the microwave. A note from his wife expressed light concern, but no anger about his absence. Nothing seemed amiss.

They say Jim lived to a ripe age. He looked like a man fifteen years younger than he was until he suffered a stroke one Saturday morning. He was taken to the hospital and his family called in. As loved as he was, there was quite a crowd present when the doctor told them he had found an inoperable brain tumor. The pastor was called in as well, but Jim died soon after his visit, right there in the hospital. They say that this story actually came from the pastor himself, from old Jim’s final confession.

Either way, true to the Devil’s words, nothing much had changed for Jim, except he had indeed experienced a bump in prosperity after that night, a change in fortunes. From time to time it seemed like that night on the lonely hill might indeed have been more than a dream for Jim. But as his years progressed, he told himself the opposite. In the end, he wasn’t too concerned with whether it was more than a dream or not. In his quiet moments he thought to himself that if it were true, he had certainly been a good steward of the extra money that had come to him, doing as much good as he could be expected to do with it. His son started a business with money his father came into at just the right time, and he actually did take a trip with his history-buff daughter to Washington, D.C. A few years after that night, Jim had traveled with his wife to the Holy Land. When he finally passed, his son was a successful entrepreneur, his daughter a history teacher and his wife regularly gave slide shows about Israel, speaking about standing in the places where Jesus had stood. People cried and recommitted themselves to God because of their words. To Jim, the Devil lost on the deal.

But somewhere in the reaches of hell, where brimstone walls reach to the bottom of the dark and mysterious valley Jim had gazed into that night, the Devil knows differently. Numbing Jim to the reality of an easy existence was the subject of the agreement all along. What Jim never had the chance to realize, because of the deal he made, was the greatness of his soul. Certainly, he was a good and worthy man before the deal. And afterwards he was, as he noted to himself, not merely a good steward of the money he received, but a fantastic one.

But Jim did not come to earth for ease or to manage money. He came to follow a calling no less grand than Gandhi’s, John the Baptist’s or the Buddha’s. He came to lead souls, not necessarily by founding a religion or even a sect, but by living a life without fear, with no skeletons in the closet and a life that welcomes death – not as an end and not as a beginning, but as a continuation. He came to live an authentic life. Had Jim not settled for the pittance the Devil promised him, he would have come into contact with a hitchhiker passing through his area the very next day. Jim would have picked up the stranger who would have started Jim on an unimaginable journey to India, to deep reservations in South Dakota and New Mexico, and to the high Andes and the Himalaya. He would have lost much on the way, all unnecessary to the deepest calling of his soul, but he would have become as bright as the sun while he lived on earth.          

The point of this story, as true as any in the Bible, is that in a nation where our food comes from afar, where our days are spent in soulless over-activity, where our freedoms cost the freedoms of others, where the power is cheap and the military is necessary…

We are all Jim.    

--Eric Aspen Marley

January 2016