The Priest: Creating and Breathing Life into a Literary Character
Posted: Saturday, January 14, 2012
by Paul Schroeder
alien / demonic attachment
In Lynne, Oklahoma, at the Church of Martyrs diocese, Father Daniel Mahoney, a priest, was sitting in the rectory library.
He possessed a fine, beatific quality delicate for all his great size and his enormous eyes, far-looking blue circles of innocence, especially when seen against the black cloth of a priest's habit, were an impressive sight.
"Such strangeness and such mysterious facts, those sudden shadows that fall in broad daylight when there is neither any cloudiness nor an eclipse.
The typical case is one that occurred on December 20, 1484, in Preston, England: toward noon, the sky became completely black, to the point that animals lay down and went to sleep.
Twenty minutes later, the sun reappeared. We know of several hundred cases of this type, without having any explanation for them.
It has been suggested that they are caused by thick clouds of smoke from forest fires, but generally there has been no sign of forest fires at the time of these incidents, and when there has been, these smoke clouds have never been observed between the spot where the fire took place and the place where the phenomenon occurred.
The strangest of these darkening phenomena occurred in London on August 19, 1763.
The most amazing thing about this occurrence was that the shadows seemed to have been completely impenetrable by lantern or candlelight.
“Going to church doesn't make you a Christian any more than standing in a garage makes you a car.”
Outside, the rain poured like an overhead river from dark skies; the streets were ponds and small lakes which crept steadily to cover gardens and sidewalks.
The priest took the subway home and walked upstairs to his fourth floor walk up apartment.
In the sink under a dripping, dripping, dripping faucet, were old sardine tins, cans of half eaten food, half- smoked cigar butts and dirty dishes.
The room reeked of life lived too long with the windows closed.
He put on the television and sat on the end of the bed, removing his priestly vestments, mouthing aloud the names like a holy litany: "cassock, dalmatics, tunic, surplice, maniple, amice, alb, and cincture."
When he wanted something from God or he was in trouble, he recited the words as his own private prayer.
He lit a remnant of a cigar and put the butt out on the frame of the mattress.
He swung his legs to the floor and stepped barefoot onto a large cockroach.
White- faced, he sat on the bed again and scraped the remnants of the cockroach off of his foot with a matchbook cover, and grinned with the deeper muscles of his face.
He took a syringe from under his pillow and stuck it in his arm.
He was dreaming the same dream again.
He was walking the crowded cobblestone streets to Golgotha; in the angry crowd that thronged the crowded streets he saw his parents, their heads shaven, their purple gums conversing in clicks like bushmen.
He woke with a start.
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Top-level comments on this article: (3 total)Interesting....and seemingly delusions or dreams of grandeur. Or was the priest of two personalities? hmmPlease log in to respond to this comment.Aren't we all, of many personalities, made?
Thank you for reading and commenting, Elle.
Affection,
PaulPlease log in to respond to this comment.
Hi Paul this was a great piece, although I expected nothing other. This dream, this priest, brought back memories of a one I knew so well called"Father Daley". You so described the same man I knew in this dream. I hasten to add that I looked up to him regardless of his robes smelling of cigars and not having a cleaner etc. As for the syringe, that never happened. Well I'd like to think it didn't because he was my hero. Thank you for sharing.
Keep well Paul
KacyPlease log in to respond to this comment.Anti heroes are so much more fascinating, and more human, aren't they?
Thank you, for reeading and commenting, Kacy.
Affection,
PaulPlease log in to respond to this comment.
Hi Paul.
This is a really great narrative. I could see the whole thing and almost smell it ... it was so well described. Thanks!
Hugs,
DiannePlease log in to respond to this comment.Priests can be solitary figures quite outside of us all and yet subject to the same sins and frailties.
Thank you, Dianne; I could become addicted to your hugs but Bernd would start looking for me with a horsewhip and gun!Please log in to respond to this comment.
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