(BEYOND ALL HUMAN ABILITIES
THE ONLY MANNER OF SURVIVING
PURE EVIL’S AGENDA
we know good and evil are one
but we never confuse the two.
Serpent & The Rainbow
- Wade Davis
Do not wait for a time
when you'll see things
that you should not see.
Serpent & The Rainbow
- Wade Davis
(See Amazon's "Look Inside")
He has to deal with what is eerie but not enthralling;
with something askew, but intelligently so;
with a quality that is upside down and inside out,
but significantly so.
The mordant traits of nightmare are there in full regalia,
but this is no dream and permits him no thankful remission.
Hostage to the Devil -Martin Malachi
See Read More below Afternoon Photos
For extensive and deeper Understanding of
Aftermath of Exorcisms for the Exorcist
the momentary realization that there is no need
to come to certain conclusions about
persons, events, conflicts, trends,
even trends toward evil and disaster,
as if from day to day and even from moment to moment
I had to know and declare (at least to myself):
This is so and so, this is good, this is bad;
we are heading for a "new era"
or we are heading for destruction.
Little or nothing.
Things are as they are,
in an immense whole of which I am a part,
and which I cannot pretend to grasp.
To say I grasp it is immediately
to put myself in a false position,
as if I were "outside" it.
is to seek truth in my own life and action,
by moving where movement is possible
and keeping still when movement is unnecessary,
realizing that things will continue to define themselves -
and will be more clear to me
if I am silent and attentive,
rather than constantly formulating statements
in this age which is smothered in language,
in meaningless and inconclusive debate,
and in which, in the last analysis,
nobody listens to anything except
what agrees with his own prejudices.
the hammock papers...
You do not enter except without a story.
To enter there is to become unnameable.
Whoever is there is homeless for he has no door and
no identity with which to go out and to come in.
exist except as unborn:
No disguise will avail him anything
Such a one is neither lost nor found.
But he who has an address is lost.
they fall into apartments
and are securely established!
They are licensed
To proceed from place to place
They now know their own names
They can name several friends and know
Their own telephones must some time ring.
at once and all cars crash at one crossing:
If all cities explode and fly away in dust
Yet identities refuse to be lost.
There is a name and number for everyone.
there are pigeon holes for ashes:
Such security can business buy!
Yet, to tell the truth, only the nameless are at home in it.
They bear with them in the
center of nowhere the unborn flower of nothing:
This is the paradise tree.
It must remain unseen
until words end and arguments are silent.
camels on a beach
Todd Kennedy drone pic
coexist over a long period,
alternating sharply and rapidly.
Many seers and artists pay in this way,
agonizing periods of impotence and depression,
for each violent outburst of creative energy.
but even to the desire for enlightenment.
The need to know,
to have the knowledge of one’s true nature,
even that is a desire,
and that desire is by the “me”.
the outward false-seeing stops,
and what remains is in-seeing,
not seeing inside
but seeing from within
the source of all seeing
The Net of Jewels
Ramesh S. Balsekar
People of The Lie - Scott Peck
Awakened by Darkness - Paul Levy
HOSTAGE TO THE DEVIL - Malachi Martin
People of The Lie - Scott Peck
Awakened by Darkness - Paul Levy
The Serpent and The Rainbow - Wade Davis
(See Amazon's "Look Inside")
“HOSTAGE TO THE DEVIL is the classic work of the 20th century on the subject of possession and exorcism. Although not written from a strictly scientific perspective, without Dr. Martin’s pioneering and remarkably thoughtful portrayals of cases of spiritual affliction, it is extremely doubtful that scientists would ever have begun to examine such a dangerous but important subject for another hundred years. Science—particularly the science of psychiatry—and many suffering patients owe this book a deep debt of gratitude.”
M. Scott Peck
The Road Less Traveled
People of The Lie
HOSTAGE TO THE DEVIL
No visitors got to know anything precise of what he (Father Michael Strong - Exorcist) had been through and what was the reason for the peculiar lull, the hush of waiting, in which Michael obviously spent his last years. He seemed to be waiting for something, expecting something.
When I met him, he gave the impression of a great fragility. Big and raw-boned, he had obviously lost much weight.
But the fragility was not chiefly the effect of his thinness, his mop of gray hair, his bony hands or hollow cheeks. It was a general appearance of delicate survival, as of a hair’s-breadth balance in him, between life and disappearance from life. There was a transparency about his face and person that clothed him in a quiet tension. Imagine or not, a silent dialogue seemed to be always in progress between Michael and a world I was too crass and physically flesh-bound to perceive. Only its aftertones registered somewhere within me, cautioning me against any abrupt movement or aggressive way of talking.
when I put questions about his exorcism of Wu, he started to recollect and to answer, but then he trailed off, as if still waiting for some explanation, some finale, some bottom line to be written to his story. There was a soft silence for 10-15 minutes. He stirred in his chair finally: “Well. All in God’s good time…..the glass will clear. Must clear……” or some similar remark was all he would say.
