I have a devil and an angel, as everyone else does. They are constantly at war with each other, as everyone else’s are. I often wonder what my devil would look like…
I imagine he looks like a baboon with a human face. He has red skin, except his nose. His nose is black. He has extremely hairy arms and legs, though his chest is bare. He has a mane, like a lion’s, except his is dark black hair instead of golden and it is short in a way that almost seems abrupt as if half of it was burnt off unevenly. I know the common conception is that the devil sits on the left shoulder while the angel sits on the right. But my devil lives on my right shoulder because my right ear is what hears his laughter when I miss a prayer. My devil spends his days chasing his own tail in the hollow space created by the clavicle on my right shoulder. My devil is a good artist, he will paint me pictures of all the different lives I could live if I let go of certain values and beliefs. He makes me doubt my self, brings chaos to my thoughts. My devil loves chaos.
I do think about my angel a lot too. I envision my angel to be a huge, majestic wolf. She has thick, snow white fur and round hazel eyes. She is warm and quiet and she spends her days pacing back and forth from the base of my neck to the edge of my left shoulder blade. She is beautiful. The devil often captures my attention because of how loud he is, how enticing. Often times he behaves like a needy child who needs constant attention to be tamed. But, one look towards my angel and I forget all about my devil. She is patient, understanding, and forgiving. She is calm, peaceful and quiet and when I see my angel all the loudness of the world melts away. My devil’s voice drowns and I feel calm, peaceful and quiet.
The calm, quiet and peace never lasts though, because soon it will be namaaz time and my devil is always the loudest right when the sun sets and its time to offer prayers. He will tell me how I have had such a long, tiring day and that maybe I should lay down for a while and rest. I can always pray after if I still want, he will say. Or he will tell me to check on my friends on social media and see what they are up to, when he knows the phone in my hand is a tiny black-hole which will suck me in and make me lose track of time. It is during these times when my angel breaks her silence. She will sneer, bearing her teeth and growl as she walks towards the base of my neck, towards the devil. Her softest growl which is still loud enough to make the hairs on my devil’s body stand up. It is with this that my devil cowers away as I set on my way and pray my namaaz.
When life does punch me in the stomach, making me crumble and bringing me to my knees, my devil exasperates, “You don’t need Him. He hasn’t stopped a single human being’s suffering, and He won’t stop yours so stand up and throw on a coat. Let me take you out and show you a good time.” I cannot lie, I find my devil’s offer very alluring. Yet I catch myself chuckling at the thought of my devil wanting to show me a good time when his idea of a good time was chasing his own tail. My angel on the other hand, bows her head and nuzzles my neck with her white fur in a spectacular comforting gesture. She whispers, “God’s will” and tells me to remain on my knees and to bow my head the way she has hers. To bring my forehead to the ground and yield to Him because everything in my life was ever only lent to me. It was always His, and to Him it had to be returned. Even though my angel only ever whispers, I hear her louder than my devil and this is the one battle she always wins.
My devil has won his fair share of battles too, I am ashamed to admit. I will repent these victories and ask forgiveness for them for the rest of my life. Not because these victories are so horrific they need to be repented for a lifetime, but because these are the battles my devil will continue to win for as long as I live. I will lie again, I know I will. I will hurt another person’s feelings again, intentionally or unintentionally, but it is bound to happen. I will raise my voice to my parents again. I will step out of the house with my head uncovered again, miss some of the prayers again. I will envy again, gossip again, be a tiny bit glad at someone else’s misfortune again, laugh at someone else’s expense again. I try to look at my angel at these moments though, to be so stupefied by her beauty that my devil’s voice encouraging me to be angry drowns completely, but for some reason at all these moments I see my angel walking towards the end of my shoulders, away from me, with her back to me as if she knows the devil has already won this battle.
As I grow older, my devil grows old with me too. But with age he grows smaller and smaller. At 24 he is a lot smaller than he was at 17. My angel though, never ages as if she is stuck in time. For as long as I can remember, since I was a little girl, my angel has always been this wise, magnificent, majestic, beautiful beast. I want to be like her and with age I know I am getting closer. I practice forgiveness towards myself, I am more understanding towards others and I practice patience, which has proven to be most challenging yet. I hope to walk through life the way my angel does, swift, calm and self assured.
And one day I hope to become my angel, bear my teeth and sneer the way my angel does, and growl. Not a soft one this time, no. A deep growl that sends a shiver down my devil’s spine. I hope to dig my teeth deep in his flesh and tear his red skin apart, drenching my white fur with his black blood.
As they put me down in my grave, I hope to finally be rid of my devil and win the last battle.
Originally published at http://citylightsandslowsongs.wordpress.com on April 3, 2019.
