I
pulled my eyes from the warrior and looked into the mirror to behold the most
horrifying revelation of the evening! One that left me paralyzed by fear —totally
immobilized— and hyperventilating. I did not want to look on the reflection,
but stared in disbelief as sickness invaded the pit of my stomach!
Then a warm sensation flooded my lap
as I lost control of all bodily function. Then I doubled over and vomited. It was
more than I could bear. I sat up and wiped my mouth with a shirt sleeve then
looked once more to the mirror to see a reflection of two dark serpent like
spirits wrapped around my body. Together they resembled a two headed beast that slithered, hissed and sighed. I heard their voices: “He’s ours! He belongs to us! You can’t have him! He opened the door! We
have legal right to this property!”
I looked upon their demonic presence
trembling and I began to wail, “Get them off! Get them off me! Please get
them off me!” Methuselah placed one hand on each shoulder and raised his voice, “Peter, that’s why we’re here! We’ve come to help!”
Then the Warrior, unsheathed his fiery
claymore and lifted it high above his right shoulder.
Looking at the serpents he demanded, “Tell me your names!” The dark spirits,
recoiled and sighed, “You already know who we are.” Undeterred, the Warrior
demanded, “Tell me you names. Who are you?”
The serpents continued recoiling from
the angelic presence. I knew a battle was coming and I would be the spoil. I
began to hyperventilate and struggle for every breath when Methuselah leaned in
close and said, “It’s okay! Michael has this!
One of the spirits raised itself high
above the warrior and opened its mouth revealing dark, viper like fangs, and
declared, “My name is Anger!” Then lunged
forward striking at the Warrior.
Though it happened much too fast for the natural
eye to follow, Methuselah’s touch enabled me to see supernaturally as The Arch Angel, swung his
fiery Claymore like a Louisville Slugger—severing the serpents head before it
exploded into tiny dust particles and evaporated into the air.
The remaining Spirit began to wither
and squeal. “No! No! You cannot have this property!” The warrior demanded, “Spirit! Tell me your
name,” then lifted his Claymore for another swing. I hoped his aim was steady,
because I knew if he missed, it would be my own head that rolled.
But that fear was quickly dispelled when
the serpent responded “You ask my name? Talk with Peter! He knows
me well. He is a bitter soul.” Then it looked to the Warrior, and back into my
own eyes as it smiled a haunting, chilling, demonic smile, and wailed, “That’s
right! My name is Bitterness!” Then it vanished.
I looked at my reflection in the mirror
and was relieved to find there were no clinging spirits then collapsed across
the bar. Fear had done a number on me. I was an absolute mess. Methuselah,
however, sat down next to me, leaned into the bar and casually said, “We’ve had
bigger fights and I’ve seen nastier characters.”
I lifted my head off the bar and wiped
an unhealthy blend of sweat and snot from my face then asked, “Where did those
things go and how did they become attached to me?” My heart sank when he
responded, “They’re not things. They are spiritual beings and make no mistake, they
will be back. As to how they became attached, well you opened that door.
My head was spinning from the revelation
of my own oppression and coupled with the conflict I had just witnessed, along
with every other crazy thing that had happened since walking into the place
left me totally exhausted and crippled every ability to reason. So I drew a
deep breath and with a weak, helpless voice, asked, “What are you saying?” He
looked me in the eye and in a tone that was no longer casual answered, “We won
the battle, but the war is not over.”
His words hung in the air like a dense fog. I felt myself coming unhinged allover again
and said, “I saw Michael vaporize one and the other fled.” What do you mean the war’s not over?” Am I
doomed to a life of torment?”
Methuselah placed his hand on my
shoulder and said, “No, you do not have to live in that hell, but we have work
to do.” Then he looked to the Warrior and said, “We’re going to need the TV
remote.”
Michael morphed back into mortal form
then reached for the remote and laid it on the bar. The sound was down, but
ESPN was running reruns of the late night lineup. I assumed he was going to
turn the set off, but instead looked to me and asked, “Do you mind if I change
the channel?”
Thursday, April 6, 2017
Tuesday, April 4, 2017
House of Spirits Part VI (The WARRIOR)
The
Warrior
He did not answer, but looked to Methuselah and asked, “Shall we?”
Methuselah responded, “Peter, sit down we need to show you something.”
I replied, “Not sure I want to go there again.”
“Work with us Pete, we’re trying to help.”
I had already witnessed enough to guarantee a life time of insomnia, but figured I may as well go all in. I must admit, it was frightening and I was feeling it in my stomach, but swallowed hard and sat back down. Methuselah leaned over my left shoulder and whispered, “Just watch.” And as on cue, the bartender took a step back and said, “My name is Michael.” Then began to morph into another creature.
