No escape from reality

For an awfully long time, I did not dare to acknowledge it. I just pushed the idea away, tucked it away, thrusted it away. Was it all too painful, too confronting? I was not brave enough to face it? And so, I did not want to believe in it? What would be the result? What would happen if I actually realized that I was living in hell?

But now that I am facing a Devil myself. Now all the pieces of the puzzle are falling into place. I cannot ignore it anymore. And besides, I do not want to disregard it anymore. All those years I have pretended. All those years I have told myself that I lived in a beautiful, clear, righteous world. A space in which every person gets a chance. A world in which - if you truly do your best - you will progress. An existence in which you are ultimately recognized for what you've done. You are rewarded. You are honored.

Can a person live in a different world other than a self-invented paradise? Then a self-made fantasy world? An Eldorado in which grateful values ​​hang from trees like ripe fruits. Self-control, courage, wisdom, justice. It makes a person content, happy, joyful. Even though she knows that so much is happening around her that is horrible. That is disgusting. Wars, pollution, diseases, natural disasters, quarrels, betrayal, sadism, rape. This is only bearable when you keep believing in perspective, in a new horizon.

I admit it. I have lost this belief. And that did not happen overnight. It happened in small, invisible steps. In countless pieces of despair, frustration, disappointment. Every hour of the day a little bit. And this process made that at a certain point my mind could no longer bear it. The mushy, the nice, the saccharine, the fine and dandy.

I did not believe it anymore. I could no longer imagine it. Not after all that despair, frustration, disappointment. It comes to a standstill at a certain moment. The philosophy of being enlightened. The wisdom of becoming free spirited. Even for a true optimist like me. There is only so much energy, so much passion, so much verve.

“You have to learn to enjoy the little things of life,” the devil says instructively. He sits opposite me in an armchair. Stubbles, watery eyes, a nose like a ripe strawberry. His thin hair has a light orange tint. He has placed his arms loosely on the armrests. Yet he does not look relaxed, he does not seem to be comfortable. His left leg is shaking, his forehead is glistening with sweat.

I ran into the prince of hell during a short holiday in Bad Bendheim. We both visited the Middle Ages castle. In the torture chamber we got to talking. I do not remember what about we spoke. One thing led to another. He visited the campsite where I was staying. We drank glasses of wine, we ate salted cashew nuts and talked about the meaning of life. It was then – the moon hung in the night sky like a cheap table lamp – that I told him about my disillusionments. He listened attentively and invited me to his consultation room.

“If you keep expecting society, the people around you, to meet your expectations, everything will end in disappointment. Concentrate on what you can influence yourself,” the evil spirit tells me. His room is modestly furnished. In addition to the two moss-green chairs, there is a bookcase, some artificial bonsai trees, a display cabinet with porcelain elephants and a stack of magazines.

During his visit to the campsite in Germany, after two bottles of booze and a bag of snacks, it was then that Satan told me that thirty years ago his eldest daughter had drowned. In the local swimming pool. She was three years old. A sweet, happy, innocent child.

He does not talk to anyone about it. The grief is like a shard of glass that someone has pressed into his heart. The wound still bleeds every day. But his way of dealing with it is to pretend that the shard does exist. And the blood? What blood? This denial has cost him a lot. His marriage, the relationship with his other children.

“You have to keep believing in yourself,” Lucifer assures me. “When others betray you, let you down, disappoint you, do not let it affect you. In the end, it is what you think, what you feel, what you believe that matters. And that is simply undeniable, valuable.

Despite his personal loss, the setbacks in his private life, Mephisto has proven to be a remarkably successful therapist. His practice is highly regarded. Despite the soaring prices he charges, clients are queuing up for him. It is a small miracle that he still had room for me. He has invested the money he earns with his services in houses and apartments in the capital. And next to that - he confided me during my vacation - he has an investment portfolio in crypto.

“Your intuition will never prove you wrong. Remember that. Deep inside you is your True Self. It is important that you stay connected with that Precious Divine Spark. This is your compass, your northern lights. It will take you to your new destination, it will lead you to your destination, it will show you new vistas.”

When we spoke so familiarly and openly during that night at the campsite, I found the demon vulnerable, human. But now that I am sitting opposite him in his own house, he reminds me what hell must be. The tediousness, the deadness, the mindlessness, the dullness, the uninteresting. A body with no blood, no nerves.

And that is just the beginning. The real hell is pretending that the boring, the colorless, the monotonous, the disgusting does not exist. No, you pretend that life is beautiful, vibrant, fascinating, exciting. You play along with the others. You pat each other on the back, you make jokes, you watch movies, you make music.

And while the devil babbles on about problem-solving, cognitive restructuring, and anger thermometers, I know that the time has come for me to accept my world. I cannot push it away, hide it away anymore. Hell. The hypocrisy, the pretense, the humbug.

I shall have to live with it. Since it is all pointless. All the fighting, all the denials. What a wasted energy, what a squandered willpower. I shall have to find ways to accept it. I shall have given credit to my non-spiritual habitat. I shall have to settle in it. Love, sleep, work, eat, believe, study, write, mow the lawn, play sports. Together with my family, neighbors, colleagues, friends, I shall have to make the best of it. Do I have another choice?

“You don’t believe a word I have to say to you, do you?” mutters the lord of hell. He grins at me. Like someone who has been caught off guard. “I felt it when you enter my consultation room. The indifference, that suspicion. I hoped I could talk you around.”

I hear him orating, the evil spirit, but I am too far lost in my dark thoughts. I am mentally preparing myself for the next phase in my life. The acceptance of hypocrisy, the false virtues. Will it finally give me peace? Or will I continue to be annoyed, irritated?

“You are right. I am acting. I am pretending to be a god,” confesses satan. “I make as if I have the answers my visitors are looking for. And when I know what they want to hear, I speak to them. Convincingly. In that way, I always deliver them what they want.”

Mephisto places his thin oval head in his sweaty hands. He looks at me as if I am now the one who has all the answers.

“Every second of my life I think of her,” Lucifer sobs. “And I scan the image before me. How her sweet light body floated in the water. Still, lifeless. And how from that moment on, my life has never been colorful again. Never carefree, never cheerful.”

Should I walk over to him? Put my arm around him? Should I tell him, whisper to him how healing, how assuaging it is to show your sorrow? Or are those also empty, meaningless platitudes?

“All these years, all those days, I believed I manage to stand tall. I have worn that armor of omniscience, of foresight, of expertise. For protection. So that it became somewhat more bearable for me. The pain, the helplessness, the agony,” groans Beelzebub.

This morning, I put bread rolls in my backpack. And a carton of buttermilk. I offer him a sandwich. He wipes the tears from his stubble cheeks. We sit together and try to enjoy our lunch. I pour the milk drink into the teacups. I look at the crying man next to me. And I notice how he slowly changes from a demon to a human being. From a devil to a mortal. As we are chit-chatting, for the first time in many years, I contemplate: life is not maybe that deadly dull.