Lucifer Gets Help
Defining Cages, In Short Story
Editor’s Note (that’s me): Somebody send Will Smith to smack me. I need to keep celebrities names out of my mouth - and blog. Recent events inspired the story, but were only the spark. This post has been edited for humanity and clarity.
I’ve been thinking about weakness. It’s easy to see in celebrities. It’s comforting to look at other folks, but that absolves me of my need to see it in myself.
I’ve had some time to drive and ponder, and write a weird story, metaphor as fiction.
If one could take all the weakness in my generation - the victimhood, the blame, the shirking of responsibility, the exaltation of sadness into trauma, and use it to validate the failure to turn towards the light, what would it look like?
What happens when the angels of Mercy and Gentleness get drunk, and cripple a nation with affirmations of You’re Perfect the Way You Are, stay in bed a little longer? (Check out LinkedIn, or TikTok, or Instagram for your daily dose of the Nurturing Spirit gone wrong.)
Here’s a novel way to define a challenge: What if The Devil went to a therapist? What would he say? What are the walls of “Hell” (in a psychological sense?)
A Disclaimer (and the Point)
I’ve got a buddy and colleague who writes brilliant missives in the format of therapy sessions. (D, I swear I had this idea “independently” of Max, although perhaps the seeds of it were dormant in my head from a season of Tuesday readings. You’ll find the only similarity is the setting.)
This is a strange post. It might be a favorite, though. It’s an effort to think out loud, and - the defining of a cage, and a halt of construction. It’s not telling you what to do. I’m too busy sawing at the log in my own eye.
I cooked this up yesterday while driving hundreds of miles, drinking much coffee. It’s completely imaginary, a combination of The Screwtape Letters, The Great Divorce, Good Omens, and The Babylon Bee. (Comedy keeps leaking out, maybe because it’s such a heavy topic.) Watch out, metaphors incoming. I hope they’re useful.
Lucifer Gets Help - A Short Story
11:02 AM
“Why are you here, sir?”
“Prince” Lucifer corrected. “Or Your Darkness. Or…whatever, Sir is fine. It’s easier”
He sighed, bored, and flicked his tail. He was always bored. He scanned the therapist’s office: cozy decorations, a wood block print You’re Fine The Way You Are, a small fountain, Andy Warhol prints. The song Que Sera played softly on the radio. Lucifer smiled - he was proud of that one. It was a gem of disempowerment, disguised as wisdom. Ah, he was good. His vertical pupils stopped at the mahogany case, widening in alarm.
“That’s quite an impressive bookshelf…Man’s Search for Meaning, The Tao Te Ching, Eat Pray Love, The Bible…why do you have all of their self-help and wisdom? Somebody should do something about that. Seems against Hell Rules.”
“Don’t worry, sir…Your Darkness…there’s glass preventing anyone from reaching the books. Better to have people think they’re wise than realize ignorance. Keeps ‘em extra stuck. We call it The Proximity Effect.”
“But Eat Pray Love?”
“Sir we only have an hour. Let’s get to that next week.”
“Say, you’re new here. The other guy knows I procrastinate. Where ya from?”
“Los Angeles.”
“God Bless, tell me something I don’t know. How’d you get here?”
“Misgendered Sam Smith. They poisoned my falafel. But sir, again, why are you here?”
“For you to fix me, duh. I’ve been more miserable than I ought to be, even for the Prince of Darkness.” With another flick of his tail, Lucifer settled into an overstuffed chair. “Say, I could sit here all day.”
“Tell me what’s on your mind.”
11:51 am
“And then I had this dream last night, see.”
The therapist sighed, and pushed his glasses back into place. It was the only sound he’d made in ten minutes. Lucifer rattled on.
“I was in a pit - smooth, sheer walls, a thousand miles high. One wall had mysterious equations on it. I had never seen them before, and try as I might, I couldn’t solve them. I tried for a hundred years, and was no further along than when I begin.
Another wall was made entirely of my trophies, press trimmings, and photos of triumph. There was a ladder, forged from prized belongings. I stepped on a rung, and it broke! I touched the wall, and ruined a poster of myself. I jumped back in horror, lest I should ruin more.
A third wall sloped down gently, pure white, gleaming. I started along it, but for some reason, it lead only into the Past.
The final one had a staircase, wide, simple, solid. But with each step I grew wearier and wearier. People lined the stairs, and cheered me with signs of “Tomorrow is Another Day”, “It’s Not Your Fault”, and “You Deserve Rest”.
So I sat down, and the entire wall crumbled, leaving me on a pile of rubble, dusty, humiliated, and exhausted. Forget that.
I started to cry for help. I shouted till my voice was gone, but nobody came. Can you believe it? In the distance, I thought I heard laughter. It’s all their fault, Doc. They deserve to be in this pit with me. They do. I’ll put them there if it’s the last thing I ever do. Their lofty heights must be brought low. It isn’t fair, and I’ll show them. I’ll invert the sky and the earth, and level the mountains. I’ll make the first last and then make them bleed. I’ll…”
He lowered his hands, and brightened suddenly. “Say, Do you have any coffee?”
“No, but there’s some around the corner at The Golden Calf. It’s about that time anyway. Let’s pick it up next week. ”
“A damn good idea. See you then.”
The Prince of Darkness left the office, smiling approvingly at the motto above the door.
Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter Here.
Ah, it was good to do nothing.
Now, about that coffee….
