Dancing with the Devil

“You’re angelically oppressed.” My teacher spoke in a low voice and kept his eyes from meeting mine. This man had been my mentor. He had all the answers and this was all he could say?
What!? How could this happen?
I had spent the last four years of my life as a satanist. I had given myself completely. He, or at lease his demons, had taken up residence in me. I had experienced their presence and their power.
Somehow that autumn, while studying to be a child psychologist at Ball State University, I experienced something different. I felt, at least spiritually, what seemed to be an impenetrable wall in front of me.
This wall completely locked me out of the demonic life I pursued. No ritual or ceremony could re-connect me with my demonic masters; I felt dry and brittle. I could watch but not truly participate in the practice of my coven.
I became painfully detached from what had fed me for the last four years. Depression like a cold wet fog began to seep into my soul. How I hated it. How I longed to find an answer.
So to hear, from the very person who introduced me to all-mighty satan that angels, who served the God I hated, stood in my way made my blood boil. I flew into a maddened rage. This God had no real power, or so I thought. I would throw myself more completely into my devotion to Lucifer.
I did everything I could. I mustered every aspect of rebellion in my heart. I set out to be as destructive as I could toward anyone or anything that walked in my way. I began to call upon the demonic in a way that I had not practiced in the previous four years.
Up to this point in my life as a Satanist, I had been an angel of light. I cared about the younger members of our coven and listened to their problems. I did not hurt anyone but simply manipulated the weak to do my bidding.
Now I would work the “nice guy” out of me. Why should I care about anyone? From now on my coven members could take care of themselves. My only desire was to reflect my demonic companions and crucify my human heart.
A good way to do that would be to curse people just for the fun of it. So I did. I would pick a person, a random person, pronounce a curse upon them and send a demon or two after them.
I would go on walks and actively pray to demons; giving them my heart’s desire so that the desires of my heart would die. The greatest desire of all was to find a life-long companion who loved me unconditionally. I wanted a wife and a family. But even this I was willing to sacrifice to show my commitment to my master.
And still the wall that blocked my cancerous growth continued to stand in the way.
How could this be? How cold this God of the bible; this weak Jesus who my master had killed, be able to stop satan? The thought hit me like a sledge hammer one afternoon. I walked along the Muncie river trying unsuccessfully to focus on demonic prayer. The question had too much power. I tried to shove it away but the evidence stood out like the horrid neon clothing so popular at the time. I could not ignore it.

Excerpt from my new book Dancing with the Devil to be published Fall 2012 Charisma House Publishers