It started in his eyes with his pupils taking on an appearance of fire. Then suddenly a great light pierced the ceiling and enveloped the man with a brightness unlike anything I had ever seen. So bright I was forced to turn my head and raise a forearm to shield my own vision.
I felt the warmth from his presence as he lit the entire room with a heavenly radiance. Then I felt Methuselah’s hand fall on my right shoulder and remembered how his touch enabled me to see into the spiritual realm earlier. So, I dropped my forearm and looked upon the immortal’s presence.
He stood before me like something out of a graphic novel, having a bright, white like appearance. His eyes glowed and his body appeared chiseled. On his side hung a large sword that nearly reached the floor. It looked like a claymore, but like his eyes, held a fiery appearance. He represented power and authority. It was a terrifying sight to behold. I sit before him speechless and recalled that in the Scriptures most humans were afraid when encountering the angelic and were often told, “Fear not!" Now I understand why.
Methuselah asked, “Peter, are you okay?”
I trembled and shuddered, “I… I… I think so.”
“Peter, he’s a warrior.”
“Is this Michael, the Arch Angel I’ve read about in the Old Testament?”
“Yes, and we've both come to help you.”
“Help me with what,” I responded?
“Deliverance.”
I could not take my eyes off the warrior, but responded, “Deliverance from what? I don’t understand.”
“That’s what I’ve come to show you.”
His hand was still resting on my shoulder and I felt a gentle squeeze as he said, “Look into the mirror.”
He did not answer, but looked to Methuselah and asked, “Shall we?”
Methuselah responded, “Peter, sit down we need to show you something.”
I replied, “Not sure I want to go there again.”
“Work with us Pete, we’re trying to help.”
I had already witnessed enough to guarantee a life time of insomnia, but figured I may as well go all in. I must admit, it was frightening and I was feeling it in my stomach, but swallowed hard and sat back down. Methuselah leaned over my left shoulder and whispered, “Just watch.” And as on cue, the bartender took a step back and said, “My name is Michael.” Then began to morph into another creature.
It started in his eyes with his pupils taking on an appearance of fire. Then suddenly a great light pierced the ceiling and enveloped the man with a brightness unlike anything I had ever seen. So bright I was forced to turn my head and raise a forearm to shield my own vision.
I felt the warmth from his presence as he lit the entire room with a heavenly radiance. Then I felt Methuselah’s hand fall on my right shoulder and remembered how his touch enabled me to see into the spiritual realm earlier. So, I dropped my forearm and looked upon the immortal’s presence.
He stood before me like something out of a graphic novel, having a bright, white like appearance. His eyes glowed and his body appeared chiseled. On his side hung a large sword that nearly reached the floor. It looked like a claymore, but like his eyes, held a fiery appearance. He represented power and authority. It was a terrifying sight to behold. I sit before him speechless and recalled that in the Scriptures most humans were afraid when encountering the angelic and were often told, “Fear not!" Now I understand why.
Methuselah asked, “Peter, are you okay?”
I trembled and shuddered, “I… I… I think so.”
“Peter, he’s a warrior.”
“Is this Michael, the Arch Angel I’ve read about in the Old Testament?”
“Yes, and we've both come to help you.”
“Help me with what,” I responded?
“Deliverance.”
I could not take my eyes off the warrior, but responded, “Deliverance from what? I don’t understand.”
“That’s what I’ve come to show you.”
His hand was still resting on my shoulder and I felt a gentle squeeze as he said, “Look into the mirror.”
Monday, April 3, 2017
House of Spirits (Part V / These Chains)
These
Chains
I wondered what could be more unsettling than looking upon the demonic, but then watched eight spirits circle the room and come to rest on the backs of the eight remaining patrons[CD1] . Each wrapping dark arms around the person to which it had laid claim, then looking at Methuselah and declaring, in deep guttural voice, “Mine.”
Cold chills ran down both arms and I felt the hair lifting on the back of my neck.
“What are they doing,” I asked.
“The same thing they’ve always done.”
“Which is?”
“Holding people in bondage.”
Then I asked, “When these people leave, are the spirits riding out on their backs?”
“Of course, they rode in on their backs.”
“Are these people possessed?”
“No, but they are oppressed.”
I responded, “The difference being?”
“When a person is oppressed the demons are tempting, tormenting and harassing. But, to say one is possessed indicates the spirit has taken complete control of all behavior.”
“What brings it on?”
“Different things.”
“Such as?”
“Well for instance, the man sitting at the bar looking all business—his name is Thomas. He never received his father’s blessing and has spent the greater part of his adult life discontent and chasing something he cannot identify. Now he’s is an over achiever, plagued by a spirit of Inferiority.”
I responded,” And the lady at the end of the bar?”
“She got pregnant at sixteen and an abortion because she was ashamed and afraid. Then her self-righteous parents kicked her out of the house when they learned of the choices she made. Having no place to go, the kid turned to prostitution, then fell into addiction. Now Amanda spends most of her time wrestling with guilt and dealing with a spirit of Self-Hatred.”
