Threads of this, crumbs of that. My life has been a grasping at small bits. I know the things I like, but which circumstances keep me from. Nobody is paid to read only, and writing brings in so very little money. I’ve read Edgar Allan Poe since I was a child, but I haven’t read all of his written works. (The same is true of the many other writers I admire.) When I wrote Nightmares with the Bible, I tried to tie the theme of demons to Poe. I began a chapter with an epigram from “The Raven”—“And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming.” At this point in my life I had not read, or if I had I’d forgotten, “Alone.” Not published in his lifetime, Poe wrote the poem at 21. It ends with words that would’ve been appropriate for my Nightmares venture:
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass’d me flying by—
From the thunder, and the storm—
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view—
Some printed editions end the poem with a period. The ambiguity of that final em-dash, however, would’ve made particularly well the point I was struggling to convey. Demons are not what we think they are. As I continue to read about The Exorcist and its impact, it becomes clear that media mediates reality. That view of demons has become canonical, but many, from Poe both backward and forward, have wrestled with them. Not every entity with which we struggle through the night ends up blessing us in the morning, disjointed hip or not. “Demon” is a very slippery word. And concept. In a materialistic world we boldly claim there are no such things. As Poe wrote, “Of a demon in my view—”
There’s more going on beneath the surface than most people would be able to guess. This is perhaps why I have a penchant for staring at the ocean. Misunderstood, certainly. But never, I hope, shallow. There are great depths to be explored, but as the ocean teaches us, humans can’t stand the immense pressure at the bottom of the sea. No, our lives are more like the bits and pieces of seashells plucked from beaches. We don’t have the whole picture. All writing reflects a stage on a journey. Those who embark must earn their keep as they go. And finding validation after the fact is one of the small joys of life that keep the traveler moving forward.
