July 1, 2009

Satanʼs Logic.
by. Jackson Tan

I was out late Tuesday evening having dinner with several choir leaders, several elderly
sisters, and Alex, a young nephew of one of the choir leaders. This particular evening
the head choir leader had suggested to get a steak and eggs special that casinos often
serve. Obliging to her request, the rest of the ladies decided to go to the Boulder
Station, on Boulder Highway, for Broilersʼ steak and eggs special. Being that the choir
practice had ended rather late in the evening, around nine thirty or so, the ladies had
told Alex to ride with me to the steak and eggs special while they went ahead of us.

Passing by the chapel compound, I saw that the entry gate to the parking lot was left
open. I told Alex to stay in the vehicle while I went about to secure the parking lot as
best I could. Closing the gate, then wrapping the heavy chain around the locking arm, I
tried to make the parking lot appear locked despite my not having a key for the lock on
the chain.

Jumping into my vehicle, Alex and I drove off to Boulder Station for the steak and eggs
special. After looping around the front and side parking lots looking for the magenta
Nissan Pathfinder that the ladies had rode in, I parked on the roof of the parking
structure. Alex and I took the elevator to street level and proceeded to make our way to
the casino.

Entering the electric glitter of the Boulder Station casino, with itʼs rhythmic flashing and
itʼs gilded veneer, Alex received a call from his Aunt, the local choir leader. She directed
him to find the restaurant called Broilers between Starbucks and a pizzeria. Making our
way through the orderly aisles of slot machines, automated teller machines, waitresses,
gamblers, and change machines, we eventually arrived at the restaurant. The elder
ladies had been waiting for us. With the pang of hunger on their faces, our entire group
was soon seated. A graveyard-shift, skeleton crew ran the restaurant that night. A local
Nevadan woman took orders for our drinks. Another server, this one a Mexican man,
took orders for four steak and egg specials, a cheese burger and fries, and an order of
fish and chips. In total, we waited forty-five minutes to an hour for our orders.

To bide time, the local choir leader had chosen to engage the group in a game of “Black
Magic”. The head choir leader was fully engaged in a four-star Sudoku puzzle. Being
that I couldnʼt figure out the tell of the “Black Magic” game, I too was drawn into the
numeric rules of Sudoku.

Eventually, our orders arrived. The ladies ate their steak and eggs specials commenting
on the relative doneness or rareness that each order was mistakenly cooked in. The
elder sister who had ordered the cheeseburger and fries pushed the plate on to the
nephew of the local choir leader. The fish and chips were salty, and oily. Yet, with
hunger pangs shooting throughout everyoneʼs systems, the food was welcome respite.
After eating dinner, the ladies decided to conclude the evening. We all said our
farewells for the evening, and I was off to the roof of the parking structure to get into my
vehicle and drive home. Walking back to the parking structure, the air felt electric and
strangely thin. There was an evening cloud cover. Getting into my vehicle, I made my
way out of the parking structure and onto the highway. From the Boulder Station, my
house was about thirty, to forty minutes travel without road construction. This evening,
Nevada Department of Transportation was performing highway maintenance. Much of
the Northbound traffic bottlenecked to one lane for a few miles.

At the dark horizon, a lightning storm shot veins of electricity to Earth. With each
charged finger the night sky would flash crisply in white with grey tones. For fractions of
a second the detail of the clouds was clear as a photograph. Each contour of every
valley in the sky was made known to the world. What an awesome sight that was.

I arrived home at roughly midnight. The heat of the night time had me perspiring
throughout the evening, making me look forward to getting into bed and resting. This
evening, I didnʼt struggle to make myself go to sleep as I usually do. I said my prayer,
crawled onto the mattress and went quickly to sleep.

He came to me in the darkness. A warm glow from a low corner light source made the
room shadowy. I wasnʼt cold, I wasnʼt hot. The temperature was comfortable. I felt that
I was sitting in a plush chair, no aches in my body, no pain. At that moment, I felt no
want or need. Then a shadow sat in front of me. He mentioned different things, and
showed me certain sights that elicited emotions in me. With each presentation, I sat in
that plush chair unable to move. Often times, I smiled at the glorious sights he brought
to show me. I just watched as he spoke to me, by pleasuring my vision with fantastic
sights and warm feelings. The shadow offered me material, people, extravagant
experiences, exhilarating feelings, smiles, fond memories.

