Refining the Sight: The Hidden Temptations of the Soul

There’s a part of me that wants you to see how far I’ve come. And she’s not wrong—because this path has been steep, quiet, and hard-earned. But I also know the real jewel isn’t in being seen—it’s in seeing clearly.

For many years, I wrestled with temptation. Going "off the path" was easy in my younger years, when pain and an unripe ego led the way—and I followed.

The first temptations, to name a few, were lies. I saw them everywhere and accepted them as normal. Even though they felt wrong and left a sting, over time that sting dulled. In its place, a slow-building shame began to take root. The pain from lying faded as if I had mutated. I built walls around my heart, protecting something I was beginning to forget.

The people around me showed me how. My mother, shamed by my father who cheated. Ashamed of the divorce she requested. Shamed by the community. Shamed for not having enough money. It was handed down, and then I began crafting some of my own.

This ground—made of silence, secrets, and lies—created the illusion that I was not well, not good. My gaze turned downward. That’s where my journey began. For all of us, the starting point is different, but the path winds through the same themes. My first introduction to the concept of temptation came through the Catholic Church, as it does for many who were raised in religion. But the concept is ancient and universal. It lives in Buddhism, the Qu'ran, Hinduism, mythology, and every great spiritual quest. 

"Subtle temptations assail their nature that appear like angels of light; and ever the temptation comes to these Souls that are passing onwards through that which is greatest in them, by that which is noblest in them; it is their virtues which are taken, and, using the advantage of their lack of knowledge, these are turned into temptations; for they have grown beyond the point where vice could touch or tempt them, and it is only by using the mask of virtue that illusion may avail to lead them astray." — Annie Besant.

When you’re no longer tempted by obvious vices—greed, lust, ego-stroking, etc.—the game changes. The temptations don’t vanish. They evolve. They put on silk robes and quote scripture. They masquerade as your finest qualities.

At this level of the journey, it’s not your weaknesses that trip you up—it’s your strengths. Compassion becomes codependency. Discipline becomes rigidity. Courage becomes recklessness. Integrity becomes self-righteousness. Humility becomes invisibility.And you don’t see it coming because it feels so right. It feels just. It feels earned.

But illusion, as the passage says, only works now when it borrows the face of your virtue. This is the razor’s edge of purification—not a battle against sin, but a refinement of sight. A learning to discern the true note beneath the beautiful song. That’s where real clarity lives.

Let’s take one I know well: Temptation via Integrity’s Mask:

You want to do right. To be honest. To show up with consistency, clarity, and depth. So far, so good. 

But suddenly, without even realising it, that sacred drive morphs into over-explaining. Into endless self-auditing:

“Am I being fair? Am I being too much? Did I overstep?”

You stay in relationships too long because you "gave your word," even though your gut has been screaming for months. Why? Because part of you believes that to have integrity means you must always be the better person. Always choose the high road. Always offer the olive branch. Always earn your right to leave.

But here’s the twist: True integrity doesn’t mean betraying yourself. That’s just martyrdom in a virtue costume.

Sometimes, integrity says:

“I’ve outgrown this.”

“I don’t need to explain myself.”

“This doesn’t feel right anymore.” And it walks away—without a defense attorney.

So when your virtue starts whispering things like:

“You need to justify this.” “You can’t leave until it’s morally tidy.” “You must make sure they still think well of you.”

That’s not integrity anymore. That’s fear wearing your Sunday best.

And that’s okay. That’s human. That’s the terrain at this stage of the journey. But now you can see it. You’ve got the lens. And once you see the mask, you can choose not to bow to it.

If you're here—if this speaks to something you're walking through now—know that you're not alone. The temptations are subtle, seductive, and deeply personal. But you can meet them with clarity.

Keep listening.Keep refining.

Stay awake.

Inspired by "The Other Court" by Annie Besant — and by Ash.