The Seven Deadly Sins

Reading something in an old issue of Parabola ("Inviting the Demon" by Judith Simmer-Brown, Summer, 1997) I come upon the line, "The motivation to integrate the shadow can never be in service to the ego." "A truth of definition," I think, "since the shadow is all psychic content to which the ego has objections." And I prepare to read on.

In my imagination something taps me on the shin. I look down and discover seven little demons encircling me. They come to about knee level, but they are red of eye and sharp of tooth, ugly and vengeful. My stomach clenches. The thing about these demons is that they are perfectly able, and would be perfectly willing, to tear me limb from limb. As I think about just how vulnerable I am to them, a lump forms in my throat and sweat beads at the edge of my forehead.

"All right," I whisper. "I'm sorry for being so cavalier."

They grin evilly. I see in their eyes the power to deeply wound others, to ruin my relationships, to cause devastating harm.

But then I realize I have been dealing with each of these little guys in an ongoing, day-in-and-day-out way. They plague me in unruly thoughts, unwise comments, and downright despicable behaviors. I try to keep them in sight, but they are good at winking out of view and attacking from the rear. Everyone else is much more aware of how they manifest in me than I am. (I know this to be true because I am much more aware of how they manifest in others than those others appear to be.)

So, this being an imagination, I decide to talk to them. "You are very scary," I tell them. "Have mercy."

This causes them to grow in stature and evil. They put their hands on my legs, pricking my skin with their talons.

I refuse to act and refuse to look away. "If you destroy me," I tell them, "you will have no one in which to live." They are, after all, all mine.

"Have mercy," they tell me. "You are very scary."

I look at them, at each of them. They are who they are. "But I don't WANT to be a lazy, impatient, possessive, hungry, jealous, lustful egotist," I say. There is a short silence in which they all wait, holding their collective breath. "But I am," I admit with a sigh.

"Sometimes that's bad, sometimes that's good. I can't always tell the difference."

Things relax. They regain their rightful size, and some are larger and fiercer than others, that's for sure.

Suddenly I notice there is an eighth demon standing among them. Unobtrusive, with a breast of golden feathers and lancet eyes, it stands there looking innocent. "You don't fool me for a second," I muse. "You look so meek and yet feel so dangerous, so destructive."

With a shock of recognition I realize it is the ego.