Things I Feared Most To Write, Part Three
I wrote a piece here called “Energies”, in which I began to address the meta-material “energies” that I believe surround us and flow through us. The bias of our post-Enlightenment Western hermeneutic, of course, is that these “energies,” whether beneficent or malevolent, do not in fact exist, and that we are crazy or fanatically deluded to speak of them, let alone to try to invoke the protection of the good ones and fear the influence of the negative ones.
That materialist bias can be good because it keeps us from leaping off into an ether of ungrounded imagination, or from cowering in the face of baseless superstition; but it is also bad because this materialist bias, and the silencing from public discourse of people’s actual (and common) experiences of metaphysical forces, leaves us extremely vulnerable to dark forces. And this leaves us vulnerable to dark forces at a time when what is underway, more fundamentally than anything else on the planet, is a battle between good and evil.
This battle is probably a battle for our very souls.
So much of what we see the perversions of pop culture, the abandonment by churches and synagogues of their missions, the division of families, the fetishization of abortion, the murder of elders in hospitals and the abandonment to hunger of citizens in North Carolina at this very moment, the worship of war in Washington DC — all of this surely is merely manifestations of this spiritual battle.
So I might as well just tell you. I now believe that metaphysical energies, good and evil, are real and surrounding us always and trying to affect us. Here are some experiences that led me to believe this more deeply and literally than ever.
I was always sensitive, as I have written before, to force fields such as those left in a building where violence or grief have taken place. I know plenty of people who have seen things they cannot explain materially — a pale figure flickering out of the corner of their eyes in a house they later learned was haunted, for instance.
Many years ago, a former partner of mine, when we stayed in a Civil War-era inn located at the edge of an old battlefield, was awakened all night by orbs of light. He thought at first that these were headlights of passing cars. I could not see them, thank God. But I watched him see them.
I’ve certainly heard footsteps I could not explain — this has happened to me three times. Once it happened in an old renovated shack in Massachusetts, where Brian, two young relatives of ours, and I, all stayed. The footsteps sounded like those of a man in heavy boots. They paced back and forth inside the little cabin all night long. At several points the footsteps sounded as if they had shifted onto the roof!
These footsteps were so scary and insistent that I ended up sleeping in the bathtub, as if that could help me. I was absolutely terrified.
In the morning, we all confirmed with one another that this had really happened; we all had individually heard these footsteps and fo
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