TAO’S SILENT CORE
THE FOREVER IMMORTALITY
HUMANS’ PURE EVIL
IN ALL EONS AND DIMENSIONS
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below afternoon photos
Hostage to the Devil
- Arthur Guirdham and more)
The End of an Exorcist
Michael Strong - Conclusion
Hostage to the Devil
“Believe me, once you mess with Exorcism,
and above all if you don’t pull it off, something departs from you.
And the rest of you yearns to depart also.”
It did not seem a good moment to pursue his “waiting” to “depart.”
So I asked him about the Confrontation with Evil Spirit
in an exorcism.
What was it like?
What effects had it?
It was a meeting, he said, a personal meeting.
What the exorcist met in person was something that existed
in a state where the all-important,
the only, reality was a “living not.”
I wanted to stop and ponder that for a while,
but he went on to talk of a reality that is not beautiful,
not anything positive.
I started to say that all this sounded like Hell
or how people used to describe Hell.
“No,” he interjected distinctly and firmly.
“That is Hell.
Just to be utterly alone and immutably without love.
In the exorcism the exorcist knew that what he was up against
existed in that state.
He just knew it.
I asked the question still very tentatively,
not wishing to increase any pain he had.
Did he feel he was in a box or a prison?
Did it make him dispirited and lose initiative?
The effects were far deeper, he said.
Years before in the seminary, he loved music, flowers, a good book.
He could laugh the loudest of all;
he enjoyed swimming, tennis, a good meal, and so on.
He loved children.
They made him happy, just to hear their voices.
And many other things he liked also-
singing and dancing and long walks,
and the sound of waves on the shore,
and smells such as new-mown hay,
flowers and grass after a light shower,
a turf fire in the early morning.
And he slept like a top.
Always he woke up ready for the world,
rain, hail, or shine.
After Thomas Wu’s exorcism was over, all that had changed.
No, it wasn’t age,
he answered some unvoiced remark of mine,
but something else.
The housekeeper appeared, and he nodded to her.
It was time for him to turn in.
I asked: “What does it really mean?”
The moon had risen over the back wall of the garden.
We both looked at it with upturned faces.
“You are never quite at home in this human world
ever again after an exorcism,”
he said slowly.
He sat down again and explained.
After an exorcism the exorcist hears and sees
and thinks and talks as he always did.
But now he perceives on two planes.
Spirit is everywhere.
Flesh and matter is only “our picture” of what’s there.
And it’s not all good.
There’s evil and good hidden in that “picture.”
After an exorcism you always know, if you didn’t know it before.
You are now walking with double vision,
a second sight,
as the old people used to say.
And the exorcist never really sleeps, not as he used to.
He dozes off.
Some deep part of him is keeping watch,
and doesn’t want anything to escape him
All sleep is escape.
And he knows that escape for him is impossible.
He eats, he must in order to stay alive.
And he breathes.
His heart beats on.
But he has a terrible option always:
not to breathe,
to let his heart stop.
He said he was fine. He had a request to make.
Before my visit ended, I should remind him of it.
But he wanted first to say something further to me about the effects of the exorcism on him.
“It helps me to talk about it all”
-this by way of explanation.
It was the double vision: he had not defined it properly, he said.
I waited, because, as Michael spoke,
a wave of misery swept over his face.
The veil of immobility was withdrawn for an instant,
then fell back again.
For that quick instant I had seen a load of pain and sadness
framed in lines of a gently resolute hope.
His whole expression said:
I will not give up my trust,
although I have nothing to rely
on but that trust.
It was not like seeing another table beside the real table
or another wall beside the real wall.
It was not a vision of eyes or a hearing with your ears
or a touching with your hand.
It was another level of reality.
An exorcism sharpens your awareness of that reality, he said.
You know what stands behind and around
and beneath and above
all that is visible and tangible.
The intertwining cords of spirit appear everywhere.
Good and bad spirit.
Beauty and ugliness.
Holiness and sin.
God as a tremendous majesty.
Personal evil is a formidable force.
Nothing escapes those cords.
He fell silent at this point.
After a pause,
I could not resist asking him directly about his failure
to complete the exorcism of Thomas Wu.
Did it entail any special liability within this sphere of his double vision?
The words were loaded with an ache and a distress which silenced me.
they hung in the air between us as silent signs of his suffering.
Before the exorcism of Wu, he had never even thought of hating.
Now, to hate was a living option for him.
Before the exorcism, he never even imagined
what it would be like really to despair.
Now it was a real option. “Real.” “Real.”
He repeated the word several times.
The idea of rejecting Jesus as a charlatan
now came to him as a real choice.
All those choices and others too unspeakable to mention
were like plates of food placed in front of him continually.
His pain was that he was forced to consider each one as a possibility.
he had them all banded together and thrown into a box,
and he had thrown away the key.
Now he had to take a taste of each one.
He stopped at a certain point, groping for an image.
It was, he finally said,
as if a mad wolf were allowed sniff and smell and nose
around his naked body,
always threatening to bite and crush,
always moving, moving, moving.
He bent his head on his hands.
There was a pause of about five minutes.
He had failed in the exorcism,
but he had not accepted Satan or evil or hate.
Why, then, the perpetual waiting?
“Simply put, my young friend,” he said thickly,
“evil has power over us, some power.
And even when defeated and put to flight,
it scrapes you in passing by.
If you don’t defeat it, evil exacts a price of more terrible agony.
It rips a gash in the spirit with a filthy claw,
and some of its venom enters the veins of the soul.
As a price.
As a memory.
As a lesson.
A warning that it will return again.”
It was time to go. I stood up. He said nothing.
I touched him lightly on the forehead.
It was cold.
“Now, young man, don’t worry about Father Michael.
He knows what he’s doin’.”
Somehow, this old woman understood more that I had ever understood.
Then I heard his voice calling after me:
At the end, be sure and read Paul,
First Corinthians, Chapter 15, verses 50 to 58.
All of it.”
I hurried back into the study.
But he told me to go with the usual silent wave of the hand.
....there was a tiny rattle in Michael’s throat.
The lips smiled faintly.
The eyes lost all light.
I felt sure Michael had partaken in Jesus’ victory over death
and that he had escaped death’s sting.
But he had, indeed, paid the price for his failure of years before.
We will never know the exact note of suffering
such a man as Michael Strong must undergo at dying,
for it lies in the spirit unattainable by our logic,
unimaginable by our fantasy,
impervious to any clever methodology we can devise.
But each exorcist could well have as his epitaph
the most noble phrase Jesus ever pronounced about human love:
“Greater love than this no man hath:
that a man lay down his life for his friend."
Hostage to the Devil
Hostage to the Devil-Martin Malachi
- Arthur Guirdham and more)
also see MORE from Martin Malachi and
The Smiler Archetype...the greatest of all "evil":