|Posted by Donna Dawson on November 9, 2013 at 8:10 PM|
Those in the know say 'it' but I say 'he'. He is, after all, a spirit though his characteristics aren't remotely as awe inspiring as that of the spirit bearing the title 'Holy'. This spirit--this 'he' who is too often benignly called 'it'--worms his way into the shadowy places of my mind with the intention of side-railing my meager faith. The vague recollections of infancy remind me that he has been with me--hovering--for more than a handful of years.
There's a monster under my bed! The piping voice screams down the passages of time from my youthful throat to my aging ear. It is his--this subtle spirit's--debut performance enacted on the mind of a toddler but he doesn't stop there. He drags that child through the possibilities of things that might happen, that might hurt, that might undermine the belief in being made in the Image.
But they don't like me. They might hurt me. He speaks lies to the little darling--lies that become truths because the insecurities they cause are worn about the face for bullies to see. I gape at the growing child as she--as I--hurtle in the downward spiral that is the belief of the lie. The spirit eggs me on. He sees my doubt and tweaks it.
Don't step outside the door. Something bad might happen. He has carefully groomed my terrors hoping that I will cling to them and in doing so, remain chained in the dark.
But this spirit--he knows his expiry date. He knows he is bound by the Word who became flesh and who will come again. He hopes against hope that the child traversing through the elements of time will not become aware of his powerlessness. He strokes the belief that if he can hover over my darkness that I will not see that my faithlessness is the fuel that feeds him.
It is in the dark journey that this spirit--the spirit of Fear--meets his match. That other spirit--the Holy one--is at work too. He also hovers waiting for me to reach beyond fear's deception and take hold of His hand.
He calls to me with honey soaked syllables. Words that caress and coddle me. Words oozing with love. It is enough to crack open the sable box of my mind so shafts of silver/gold can pierce the corners. I choose. I see the familiar darkness--predictable and explicable. I see the light--unfathomable and beyond description. One choice is easy. The other choice leaves me with unanswered questions.
I abandon the easy path and explode out of the darkness into the light. Much is left to faith--faith in the spirit called 'Holy' but I am no longer living under the lie fed me by the spirit of Fear. He has been vanquished.
I step outside my door and suck in a lungful of sweet crisp air. The monsters under my bed are laid to rest. The bullies that struck terror are nowhere to be seen. With faith forging the way, I let the spirit who is Holy light the path on which I tread no longer shadowed by the lies of Fear. I choose life.