A case of possible demon possession—not exactly what I was expecting when asked to assist my colleague, Monica Jenson.
It would be unsettling dealing with a Roman Catholic priest who under hypnosis was speaking in an unknown language.
And given the fact that I had the ability to see into the spirit realm meant the experience could be very graphic.
The mere thought of it made my skin crawl.
Fortunately, Monica had taped the session with the priest speaking under hypnosis,and gave me a copy.
I, in turn, took the tape to the university and gave it to my colleague, Raj Sharma, in the Languages Department.
He had it for two days before he finally called me in.
“It’s ancient Chaldean,” he said matter of factly.
“Can you translate it?”
“Already have. Here’s a transcription. It’s a set speech of cursing and insult—usually spoken to an enemy before entering into battle.”
I read the script and feel the back of my neck tingle.
I am Marduk, the Great Dragon. I long to satisfy my anger and ascend to my rightful place. My body is powerful and my weapons unyielding. I have subdued my enemies and my hands are appointed for war.
I thanked my Raj and returned to my office with a sense of foreboding.
Despite my initial feelings, I sensed this case was going to involve more than just a simple adjustment.
Father Tom Connors was a likeable man with a great smile and a firm handshake. He looked like a football linebacker, but was in fact a scholar—a student of antiquities who had recently returned form a dig about 50 miles south of Baghdad.
“A dangerous place to go for a vacation, Father.”
He smiled that easy smile of his. “I’m intrigued by ancient Babylon. We uncovered a cave there that turned out to be an ancient temple. A colleague’s still trying to decipher some of the Cuneiform tablets we found.”
I scribbled a note and then tried to catch him off balance by suddenly switching the topic.
“When did your panic attacks first begin?”
“They started in Iraq and gradually worsened. By the time I got home, I was a mess.”
“Besides the palpitations and the sweats, do you notice any other symptoms?”
He hesitated. “Nothing clinical.”
I sensed he was holding back. “There’s something else bothering you though, isn’t there? Something you’re embarrassed to mention.”
He nodded. “It seems trivial really—inconsequential, I suppose.”
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that, Father? What’s been troubling you?”
“It’s silly—foolish, really. It’s just that I’ll be in the rectory and hear a dim sound, which could be the furnace or the fridge humming—I don’t know. It’ll sound like a humming and if I listen real closely, it’ll sound like someone’s left a radio on somewhere in the house.”
“What makes you think this is significant?”
“It’s just a feeling—call it a discernment. Once I went all over the house looking for the source. It’s like an incessant whispering—very quiet, but it’s there. It’s quite unnerving.”
As he spoke, the area around his chair perceptibly darkened, as if an invisible hand took a ruler and a black ink pen and began drawing innumerable, fine, parallel lines.
I had experienced phenomena like this before and patiently waited the manifestation.
Suddenly, the lines twisted and spiraled like a flock of birds in flight, all in one motion-they coalesced to an image, not of a person, but a grotesque dark entity, at least eight feet tall, standing behind the priest and bending over him.
I must have recoiled because Tom looked at me startled.
The beast behind him had morphed into a huge dragon with black scales and yellow-green eyes. I sensed the viciousness and malefic intent in his stare.
I’m not sure how long the manifestation persisted, but finally Tom spoke and caused me to look at him.
The Beast had vanished.
“What did you see?” he asked, terror plainly written on his face.
I told him the truth. He was shaken. But strangely he seemed more able to deal with what I revealed than what he feared.
I sent him to Franz Koch, a Jesuit priest and specialist in demonology. He told me Tom was not possessed but under demonic influence.
He prayed with Tom and counselled him and last I heard, Tom no longer suffered from oppression and his anxiety and panic attacks had disappeared.
Monica was delighted, but I gave her a slightly altered version of my session with Tom. I pitched it as a form of religious and existential angst.
She assumed Tom needed a doctor for the soul and the intervention of the Divine Physician, and I didn’t dissuade her.
One thing I discovered is this unique talent I have for scrying and looking into the spirit realm is not as benign as I supposed.
I’m still not a believer—not even close—but I don’t take these things as lightly as I did before.
I have a new respect for my ability and no longer see it as a portal to the paranormal—it’s more than that.
There’s the undeniable existence of the supernatural—not just some sixth sense or power of our mind.
What I’m saying is there are entities out there that are ancient and precede us.
We can dismiss them and categorize them as syndromes and complexes, but that would be too easy. I prefer to view them as natural—supernatural entities existing and interacting with us naturally, the way we interact with each other.
It’s unsettling, but undeniable. Naturally supernatural.
As for accepting them—that’s an entirely other matter.
