Recently, my family finished the Harry Potter series, and it sparked enriching conversations with my wife and our 8-year-old son about themes of light and dark, good and evil, and the choice between serving ourselves or dedicating our lives to the service of others.
While these concepts were fresh in my mind, I was struck when my son started singing “Demons” by Imagine Dragons. The lyrics resonated with me on a personal level, prompting me to reflect on my experiences with light and dark, gain and loss, truth and deception:
When you feel my heat, look into my eyes
It's where my demons hide, it's where my demons hide
Don't get too close, it's dark inside
It's where my demons hide, it's where my demons hide.
My interpretation:
When I feel anger or become triggered, if you dare to look into my eyes—the window to my soul—you will see the pain I carry. I’m operating from a wounded place, still figuring out how to heal. Until I do, I may project that pain outward, possibly turning you into an enemy. I may hurt you, and I apologize; I don’t know how to stop myself or heal this wounded part of me.
They say it's what you make, I say it's up to fate
It's woven in my soul, I need to let you go
Your eyes, they shine so bright, I wanna save that light
I can't escape this now, unless you show me how.
My interpretation:
Society tells us we are self-made, but I disagree. I feel like a victim of fate, burdened by deep-seated pain that seems woven into my very being. You, however, shine with a light of love that I can feel. I want to understand it, to embody that light too, but I don’t know how.
This line of thought led me to reflect on religion and shadow work. The shadow represents the unconscious parts of ourselves that we reject or deny—our fears, desires, and impulses deemed unacceptable by society. We all grapple with the struggle between light and dark, as seen in Harry Potter, where magic is divided into good and evil forces, almost as if they exist in separate realms. However, the truth is that both are part of the same world, part of us. Light magic and dark magic serve as metaphors for our internal struggles.
A poignant illustration of this is Harry Potter himself. He carries a part of Voldemort’s soul within him—an embodiment of darkness. To truly free himself, Harry must confront Voldemort directly, facing the very darkness that resides inside him. This confrontation symbolizes the necessity of facing our own shadows rather than merely rejecting them. It’s easy to declare our allegiance to the light and reject the dark, but doing so without facing our shadows can be dangerous.
Take Siddhartha Gautama—the Buddha. His father tried to shield him from suffering, believing that if he never encountered darkness, he would remain pure. Yet the shadow lurked beneath the surface. Ever witness “Preacher’s Kid” syndrome? In my experience, the more we’re told to avoid darkness, the more power it gains over our lives. This message has echoed through various forms of religion: “Stay away from the darkness; there’s nothing for you there.” We’re handed scriptures as if reading about the dark can help us deal with it. But that’s akin to pretending you can conquer a dragon just by reading about one without ever stepping into the cave. It’s a kind of soul theft, robbing us of the right to direct experience and the opportunity to develop personal wisdom.
True spiritual growth doesn’t come from rejecting our darkness; it comes from understanding and embracing it. When we dwell in our shadows long enough to understand their nature, we don’t just choose the light because we’re told to; we choose it because we’ve known the dark and are no longer afraid of it. The light becomes an integral part of who we are—not a mask that conceals our true selves but a reflection of our journey through the shadows.
In today’s world, we see the consequences of ignoring this process. People are often told to hide their darkness—angry, jealous, or flawed aspects of themselves. But this darkness doesn’t vanish; it spills out in the form of judgment, intolerance, and hatred. We can’t learn from what we refuse to face, leading us to cycles of denial and blame. The mask of someone who walks in the light can become their prison.
Indigenous cultures understood this. They practiced rituals and ceremonies aimed at confronting darkness—vision quests, purification rites, and rites of passage. These were not about pushing darkness away but about facing it, learning from it. They recognized that we must embrace the totality of our being before we can emerge whole.
Religion’s attempts to shield us from darkness often leave us fragmented, struggling with parts of ourselves we’re taught to fear. The more we suppress our shadows, the more they control us from the background. Consider the Pharisees—those who appeared outwardly righteous and wore their holiness like armor. Yet Jesus chose to spend his time with the outcasts—those unafraid to acknowledge their darkness. In their honesty, they were closer to holiness than those who judged them.
Drawing from indigenous wisdom, we all carry wolves inside us—the good wolf and the bad wolf. The goal isn’t to starve one while feeding the other but to find balance, to integrate them. The good wolf cannot thrive without the bad wolf, and vice versa. Day and night co-exist. Only by sitting with our darkness and learning from it can we truly walk in the light. Until we do, any choice we think we’ve made is hollow—because it isn’t truly ours.
When we integrate our shadows, we cease to judge others for their struggles. We know the darkness and don’t fear it in others. The outcasts become our teachers. The sinners, addicts, and shunned individuals are often closest to the truth because they are actively confronting their darkness. They’re real, and that’s where wholeness begins.
This is why I believe the most spiritually advanced individuals are not those who appear flawless or strictly rule-abiding, masking their demons behind a facade. This only indicates denial and avoidance of their inner struggles. True spiritual advancement lies in those who have faced their abyss, acknowledged their demons, and emerged stronger. They integrate light and shadow, move beyond ego, and turn imperfections into stepping stones toward deeper wisdom and compassion. Spiritual growth arises from authenticity, humility, and the courage to confront our imperfections—not from perfectionism or blind adherence to rules. That’s the path to wholeness—not the denial of darkness but its full integration. Only then can we genuinely choose the light, informed by the knowledge of what lies on the other side.
Confronting the shadow is, of course, easier said than done—it's why so many choose the safety of a mask instead. But true growth and freedom lie in embracing our darker sides. To begin that journey, here are some tried-and-true practices for facing and learning from your shadow:
Journaling: Write about triggers and hidden traits.
Projection Analysis: Explore traits in others you dislike.
Dialoguing with the Shadow: Imagine conversations with your shadow (I.F.S. Internal Family Systems)
Inner Child Work: Heal unmet childhood needs.
Guided Visualization: Visualize encounters with your shadow.
Creative Expression: Use art to express repressed emotions.
Dream Work: Analyze recurring dreams for insights.
Body Awareness: Release stored emotions through body-focused practices (yoga, tai chi, breathwork)
Psychedelic Therapy: Use psychedelics to access and integrate deep unconscious material.
I find that psychedelic-assisted therapy not only deepens these practices but often accelerates the healing process, helping us unlock more profound insights and transformation from each modality.
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