“And the couple sitting at the table?”
“He was staying overnight at a friend’s house where he was introduced to internet porn. He was only thirteen years old and instantly hooked. Now Brock is chained to a spirit of lust and struggles with a sex addiction that’s cost him his marriage and job.
“The young lady sitting at his table?”
Her name is Beth and she lost her parents in a car accident when she was Twelve. There was no other family, so she landed in foster care where she was passed from home to home and as a result struggles with a fear of abandonment.”
“And the others?”
“They’re all broken and they all have a few bad chapters.”
“So, are you suggesting every bad story is a product of demonic influence?”
“No, of course not. As I said earlier; some people are living with the choices they’ve made, and many are living with choices others have made, and if that’s not enough, life is just difficult.”
“Pete, you already know the answer to most of these questions. I mean, it’s not been that long since you walked away.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I think you know.”
I dropped my head and responded, “I can’t deal with this right now. Please, let’s not talk about the decisions I’ve made.”
“You have to deal with it sometime.”
I pulled my hand from his grasp and said, “Not now!” Methuselah looked away as I stood up and walked over to the bar. It was too much to take in. Too much to process. There were too many memories and too much hurt to revisit. I asked the bar Tender for another shot of Seagram, thinking it may settle my nerves.
When he sit the glass in front of me I told him to make it a double and as he poured the drink I looked around the room and watched as the others were leaving. I shook my head in disbelief as I considered they were all bound to dark spirits, but the image was burned into my head and I knew it was real.
I turned up the drink—feeling the burn of whisky passing over taste buds and when it hit my stomach, I caught the second burn and took a deep breath.
“Feel better?”
It was Methuselah standing behind me. I responded, “Not yet, but one more may help.”
I pushed my glass toward the Bartender, but was surprised when he shook his head no.
I responded, “I’m not finished.”
“Maybe not, but its five past two and the state of North Carolina says we’re done.”
Looking past the bartender I read the words, House of Spirits. They were etched in blue cursive across a large mirror behind the liquor counter. Then I remembered the blue neon sign hanging in the front window. I initially thought the name of the bar was a reference to bottled spirits, but after the things I had witnessed believed it was more of a subliminal message, speaking to the dark spirits that also dwelled in and around the area.
I had walked in after work with intentions of having a couple of drinks and returning home for an early evening, but in the process met a celestial being who had a pretty good grasp on my former life and was aware of the decisions I’d made. If that were not enough to shake things up, he had also unveiled a demonic presence.
“Talk to me Peter.”
I looked up and into the mirror to see a reflection of my confused self and Methuselah standing behind me. All the others were gone—only the angel, the bartender and I remained.
“There’s nothing to say.”
“I’ve haven’t shown you anything that you did not already know—at least in theory. I mean all those years of Bible and Theology informed you of the demonic. You’ve also dealt with the spirit realm in your previous ministry.”
“Yes, but this is different. To actually look into that dimension, to see the spirits! To hear them hiss and sigh! I could smell the sulfur! Their right out of the pit of hell. And to see them riding on the backs of those people. Those folks are living in bondage and don’t know it. I wanted to help, but couldn’t”
“Peter, it’s not always been that way with you.”
“No. There was a time when I would have taken authority…” I didn’t finish my sentence, but dropped my head and left those words hanging in the air.
“But what?” Methuselah asked.
I did not want to go any further with the conversation. I had seen and heard enough. I needed an escape hatch, so I got up from the barstool, then reached into my pocket to pay for my drink and as I done so, the bartender said, “Keep your money. You can pay me by answering his question.”
“Excuse me?”
He repeated, “You can pay me by answering his question.”
I looked over my shoulder to see Methuselah gesture approval by raising his eyebrows.
Then I looked back at the bartender and said, “So, the two of you are tag teaming me.”
To which he replied, “We’re only here to help.”
I considered the bartender’s response and connected a couple more of the dots.
“So, let me guess, you’re really not a bartender.”
“I am tonight.”
“So, Bartender, what’s your name?”
I wondered what could be more unsettling than looking upon the demonic, but then watched eight spirits circle the room and come to rest on the backs of the eight remaining patrons[CD1] . Each wrapping dark arms around the person to which it had laid claim, then looking at Methuselah and declaring, in deep guttural voice, “Mine.”
Cold chills ran down both arms and I felt the hair lifting on the back of my neck.
“What are they doing,” I asked.
“The same thing they’ve always done.”
“Which is?”
“Holding people in bondage.”
Then I asked, “When these people leave, are the spirits riding out on their backs?”
“Of course, they rode in on their backs.”
“Are these people possessed?”
“No, but they are oppressed.”
I responded, “The difference being?”
