Happy St Patrick's Day // March 17, 2007

“Patrick stepped forward to the mouth of the cave. He peered in but could see nothing. Suddenly a voice greeted him, a well spoken voice, a little trace of a strange accent, but an educated speech – this was someone well-traveled. The voice spoke in Latin but I’ll translate for you.

“ You shouldn’t abuse the property of others.”
“Well, you should know all about that,” said Patrick, stepping in a little farther until he all but blocked the mouth of the cave.
“I know who you are.”
“And I know who you are,” said Patrick.
“But you only have one name and a dull name at that. I have many names, all of the exciting.”
“I need no more than one name,” said Patrick, “I have nothing to hide.”
“In that case, I pity you. Life is more interesting my way.”
“Out! Come on!” said Patrick. “Go! You cause nothing but trouble.”

He tried to step inside the cave but something stopped him. It felt like a barrier that he couldn’t see, and yet he also felt as though some force held him back from behind.

But now he could see everything inside the cave; it was a lavish place, hung with all manner of beautiful cloths. He could see nobody inside, and yet the voice came from straight ahead.

“Do come in,” said the drawling tone again. “Or do you feel incapable?”
“I’m never impressed by tricks,” said Patrick.
“This is no trick – this is power. Don’t you know the difference between trickery and power?”
“I’ve no interest in such matters,” said Patrick. My concerns lie in making good defeat the bad, in giving the sacred its rightful power over the profane.”
“You know who I was. You know the power I had.”
“ Yes,” said Patrick, “you’re the angel who fell, the one God threw out. God in His wisdom, I might add.”
“But I had true power – and that felt like nothing you’ll ever know old man. You have no power of your own.”
“God is my power,” said Patrick.
“But I have power over people’s lives. I can make men kill their own children.”
“Why is that useful?” said Patrick.
“I can make women drool over such men.”
“And how does that improve the world?”
“I can make children mad.”
Patrick stood resolute as a statue in marble.
“But can you make someone feel all the world around them loves them? Can you make them fell as the rain for cooling them, the wind is for drying them, the sun is form warming them?” He reached down and plucked a tall blade of grass. “Can you make something as infinite, as beautiful, as perfect as this? Look at its shape, its edge, its lovely color, the way it curves. You’ve never made something as wonderful as this blade of grass – you never could and you never will.”

Not a word came from that cave. A sound came, yes. But not a word. The sound had impatience in it, maybe even a little twinge of anger. Patrick sensed that his blows had landed.

“Can you lead to dignity a man abused by his employer? Can you give hope for a new life to a woman whose infant has died? Can you guide an oppressed people to freedom and power? The God of my Heaven can do those things!”

…. and Patrick kicks the devil from Ireland…. where he had picked up the fiddle… and came to Georgia… and that begins another tail… a southern one…