The Demon in the Garden

The Demon in the Garden

By Lucy Hinton, Late October 2011

Picture: Archetypes by Chris Miles

Will we find each other, when anger has us waving sticks

in the darkness,

poking our tear-passioned eyes out on each other’s weapons of defense?

In the Garden of Love everything is forgiven, everything blessed,

until my beloved himself becomes possessed

by the demon who believes me to be his enemy

because he thinks I make him weak

through his own heart’s caring.

But though the demon forces his hands and his words to be

cold as ice-daggers,

and has him fling all tender objects upon the sharp rocks

like the smashed skulls of children;

the demon loves him.

He knows of the pain, contortions and loss,

and in the only way a monster can,

the demon seeks to defend his friend

from further injury.

Yet because he is a demon

he wears a heavy helmet, covets his position,

and maybe even

quietly conceals a streak

of appetite

for the darkly liberating flame

and flavour

within violent destruction.

I have a demon too,

hiding in my shadow, though I know her not.

Determined to keep me safe

she has me do things, say things, suppress things,

that are meant to help me, meant to make me strong,

yet that make me weak too,

and have me lose my footing, and worst of all, entrap me.

So let us sit around the fire, you and me,

and invite the demons to join us,

to share with us the secrets they guard, and for us to share our own.

Let us see how the evening goes

with their dark eyes sparkling too across the flames, amidst our hearth of light.

And what if, what if, something magical happens…?

What then? What then...?

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So let us sit around the fire, you and me,

and invite the demons to join us,

to share with us their wisdom, and for us to share our own.

Let us see how the evening goes

with their dark eyes sparkling at us across the flames.

And what if, what if, something magical happens…?

What then? What then...?

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Over the summer I’ve been to various events with a lot of anarchist groups and a lot of road protesters, many of whom I admire, but I have to say look, with the best will in the world, it’s only when your interior king or queen has died that you start giving over that kind of power to the kind of idiots we see in government at this point. In actual fact you want to reclaim some of your grandeur, reclaim the belief, call certain parts of yourself out of exile. Many stories end in a wedding, they end in a wedding for one reason, the storyteller is saying to you, call to the wedding the parts of you that have got edited and cut away as you age, bring it all back to the feast. - Martin Shaw

Paradoxically. That’s how they do it. Paradoxically. The God of the storytellers is a character called Hermes. If you are in touch with Hermes, Hermes has something called the third ear in a conversation. As soon as things polarise, as soon as it’s one way or this way, you’ve lost Hermes, he’s not there. What I feel very strongly about, as soon as I feel that polarisation happening, I’m anxious, because the thing that stands underneath, the Roman name for Hermes is Mercury so if you have a mercurial conversation it means it has energy in it, it’s exciting, there’s possibilities and ideas. Every time that happens a god is in the room, so there’s going to be paradox.

A test for this maturity lies in one's capacity to deal with anxiety, ambiguity, and ambivalence. Hollis writes, "The more mature psyche is able to sustain the tension of opposites and contain conflict longer, thereby allowing the developmental and revelatory potential of the issue to emerge."