The early paths
of my neo-pentecostal meanderings
passed by way of the demons.
Taking literally the stories
of gospel writer Mark, et al,
like this one set in Capernaum,
we addressed these shadowy
and unclean spirits;
commanding an immediate departure
from their unsuspecting hosts.
I sometimes wondered where they went.
The dark and horned tormenting creatures
of medieval and renaissance paintings
have become mainstream.
Joining their vampire/werewolf/monster
allies on flickering screens,
these demons create easy
and seemingly illicit thrills
for new generations of children
who have become bored with the sameness
of their comfortable lives
and yearn for mystery,
whatever its colour.
I no longer believe in demons;
there is sufficient cruelty and derision
in the brokenness of humankind.
Mystery, however, rainbow-hued and shining,
intrudes persistently into my disbelief;
she brings no cheap shivers.
She will not be grasped, nor commanded,
but may be glimpsed
in the stories of the Nazarene
and those he encountered.
Like this troubled and damaged man, who,
hearing an unexpected and disturbing
word of love,
begins his freedom life.
I may make some changes. It will do for now.
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