And I learned that at such moments (not before) you rose and left Father Michael alone with his thoughts and his abiding presences.
Waiting was the keynote of his personality in those months, as if “waiting for the glass to clear….”. When now and again he went as far as the gateway to say goodbye to a visitor, he had the same look on his face. He seemed to be scanning the road, the horizon, the sky, waiting for something or someone whom he would recognize the moment they came into view. An old acquaintance, I often thought in the beginning, a messenger. You never knew.
(Author has just asked a specific question re: the Wu exorcism)
Michael looked around slowly. His eyes normally a faded blue, were burning: “Young man, there are things better learned by you only when they happen to you.”
Then one of the long silences. I waited.
Finally, stirring, he said surprisingly: “Well…now that you’ve a little inkling, I suppose you’d better know something more. But not today. Some other day.” After a pause, the inevitable, “Please God.”
I looked at him. His gray hair and pale face were melting into the shadows. Only his eyes were clear, visible pools of light, looking toward the bottom of the garden.
“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 years to depart also.”
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 true, not holy, not pleasant, not bright, not warm, not large, not happy, 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. Forever.” In the exorcism the exorcist knew that what he was up against existed in that state. He just knew it.
The effect of all this? 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 lost 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 Wu’s exorcism was over, all that had changed. No, it wasn’t age, he answered some unvoiced remark of mine, but something else.
I asked: “What does it really mean?”
“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, always watching, and doesn’t want anything to escape him even momentarily. 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.
(Later…just before Father Michael’s death)
He wanted to say something further to me about the effect of the exorcism on him. “It helps me to talk about it all.”
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.
Then he went on to describe the double vision. 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.
I asked about his failure to complete the exorcism of Wu. Did it entail any special liability within this sphere of his double vision?
“Of course.” The words were loaded with an ache and a distress which silenced me. Once pronounced, they hung in the air between us as silent signs of his suffering.
“I can now hate. I can choose to hate,” he said dryly. Before the exorcism of We, 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 of 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. Before, 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. Slowly. Realistically. He stopped at a certain point, groping for an image. It was, he finally said, as if a mad wolf were allowed to 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.
And all the waiting, I finally asked, why all the waiting? 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 enacts 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.”
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.”
Once cornered, the evil spirit seems able to call on a superior intelligence, and will try to lure the exorcist on to a field boobytrapped and mined with situations from which no human can extricate himself.
Any weakness in the religious faith that alone sustains the exorcist or any fatigue will allow the exorcist’s mind to be flooded with a terrible light he cannot fend off---alight that can burn the very roots of his reason and turn him emotionally into the most servile of slaves desperate to be liberated from all bodily life.
There are only some of the dangers and traps that face every exorcist. His pain is physical, emotional, mental. He has to deal with what is eerie but not enthralling; with something askew, but intelligently so; with a quality that is upside down and inside out, but significantly so. The mordant traits of nightmare are there in full regalia, but this is no dream and permits him no thankful remission.
He is attacked by a stench so powerful that many exorcists start vomiting uncontrollably. He is made to bear physical pain, and he feels anguish over his very soul. He is made to know he is touching the completely unclean, the totally unhuman.
If, in spite of his emotions and his imagination and his body---all trapped at once in pain and anguish---if, in spite of all this, the will of the exorcist holds in the Clash, what he does is to approach his final function in this situation as an authorized human witness for Jesus. By no power of his, on account of no privilege of his own, he calls finally on the evil spirit to desist, to be dispossessed, to depart and to leave the possessed person.
And, if the exorcism is successful, this is what happens. The possession ends. All present become aware of a change around them. The sense of Presence is totally, suddenly absent. Sometimes there are receding voices or other noises, sometimes only dead silence. Sometimes the recently possessed may be at the end of his strength; sometimes he will wake up as from a dream, a nightmare, or a coma. Sometimes the former victim will remember much of what he has been though; sometimes he will remember nothing at all.
Not so for the exorcists, during and after their grisly work. They carry nagging doubts and bitter conflicts untellable to family, friend, superior, or therapist. Their personal traumas lie beyond the reach of soothing words and deeper than the sweep of any consoling thoughts. They share their punishment with none but God. Even that has its peculiar sting of difficulty. For it is a sharing by faith and not by face-to-face communication.
But only thus do these men, seemingly ordinary and commonplace in their lives persevere through the days of quiet horror and the nights of sleepless watching they spend for years after as their price of success, and as abiding reminders that, once upon a time, another human being was made whole, because they willingly incurred the direct displeasure of living hatred.