When he would move, the shadowʼs silhouette blurred along with the rest of the room.
Only the warm light, low in a corner, remained constant. Seeing each image was as if
peering into a clearing of smoke or heavy clouds, only that the vapor was not white,
grey, or made of water molecules. I saw each image through an opening in thick,
sensuous, wispy black air. A warm glow emitted with each vision the shadow brought to
my eyes, feelings one would receive from the California Sun at sunset percolated from
deep within my being. With each memory, I felt as if I was a the palisades of Point
Dume with the coastal breeze flowing beneath my open arms. I could smell the salt air
of the Pacific, and feel the ocean spray coming off the waves. With people, it was as if
the shadow took hold of my heart, melting away the frozen icicles that accrued from
years of apathy, making me remember the feelings and joy of what it was like to love.
He surfaced memories of love from when I was a child. He made me remember the
warm security of receiving unconditional love from another person. With all of these
feelings, emotions, memories, and sensations an unspoken feeling, much like an
unmentioned promise, was woven into the spectacle.
The shadow patched directly into my memories, my wants, my likes, my desires, my
dreams. Throughout his appearance, he didnʼt say much. At times I was too engaged
in the sensations that I was feeling with each vision, that for him to speak would have
ruined the moment. It was as if my own feelings, emotions, memories, wants, likes,
desires were the sound and vocabulary of his voice.

As I felt my heart being lifted by what was shown to me, he spoke three words in a soft
voice that that was nearly a whisper: “Sell your soul.”

At that I woke. It was seven thirty in the morning. The dream had left me with more
questions than I had answers.

I knew that I had to listen to the morning sermon. I had to find answers. Telling a few
people about the evening I had, some replied in cynicism, some in fascination, still
another in Godly reverence.

Of the ones I told of my evening, a choir member asked if I had sold my soul at a
discount, and if I thought that I was a horrible singer, then laughed. I questioned him
back asking, “Why would the Devil want a tinged soul?”

He responded, “Easier to get to.”

Maybe he intended to add a double edged meaning to his remark to discourage me in

some sense, but his response was rather interesting.

Another person commented that dreams have always been one of his fascinations with
their mysterious meanings, and their seeming random timings. He further went on to
state, “All of Godʼs peopleʼs souls are precious. The Devil works hard to get our soul.”

Still, others lent their ears.

Whatever Satanʼs intentions thereʼs a logic that I had to figure with the reason for having
the evening with him.

After the morning service, I went to get fuel and soap. Driving past the Boulder Station
again, a prostitute in a low-cut blouse sat at the bus stop looking at me as I drove by.
Fueling up at the gas station, I watched as car washers gathered around a middle aged
woman and her developing teenage daughter. Obviously, vying for the attention of the
daughter, the three car washers crowded around the females offering suggestions to the
woman. Thinking about the evening before, I wandered the grocery store aisles looking
for bath soap. When I arrived home, part of the Devilʼs logic appeared to me.

For Satan to suggest to me to sell my soul, then my soul must be pretty valuable. For
something that is not tangible, and whose presence is not scientifically proven, the Devil
came to me and made my being feel pleased with what he showed me. In the Holy
Scriptures thereʼs a revelation that forecasts all on this planet will be given to the dark
one, except for the souls whom his creator has already chosen. Thus, my soul is one of
the things in this world that Satan doesnʼt own, and which he wants. For the Devil to
gain my soul, I must either give it to him or I must die.

Knowing that part of the Devilʼs logic, I now know why it is important for me go to the
choir practices, and pray earlier than the officers before a worship service: Satan canʼt
kill me within the fold of Godʼs protection. As silly as I feel learning how to sing, and
choir members laughing at my attempts at harmonizing, to let the Devil kill me and gain
my soul is far worse a shame than discouragement from a few jealous children, or the
persecution many of biased people. After all, I have what Satan wants.