To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.
―Matthew Arnold
Off-Grid Refuge
I had known Breton for ten years before I discovered his secret. He had been my mentor all through university and although I had a distaste for religion and spirituality, I appreciated the wisdom he had gleaned from deep studies in theology, philosophy and Literature.
He was a campus legend and his course in Religious Themes in Imaginative Literature drew students from various disciplines across campus including many from other colleges who came just to audit his course.
I spent hours sitting in his main floor office in a large Victorian house directly across from the college library.
It wasn't just students though who availed themselves of Breton's counselling, many famous authors and authorities in various disciplines made the trek downtown to seek his advice in the confidentiality of his private chamber.
But for me, our relationship was different. I enjoyed the privilege of sitting out on his large wooden verandah, sipping tea and watching rainstorms.
I loved the man.
I recall one late October afternoon when I stopped by Breton's office on my way home. I thought I'd drop by for a chat preferably over a cup of creamed Earl Grey tea.
The door to his 'inner sanctum' as he facetiously called it was left ajar, but the old priest was nowhere to be found.
I decided to go in and wait and see if he turned up. Breton also had assumed the duty of house don to a group of American students who lived in residence and it inevitably caused him to be inconvenienced by having to deal with their angst and occasional pranks. I assumed this was the case on that particular day.
While sitting in the leather sofa chair opposite his desk I happened to notice a zippered leather kit with various religious articles inside such as a crucifix, chalice and aspergillum used to sprinkle holy water, but what caught my eye was a small book entitled “Exorcisms and Related Supplications”.
It was then I realized the whispered rumours were true―Breton was the arch-diocesan exorcist.
At the same time I began to wonder about his interest in me.
I'm not for one moment conjecturing that he thought me demonized or oppressed, because over the years he would enquire about my interest in taking courses in Latin and I knew he was wondering if I had a vocation to the priesthood. Well, I did everything in my power to convince him such was not the case.
"Besides," I taunted one fall afternoon, "why would God be interested in me?"
He simply flashed me his toothy grin and growled in his Brooklyn accent, "Because he's fond of you and the good ones always give him trouble."
I would have preferred he put it some other way because his remark has haunted me to this day, but even Breton finally relented.
"But don't be concerned, Zach," he told me one day, "you don't have to worry about wearing your collar backwards because if you did, you'd end up a hoodlum priest."
And again, he laughed. It didn't seem half as funny to me. You'd think I'd be pleased, but It was really no compliment.
Now I needed his wisdom. I was actually contemplating making the drive into the city to visit him, however, fear made me revise my plan deciding it was too risky.
Fortunately before leaving for the cabin I invested in several burner phones and intended to use one in order to confer with Breton.
And that's what I did―I drove to Bobcaygeon, a nearby town and phoned from there, planning afterwards to destroy the cell, doubly ensuring no one could trace it.
"Zach, my friend, how are you doing?"
Hearing Breton's raucous voice on the other end of the line was reassuring.
"Are you using a secure line?" he asked.
"It's a burner, Father, and I'll destroy it right after. I need advice―do you have time?"
"For you, always." From the tone of his voice, I could picture his smile and it moved me, but I needed to keep the call short.
"I'm lying low with two friends and they've both experienced what they call demonic visions. I'm still having night terrors about the Beast. What do you think is going on here?"
There was a slight pause and then Breton answered sombrely.
"I can tell you for certain, Zach―it's warfare. There's a battle for your soul and it's linked to the battle in the heavenlies. The powers of darkness view you as a threat―call it the cabal or Satan, it doesn't matter. You're in real danger."
I didn't want to hear that because it made me feel my future looked bleak.
"It's heavy news but it's not all black," Breton reassured me. "Obviously whatever investigation you're pursuing has a real chance of taking down the cabal and restoring some sanity to our nation. You have to hang in and stand your ground. I'm praying for you―that's why the demons are outside your door and not inside you. I've created a place of refuge. Just stay focussed on the enemy and don't end up fighting with your friends. That's Satan's strategy―he's the accuser of the brethren. Hang in and stay strong. And now, I'd advise you to hang up and get the hell out of wherever you are right now."
Breton was irascible and just hearing his tough, street-smart attitude brought a smile to my face and a tear to my eye.
I longed for those times sitting out on his porch, often at his feet like a disciple, eagerly awaiting his gems of wisdom.
Would those times ever return again? I sincerely hoped so, but in the meantime, we had a trial by ordeal we'd have to get through and a planet to save from the Beast's malign intentions.
And yes, Breton finally convinced me we were indeed in a spiritual battle against unseen forces intent on our destruction.