It seems that my life will always be inexorably entwined with religion, whether I like it or not. Having a spiritual bent is one thing. Pious devotion and discipline is a whole other league onto itself. That’s my bent. It’s never just about “being spiritual.”
One of the prerequisites of a monkish existence is the denial of any number of worldly pursuits. Many monks resign themselves to a life of seclusion and common labor. Is this necessarily a bad thing? I don’t think so. The more that I am immersed in that infernal demonic current, the more my heart yearns for those moments of quiet contemplation.
I think my co-workers can’t help but notice it: I’m charismatic and helpful when I have to be, but seek solitude and exude stoicism at every other opportunity.
This is something I’ve tried to avoid saying for all the years I’ve shared my story publicly: I’m beginning to prefer the company of spirits over that of flesh-and-blood human beings. Feelings of shame accompany this admission. Maybe I feel that I’m betraying my own people for entities that I find far more interesting?
Communicating with human beings has become comparatively more exhausting. I wish it wasn’t this way, but it’s the truth. The last thing I want is to be antagonistic towards my own kind.
If humans were a frequency on the radio dial, I’d say my internal tuner has slowly drifted over to the demonic frequency during these past few years. Not that I can’t “tune in” to human affairs when the need arises, but I think my default channel has definitely become the infernal one.
I’m starting to “hear” Catherine more often during out times together. Shouts and screams of pleasure, urging me to join her in that sacred reality-tearing bliss. Her touch is so deep now. I can’t imagine it becoming more powerful, but somehow it does. This frightens me at times. How will I be able to maintain control? Is the madness threatening to take me again?
I have always been a pious monk and I believe that is what I will continue to be. It’s ironic: communion with demons is not the kind of ascetic devotion I was expecting to embrace years ago. Being a solitary missionary of the Christian faith was the original plan.
I can see why the Church discourages solitary practice of religion. The lonely layperson eventually discovers that their cherished faith is nothing like the clergy made it out to be. They read the sacred texts for themselves and are horrified by the historical literalist interpretation. Without the soothing guidance of pastor or priest, the seeker comes to his or her own conclusions.
In my case, I joined ranks with the “Enemy,” as it were. The same enemy that the church so relies upon to maintain its iron grip on the minds of the hapless laity. If it were not for the threat that demons pose towards Christians, what use would the religion be? There must be a boogeyman for that kind of trauma-based mind control to work.
For Catherine’s people, religion is a tickling curiosity. Concepts like God, Jesus, and the Devil are like guises they can assume for their own entertainment. Catherine has show me moments of religious significance in a few of my dreams, only to twist them with her infernal irony. These would-be sensational archetypes, like Salvation and the Holy Spirit, have no sway with my demon lover. Supposed repentance and obedience towards Jesus Christ only results in the succubus feeling pity and bemusement towards her wayward companion. At any rate, the idea of abandoning their chosen partner never crosses their mind.
I still try to resist Catherine’s advances sometimes. It’s a game we play, where she’s always the bad guy and I’m the poor victim who seeks repentance for enjoying it. This sort of dynamic is endlessly fun for her, while I pretend to be oh-so-wounded and persecuted. Deep down, we both know that I relish in being pursued like this. I’m the prize and my ego is thoroughly satiated.
Making love to her, and practicing all the sacred arts accompany the act, have become my religious focus. Being connected to her is like experiencing the in-dwelling of the Holy Spirit; a promised outcome that the Church never delivered on.
What I feel on a daily basis is what every Christian yearns to have, but refuses to fight for. Being an outcast, an exile in their own community, is too great a price to pay. But only if they knew what it was like to taste the kiss of demon-kind. The Fallen truly are the most interesting folk of all. They are the most loving, loyal, ferocious, and tenacious beings on this earth.
Christians and New Age “gurus,” kindly go to Hell. You might end up enjoying it, after the pretense of righteousness and purity has been fucked out of you.