Old possess-it-all!
When I hear the phrase “to be possessed,” I think of those strange bedtime stories my father used to read to my sister and me with such great enthusiasm. What started as a bedtime story turned into a nightmare tale. That little book was full of “true” events falling under the category of the occult. Neither my sister nor I liked those stories.
I always felt caught between two chairs — fascination and dread.
Well then, good night.
Some of these stories told of people being possessed. No, not by drugs or other harmful things, but by an evil spirit, or by Beelzebub himself. And what helps against this kind of possession? Ah yes, an exorcist must be called in.
Is that even a recognized profession, or just an invention dreamed up by enterprising businesspeople? Well, the trouble with occupations like this is the lack of clear facts to build a diagnosis on.
Who is the evil spirit?
Where does it come from?
What abilities does it have?
From the diagnosis comes the treatment. Sounds logical. Except: no one has ever had the spirit on the phone to ask.
Factual and practical.
The more practical side of possession is addictive behaviour. Not the “whoever searches long, shall find” kind of Sucht — that would apply more to research scientists.
The craving for stimulation, acceptance, and other obsessions is nothing I’d recommend to my friends lightly.
That said, there are the possessed who walk their path of applied obsession quite legitimately and legally. Artists, athletes, and scientists who’ve devoted themselves to an idea. These possessed souls give all their time and attention to the object of their desire.
Creating a work of art.
Standing on the Olympic podium.
Finding a cure for cancer.
Does this kind of possession count as illness, or as an extreme hunger to reach a goal? The lines are probably blurry. No one has ever drawn a border between madness and a Nobel Prize.
And then there’s that strange kind of possession that ends in extreme wealth.
Are these perhaps the truly poor creatures, the ones who must define themselves through the piling up of money and power?
Something must have gone wrong somewhere along the road for these possessed. It’s hard to imagine that these strivers after riches could have had a more or less healthy, normal youth. Weren’t these people too busy hoarding and dealing to attend to the important things of our mostly short lives?
I don’t know. I only suspect — and that’s enough to keep me lying awake at night.
Yes, I am, again and again, possessed.
And I enjoy this state.
Only late did I realize that this possession burdens me just as much as it delights me. My possessed self probably can’t be helped much by therapy. It’s all far too much fun to be treated out of existence.
The good part?
It’s chosen freely.
I am possessed by ideas, held captive by visions, and yet I see myself as a free spirit.
I see the courageous.
I see the loving.
I see the hope-makers.
I see the helpers.
I see the humanists.
I see communities.
I see change for the better.
I see fairness.
I see peace.
I see the possessed.
What on earth is wrong with me?
A lot. And that’s a good thing.
