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Do Not Feed The Inner Demons

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  • Jeff Belyea
    Do Not Feed The Inner Demons Nourish The Nice Guy Remember the last time you were arm-flailing, howling, lemme-break-something, mad? Imagine for a minute, just
    Message 1 of 2 , Oct 10, 2005
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      Do Not Feed The Inner Demons

      Nourish The Nice Guy

      Remember the last time
      you were arm-flailing, howling,
      lemme-break-something, mad?
      Imagine for a minute, just for
      the sake of argument, and as a
      case for continuing to read this
      post, that what emerged in this
      angry flash dance was not only
      the precipitating event that
      popped your inner cork, but also
      the past unresolved remnants of
      a thoroughly frustrated 2-year-old
      who was the subject of parental
      mindlessness or sibling meanness.
      Or if you have a cosmic bent,
      you might imagine that karma
      kicked you into that brief and
      unseemly boot-the-cat cruelty.
      As a farther out but not final
      option, and to appease a broader
      reader base, you might consider
      demon possession.

      Now before you out-of-hand dismiss the far out option, stop
      and consider for a moment the whole "addiction" thing; the obsessive-
      compulsive urges that are the subject and raison d'etre for
      everything from silly to seriously warped support groups, endless
      therapy sessions, 7,8,9,10,11 and 12-step programs, and encounter
      bats; not to mention for more than a passing provocative phrase, the
      mountain of heavy drugs that are prescribed daily for the panoply
      of "nobody really knows what causes….".

      If you "can't help it", and these uncontrollable urges just
      overtake you, then demon possession is not that outrageous a
      consideration. Of course, those who are in line for treatment for
      addiction could subscribe to Mark Twain's take, "Addiction is just
      something you just don't want to give up," take personal
      responsibility and fess up to the fact that they really could just
      quit if they really, really wanted to quit - whatever it is that has
      them….ummm, interested. But let us not apply that kind of pressure
      this soon. Let's entertain the demon model:

      In biblical days, or at least in the way King James'
      scholars later chose to translate the original Aramaic, "demon
      possession" was as in vogue with the priests as prescription drugs
      and electroshock are with the contemporary medical priesthood. You
      don't hear a lot about exorcism these days, other than from
      Hollywood, but it still hangs out in the dusty canon laws as a
      spirit of religiosity, a lady in waiting for the mega melodramatic.

      So, let us meet our demons. Before we begin the tour, please
      pay attention to the flight attendants and the bold sign they are
      holding up for you to read. If you cannot read them, a flight
      attendant will shout them in your ears. For those who have eyes to
      see, the signs read: DO NOT FEED THE INNER DEMONS. If you approach
      20/20 vision, with or without your prescribed lenses, you will note
      a subtitle in a somewhat smaller font, but with no less an important
      bit of additional advise: Nourish The Nice Guy.

      Demon Number One

      Ah, wait a minute. This could go on to novella length. Let's
      dump all the demons into one category: The Bad Guys. You know them,
      and you don't like them. But you feed them all the time. OK, not all
      the time, but often. Why is that? You can't be still pissed off
      about a sandbox grab of your Tonka Toy. Karma? Whew, that's a tough
      one to tussle with. Oh, right! Demons. All those
      miserable "feelings", all that wrestling with reality, all that hurt
      and disappointment, sadness, anger, greed, selfishness,
      thoughtlessness, that demon lust that lurks lasciviously at every
      office water cooler, and whacks us with a 50% plus divorce rate,
      financial stress, relationship stress, job stress, school stress,
      and stress and stress, on and on. Season to taste with whatever
      other miserable states of mind you invite in, entertain, and feed.
      What was the question?

      Question: Why would you feed them?

      Answer: (Are you sitting down?) Because you LIKE them! Anyway, you
      like the result. You end up feeling sorry for yourself. (Of course,
      not until after your sorrowful acts of contrition and a dozen or so
      double shots of apologies).

