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?”
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