Do Not Feed The Inner Demons

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 article, 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. Think 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, time bomb. There is a way to escape this drama, end the loop, square the deal. You ready? Learn to meditate. Find a meditation teacher. Discover the healing power of inner silence. Demons feed on turmoil. Learn to quiet the inner chatter and the demons will be silenced. You will know inner peace in a way that you experienced it in the many carefree days of childhood. One great meditation teacher said, “Only as little children do you enter the Kingdom of Heaven”.

So, what does this have to do with sales? When you are at peace, what follows is a great joy in just being alive, an enthusiasm for life, and a love that melts the toughest potential customer. With peace of mind, you become a natural born salesperson…because you’re selling yourself - the genuine article, and when you’re genuine, you’re irresistible.



Do Not Feed The Inner Demons - To learn more about this author, visit Jeff Belyea's Website.

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