“When a person is oppressed the demons are tempting, tormenting and harassing. But, to say one is possessed indicates the spirit has taken complete control of all behavior.”
“What brings it on?”
“Different things.”
“Such as?”
“Well for instance, the man sitting at the bar looking all business—his name is Thomas. He never received his father’s blessing and has spent the greater part of his adult life discontent and chasing something he cannot identify. Now he’s is an over achiever, plagued by a spirit of Inferiority.”
I responded,” And the lady at the end of the bar?”
“She got pregnant at sixteen and an abortion because she was ashamed and afraid. Then her self-righteous parents kicked her out of the house when they learned of the choices she made. Having no place to go, the kid turned to prostitution, then fell into addiction. Now Amanda spends most of her time wrestling with guilt and dealing with a spirit of Self-Hatred.”
“And the couple sitting at the table?”
“He was staying overnight at a friend’s house where he was introduced to internet porn. He was only thirteen years old and instantly hooked. Now Brock is chained to a spirit of lust and struggles with a sex addiction that’s cost him his marriage and job.
“The young lady sitting at his table?”
Her name is Beth and she lost her parents in a car accident when she was Twelve. There was no other family, so she landed in foster care where she was passed from home to home and as a result struggles with a fear of abandonment.”
“And the others?”
“They’re all broken and they all have a few bad chapters.”
“So, are you suggesting every bad story is a product of demonic influence?”
“No, of course not. As I said earlier; some people are living with the choices they’ve made, and many are living with choices others have made, and if that’s not enough, life is just difficult.”
“Pete, you already know the answer to most of these questions. I mean, it’s not been that long since you walked away.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I think you know.”
I dropped my head and responded, “I can’t deal with this right now. Please, let’s not talk about the decisions I’ve made.”
“You have to deal with it sometime.”
I pulled my hand from his grasp and said, “Not now!” Methuselah looked away as I stood up and walked over to the bar. It was too much to take in. Too much to process. There were too many memories and too much hurt to revisit. I asked the bar Tender for another shot of Seagram, thinking it may settle my nerves.
When he sit the glass in front of me I told him to make it a double and as he poured the drink I looked around the room and watched as the others were leaving. I shook my head in disbelief as I considered they were all bound to dark spirits, but the image was burned into my head and I knew it was real.
I turned up the drink—feeling the burn of whisky passing over taste buds and when it hit my stomach, I caught the second burn and took a deep breath.
“Feel better?”
It was Methuselah standing behind me. I responded, “Not yet, but one more may help.”
I pushed my glass toward the Bartender, but was surprised when he shook his head no.
I responded, “I’m not finished.”
“Maybe not, but its five past two and the state of North Carolina says we’re done.”
Looking past the bartender I read the words, House of Spirits. They were etched in blue cursive across a large mirror behind the liquor counter. Then I remembered the blue neon sign hanging in the front window. I initially thought the name of the bar was a reference to bottled spirits, but after the things I had witnessed believed it was more of a subliminal message, speaking to the dark spirits that also dwelled in and around the area.
I had walked in after work with intentions of having a couple of drinks and returning home for an early evening, but in the process met a celestial being who had a pretty good grasp on my former life and was aware of the decisions I’d made. If that were not enough to shake things up, he had also unveiled a demonic presence.
“Talk to me Peter.”
I looked up and into the mirror to see a reflection of my confused self and Methuselah standing behind me. All the others were gone—only the angel, the bartender and I remained.
“There’s nothing to say.”
“I’ve haven’t shown you anything that you did not already know—at least in theory. I mean all those years of Bible and Theology informed you of the demonic. You’ve also dealt with the spirit realm in your previous ministry.”
“Yes, but this is different. To actually look into that dimension, to see the spirits! To hear them hiss and sigh! I could smell the sulfur! Their right out of the pit of hell. And to see them riding on the backs of those people. Those folks are living in bondage and don’t know it. I wanted to help, but couldn’t”
“Peter, it’s not always been that way with you.”
“No. There was a time when I would have taken authority…” I didn’t finish my sentence, but dropped my head and left those words hanging in the air.
“But what?” Methuselah asked.
I did not want to go any further with the conversation. I had seen and heard enough. I needed an escape hatch, so I got up from the barstool, then reached into my pocket to pay for my drink and as I done so, the bartender said, “Keep your money. You can pay me by answering his question.”
“Excuse me?”
He repeated, “You can pay me by answering his question.”
I looked over my shoulder to see Methuselah gesture approval by raising his eyebrows.
Then I looked back at the bartender and said, “So, the two of you are tag teaming me.”
To which he replied, “We’re only here to help.”
I considered the bartender’s response and connected a couple more of the dots.
“So, let me guess, you’re really not a bartender.”
“I am tonight.”
“So, Bartender, what’s your name?”
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