Last night I had a dream that I was sitting next to a fountain. It was dark, and there was an iguana perched on the edge of the basin. He looked at me, calmly, then started to crawl in my direction. I grew a little timid, because I wasn't sure if he might be dangerous. But my inner silence allowed me to stay still, and he crawled up my left arm and settled on my shoulder—staring deeply into my eyes. There was power there, in the green, reptilian, scaly coldness. Once we were merged and relaxed, skin against skin, there was not any fear, but rather a mutual understanding and tranquil admiration.
A few days ago I had a long conversation with a Catholic priest, and we touched upon a similar theme. He told me a story of being on a missionary trip in the jungle, when late at night he was overwhelmed by an ominous presence and saw a ghastly face peering through his tent. He was sure it was Satan. He lay still, paralyzed in a state of shallow breathing until the apparition vanished. The next morning, he sought consolation in the New Testament, and found a verse from Timothy that was particularly reassuring: "For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind."
However, the priest was certain he would experience another encounter. A couple years after the terror in the jungle, his premonition came true when he was overtaken once again, this time in a house. The room darkened totally, blocking out all light from the outside. But he was prepared for the demon, and said to it, matter-of-factly: "Oh, there you are, Satan." With this casual acknowledgement, the darkness dispelled, and that was the last time he ever saw the devil.
Now, when it comes to both the priest's story and my dream, we are dealing with scenery from the interior. Does that make these episodes completely irrelevant or unimportant? No. We just have to regard them with the proverbial grain of salt. In AYP, inner scenery is neither obsessed over, nor deliberately avoided. We just take things as they come—staying the course towards broad purification and opening of the nervous system, without much concern for particular peaks or valleys. The permanent silence is the continual thread that weaves all the contrasting pieces together.
With that being said, I would still like to put a little contemplative attention on the topic of darkness, or lower vibrations.
In the Arabic language, the name "Satan" can be translated to mean "distant" or "astray". That definition is a little different than the more adversarial or evil depiction of Satan that is often portrayed in religious mythologies. When it comes to "distant", we begin to deal not so much in the realm of good vs. evil, but rather in the context of proximity and closeness. In the relativity of space and time, there doesn't necessarily have to be a moral spin on the objects contained therein.
If we consider the possibility that stillness, meaning complete and total peace, is at the center of our self, and even the entire universe, then our perception of reality begins to shift from a view previously clouded with imaginary lines, to a view now opened up to infinite dimensions of Being and experience. Through the lens of cosmic consciousness, the darkness is not really an evil entity with some kind of threatening power. It's more like a variation of the Light existing for the sake of amusement and diversification. Cosmic drama, cosmic comedy.