      You love feeling sorry for yourself. That one is the
      sneakiest one of the bunch. It's a parasite that rides sidecar with
      every Bad Guy biker in the miserable lot. Feeling sorry for yourself
      is the flower in the Little Shop of Horrors. Feed me! No? Think
      about it. You lash out. You lust out. Then you feel bad. Then you
      feel sorry…for yourself! Sure you regret hurting others, but the
      focus is "It's All About Me." And every time you replay your bad
      deed, you serve up another gourmet meal for this demon.

      To stay with the biblical thing, you know how Lucifer was
      considered one of the young turks, loaded with potential, one of the
      best and the brightest, right? Well, this is Big L in action.
      Clever, man! He (let's use an anthropomorphic image of a Bad Guy)
      will come up with an endless array of end runs to get a meal. And
      you're a galley slave! If he can provoke anger…you know the list;
      mine and yours, that will eventually lead to you feeling sorry for
      yourself. If your feel-sorry-for-myself quotient is low, you'll
      sabotage a job, a relationship, a check book, a sober chip, whatever
      it takes to fire up the grill for the next meal of self pity. And
      it's just a matter of time before you bring on the main course and
      muscle that demon up for the next match; which you will lose every
      time. That is, unless you…

      Nourish The Nice Guy

      Now how hard could that be? Just be nice. Thing nice
      thoughts. But in a matter of minutes after your resolve, some
      asshole cuts you off in traffic. And there's old Sidecar Lucy (let's
      give this demon a female persona as well, for the sake of equality)
      smiling, batting her eyes, licking her lips. Here we go. Road rage
      is on the game board. Supersize that next self-pity meal, loser.
      You're in jail for reckless endangerment. Or if your up for the big
      table or the big house, vehicular manslaughter.

      Hang on. There is a way to escape this drama, end the loop,
      square the deal. You ready? Learn to meditate. Find an authentic
      meditation teacher. Learn the healing power and sustenance of
      silence.

      Jeff
    • mani kumara
      thanks jeff.it is nice to know someone you have never met cares to write to you.thanks again cheers TK.Mani Jeff Belyea wrote: Do Not Feed
      Message 2 of 2 , Oct 10, 2005
      • 0 Attachment
        thanks jeff.it is nice to know someone you have never  met cares to write to you.thanks again
        cheers
        TK.Mani


        Jeff Belyea <jeff@...> wrote:
        Do Not Feed The Inner Demons

        Nourish The Nice Guy

              Remember the last time
        you were arm-flailing, howling,
        lemme-break-something, mad?
        Imagine for a minute, just for
        the sake of argument, and as a
        case for continuing to read this
        post, that what emerged in this
        angry flash dance was not only
        the precipitating event that
        popped your inner cork, but also
        the past unresolved remnants of
        a thoroughly frustrated 2-year-old
        who was the subject of parental
        mindlessness or sibling meanness. 
        Or if you have a cosmic bent,
        you might imagine that karma
        kicked you into that brief and
        unseemly boot-the-cat cruelty.
        As a farther out but not final
        option, and to appease a broader
        reader base, you might consider
        demon possession.

              Now before you out-of-hand dismiss the far out option, stop
        and consider for a moment the whole "addiction" thing; the obsessive-
        compulsive urges that are the subject and raison d'etre for
        everything from silly to seriously warped support groups, endless
        therapy sessions, 7,8,9,10,11 and 12-step programs, and encounter
        bats; not to mention for more than a passing provocative phrase, the
        mountain of heavy drugs that are prescribed daily for the panoply
        of "nobody really knows what causes….".

              If you "can't help it", and these uncontrollable urges just
        overtake you, then demon possession is not that outrageous a
        consideration. Of course, those who are in line for treatment for
        addiction could subscribe to Mark Twain's take, "Addiction is just
        something you just don't want to give up," take personal
        responsibility and fess up to the fact that they really could just
        quit if they really, really wanted to quit - whatever it is that has
        them….ummm, interested. But let us not apply that kind of pressure
        this soon. Let's entertain the demon model:

              In biblical days, or at least in the way King James'
        scholars later chose to translate the original Aramaic, "demon
        possession" was as in vogue with the priests as prescription drugs
        and electroshock are with the contemporary medical priesthood. You
        don't hear a lot about exorcism these days, other than from
        Hollywood, but it still hangs out in the dusty canon laws as a
        spirit of religiosity, a lady in waiting for the mega melodramatic.

