Exorcism of Childhood Saintsv

By: Victoria G. Smith

Why do you stare at me with blank eyes, you
whitewashed, broken idols of centuries past,
bought for pennies on the dollar at some antique
auction? What do you say to me now, you mute
legacies of some colonial ruler?
What prayers did you hear in vain from the lips
of the oppressed, those that suffered their souls
for a piece of paradise promised, then stolen by the
white man—that self-anointed savior of our souls?
I pray, spare me from your odious charm—that
opium of the mind that makes mankind blind to
man’s inhumanity to man, all in the name of God.
I pray, be gone, Satan!
What salvation did you offer to the desperate; the
sick of mind, body, soul; the innocents sacrificed
to your priests? I pray, be gone, Satan—lest I toss
you into the sanctifying fires of my temple, and
there, to ashes remain forever!
Let the evil spirits be cleansed from you, that you
may whisper to me the hopes of the afflicted, the
voices of the forgotten, the yearnings of souls that
still roam the Earth, seeking freedom from the
shackles of their forced baptism.
Now, I see the compassionate Lady among you—
the Mother of us all, the female god-nature denied
by men, inherent in our dreams of “God-in-us.”
Behold the humble Master among you—who
preached that love is the only true religion.
Let us pray together.
And be at peace

Poet’s Notes: A few years ago, I was fortunate to acquire a set of priceless antique Philippine “santos” at a New York City antique dealer’s auction. They came with a now rare 1963 edition of Fernando Zobel de Ayala’s coffee table book, Philippine Religious Imagery. Tagged with post-it bookmarks were pages that showed photographs of statues similar to those I had won. These hand-carved wooden statues of saints could be as old as two to three hundred years old, and may have come directly from colonial Spain through the galleon trades. I remember these were highly desirable antique collectibles by the rich and famous in the Philippines about thirty years ago. Such demand sadly created a black market for these artifacts then, fuelling a stealing frenzy of the various revered “santos” from many Spanish-era Philippine Catholic churches. Having now acquired them at pittance auction price in America, I felt strongly I had been chosen to be a caretaker of part of the beloved heritage of my native country. But the awe I initially felt in owning them gradually changed into a strange feeling of repugnance—repugnance for what these statues ultimately symbolized: the cruelties of our Spanish colonial rulers and the hypocrisy of our people’s coerced Catholic baptism. Whereas these items were once revered as sacred tools of worship and prayer, they now sat on my table sans their glass eyes and ivory hands—revealing themselves no more than the useless, decrepit, wooden curiosities they had become. Some of them even bore the severe marks of earlier bug infestation—a proper metaphor for their diseased state. Soon however, their tragedy of having lost their sacredness started to haunt me. It was as if I began to hear the prayers that were once passionately offered to them by desperate souls. I felt I had to “save” those prayers—still wailing after these centuries past—from falling on deaf ears. I resolved to exorcise the demons of oppression that prevented these “saints” from hearing such prayers. Thus, I wrote above poem. At this time of my life, I find I have greater intolerance and impatience for hypocrisy and shallowness. I am happy to be gradually ridding myself of meaningless rituals, untrue friends, dysfunctional family, and toxic people, in general. My life is an increasingly sharper, leaner core of pure essentials: Unconditional love. Unvarnished truth. Unapologetic happiness. I’m succeeding in exorcising my personal demons—one by one. This Christmas season, I mainly celebrate the birth and story of a child who heralded the good news of “God-in-Us”. This truth is so simple that the joy and peace its epiphany provides continue to elude us two thousand years later because most of us are still under the spell of the vanities of this world. Thus, instead of wishing you a traditional “Merry Christmas,” I greet you instead with “Namaste” which appropriately declares, “The God in me honors the God in you.” I wish all of you an authentic joyful season of love and peace. (Copyright 2014 by Victoria G. Smith)