Muse: The Blog

Befriending the Gargoyle of Destruction

He lies deep within.
Cold-blooded.
Reptilian.
A predator.
(Or so it seemed.)

He’s been with me for ages.
Taunting. Clawing. Whispering,
“You haven’t suffered enough yet.
Kill. Die. I hate you.”

Unlike other unfriendly voices within, he scared me too much to pour him that cuppa.
I knew he’d take me over.
Harm friends.
Mame for the maniacal fun of it.

But finally, we arrived at an impasse.
And I gathered every last drop of courage and asked him,
“Who are you? What do you do? What do you want?”

It took a moment to get a response.
For he is from a time before words.
Ancient as cells. Primordial as teeth.

He cracked a sharp-toothed grin.
Menacing, empty, powerful … with a flash of play.

“I am the one who cuts away.”

Chilled to the bone, I pressed,
“What do you cut away?”

No response. Did not compute.

“I am the one who cuts away.
And you need me.”

“Do you want to hurt me? Hurt others?”

“I am the one who cuts away.”

Reason is not part of his world.
He’s never met “why” or “to whom” or “in what way.”
He has no agenda.
Neither benevolent nor selfish.
No opinions. No desires.

He is the sword, not the wielder.
He is the power, not the direction.

“I am the one who cuts away.”

Bad relationships.
That wobble I sense around inauthenticity.
Energy drains. Money leaks.
Commitments that no longer serve.
He cuts them all away.

He speaks one word: “No.”

“What do you want to cut away, right now?”

He had no response.
For he does not decide such things.
The orders come to him from deeper, higher places.
Sparked by instinct. Guided by heart. Formulated by reason.
(If all’s working well.)

The long-suffering martyr within me — he cuts away.
The good girl who wrings her hands at what others will say — he cuts away.

My mind spun into backflips at the paradox and irony:
When I harness his power, he cuts away the martyr within me.
When I deny his power, I become the martyr.
When I embrace him, he protects me.
And when I deny him, he destroys me.

For without purpose, the knife has nowhere to turn but within.
Blind, it does what blades do.

He does not decide what to destruct.
He IS destruction.
The falling of leaves.
The snips in neural pathways when decisions are made.
The removal of alternate possibilities when a commitment is forged.

He does not decide any of this —- he performs it.

He is the destructive half of creation.
The “not this, not that” that makes “everything” possible.

Creation, destruction.
The caduceus’ left snake and right.

I had tried to deny this destructive half of creation.
To bring all within me.
To love without limits.
To say only “yes,” and never “no.”

But now I have heard his voice: no such thing is possible.
We cannot hoard.
We cannot grow, grow, grow and not die.
We cannot gather to ourselves indiscriminately.

I must take the sword and wield it.

The power of the sword rises from somewhere in my abdomen
And reaches my belly
Where it’s caught, frozen, tamped down by one powerful phrase, one trump card, one lie that kills:

“I can’t.”

Oh, there are many variations of this.
“I shouldn’t.” “Good girls don’t.” “Who am I??”
Now, I’m asked not only to release this reptilian “No,”
But to unravel that which has blocked him.
To switch “I can’t” into “I wonder how I can…?”

This is his season.
Leaves fall.
The wind winnows the fluff away before the deep withdrawal of winter.
Now is the fire and the freezing off.

It is neither inhale nor exhale.
It is simply,
NO.

And so I ask you, dear reader:
Is it time for you to unscabbord the clean blade called “no”?
Have you politely hidden away your own, generative power of destruction?
What fires need starting, what roars need roaring, what power needs unleashing?

And the next time that mean-spirited gargoyle mocks your thighs or hisses at your bank balance or snarls at your self-worth …
… ask him if he isn’t just twiddling his thumbs, waiting for marching orders.
And ask your heart where the blade needs pointing.

Dig it?

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About Angela Raines

I’ve got sassy-strong opinions on words, integrity, and most beverages. I help soulful entrepreneurs get clear on their vision and unique gifts. Wordsmithing all this into witty, wakeful web copy is my favorite kind of tango.

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