              So, let us meet our demons. Before we begin the tour, please
        pay attention to the flight attendants and the bold sign they are
        holding up for you to read. If you cannot read them, a flight
        attendant will shout them in your ears. For those who have eyes to
        see, the signs read: DO NOT FEED THE INNER DEMONS. If you approach
        20/20 vision, with or without your prescribed lenses, you will note
        a subtitle in a somewhat smaller font, but with no less an important
        bit of additional advise: Nourish The Nice Guy.

              Demon Number One

              Ah, wait a minute. This could go on to novella length. Let's
        dump all the demons into one category: The Bad Guys. You know them,
        and you don't like them. But you feed them all the time. OK, not all
        the time, but often. Why is that? You can't be still pissed off
        about a sandbox grab of your Tonka Toy. Karma? Whew, that's a tough
        one to tussle  with. Oh, right! Demons. All those
        miserable "feelings", all that wrestling with reality, all that hurt
        and disappointment, sadness, anger, greed, selfishness,
        thoughtlessness, that  demon lust that lurks lasciviously at every
        office water cooler, and whacks us with a 50% plus divorce rate,
        financial stress, relationship stress, job stress, school stress,
        and stress and stress, on and on. Season to taste with whatever
        other miserable states of mind you invite in, entertain, and feed.
        What was the question?

        Question: Why would you feed them?

        Answer: (Are you sitting down?) Because you LIKE them! Anyway, you
        like the result. You end up feeling sorry for yourself. (Of course,
        not until after your sorrowful acts of contrition and a dozen or so
        double shots of apologies).

              You love feeling sorry for yourself. That one is the
        sneakiest one of the bunch. It's a parasite that rides sidecar with
        every Bad Guy biker in the miserable lot. Feeling sorry for yourself
        is the flower in the Little Shop of Horrors. Feed me! No? Think
        about it. You lash out. You lust out. Then you feel bad. Then you
        feel sorry…for yourself! Sure you regret hurting others, but the
        focus is "It's All About Me." And every time you replay your bad
        deed, you serve up another gourmet meal for this demon.

              To stay with the biblical thing, you know how Lucifer was
        considered one of the young turks, loaded with potential, one of the
        best and the brightest, right? Well, this is Big L in action.
        Clever, man! He (let's use an anthropomorphic image of a Bad Guy)
        will come up with an endless array of end runs to get a meal. And
        you're a galley slave! If he can provoke anger…you know the list;
        mine and yours, that will eventually lead to you feeling sorry for
        yourself. If your feel-sorry-for-myself quotient is low, you'll
        sabotage a job, a relationship, a check book, a sober chip, whatever
        it takes to fire up the grill for the next meal of self pity. And
        it's just a matter of time before you bring on the main course and
        muscle that demon up for the next match; which you will lose every
        time. That is, unless you…

        Nourish The Nice Guy

              Now how hard could that be? Just be nice. Thing nice
        thoughts.  But in a matter of minutes after your resolve, some
        asshole cuts you off in traffic. And there's old Sidecar Lucy (let's
        give this demon a female persona as well, for the sake of equality)
        smiling, batting her eyes, licking her lips. Here we go. Road rage
        is on the game board. Supersize that next self-pity meal, loser.
        You're in jail for reckless endangerment. Or if your up for the big
        table or the big house, vehicular manslaughter.

              Hang on. There is a way to escape this drama, end the loop,
        square the deal. You ready? Learn to meditate. Find an authentic
        meditation teacher. Learn the healing power and sustenance of
        silence.

        Jeff

             

             



             

             







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