The Possessed

You know, sometimes I imagine what I would say if I ever found myself face to face with someone who is completely swallowed by the propaganda machine we’re living inside right now. Not just someone who disagrees with me. I mean someone who is fully inside the script. Eyes shining with certainty. Every sentence landing exactly where the algorithm trained it to land.

In real life I’d probably just smile and keep walking. I’m not trying to get into theological combat in the produce aisle.

But in my imagination? In my imagination I have a little more courage.

Because when you look at history long enough, you start noticing something very strange about the way humans label good and evil.

The names keep changing.

Gods become demons. Demons become symbols. Entire pantheons get flipped upside down depending on who won the last cultural war.

Take Satan for example. The original Hebrew word meant something more like “the accuser” or “the adversary.” Not the red horned CEO of Hell that shows up in cartoons. That image developed much later when religious storytelling needed a proper villain.

And once you notice that, you start seeing the pattern everywhere.

The old Canaanite god Baal was once a storm and fertility deity worshipped across the ancient Near East. When rival religious systems took power, suddenly Baal wasn’t a god anymore. Now he was a demon. The enemy.

The same thing happened with Beelzebub. Once a local god with a temple and priests. Later? Rebranded as “Lord of the Flies,” a prince of Hell.

Even Pan—the wild horned god of forests and music—ended up accidentally donating his horns and goat legs to the visual design of the Christian devil. The image stuck. The god vanished.

History is full of these little rebranding campaigns.

Yesterday’s god becomes today’s demon.

Which makes me wonder sometimes whether the real supernatural force at work in human history is simply the power of narrative.

Because when you look closely, the oldest trick in politics is exactly the same trick the old trickster spirits used in myth.

Accuse your opponent of the very thing you’re doing.

It’s almost elegant in its simplicity.

The liar shouts “liar.”

The tyrant screams “freedom.”

The propagandist warns everyone about propaganda.

The accusation itself becomes camouflage.

Anthropologists have been pointing this out forever. Trickster figures show up in nearly every mythology—Loki in Norse stories, Hermes in Greek ones, Coyote in many Native traditions. Their favorite move is inversion. Turn things upside down. Confuse the crowd. Swap masks until nobody can remember who started the chaos.

And when you watch modern politics long enough, you start to see that same trickster energy everywhere.

Which brings me to possession.

Now when people hear the word possession they picture spinning heads and levitating teenagers. Pea soup hitting the wallpaper.

But real possession might be much quieter than that.

What if possession is simply when someone’s mind stops being their own?

When the thoughts inside their head arrive pre-packaged from a narrative machine somewhere else.

Television. Social media. Political tribes that reward obedience and punish curiosity.

Repeat a story long enough and eventually the story moves in.

And once the story moves in, it begins speaking through the person telling it.

At that point they aren’t exactly lying.

They’re just… inhabited.

Possessed by a script.

Which leads me to one of my favorite private fantasies.

Imagine you’re standing there listening to someone unload their perfectly rehearsed outrage. Every sentence straight from the ideological starter kit.

They’re expecting a debate.

Facts. Counter-facts. Statistics.

Instead you just slowly raise your hand like a priest in a bad horror movie.

Very calm.

Very serious.

And you say,

“Belial. I see you.”

Now historically Belial was supposed to be the spirit of corruption. The whisperer who convinces leaders that power is the only law that matters.

So instead of arguing with the person, you just address the invisible thing driving the performance.

“Belial… get behind me.”

Can you imagine the confusion?

They came prepared for a Twitter argument.

They did not come prepared for an exorcism.

And if I really wanted to commit to the bit, I’d go full movie reference.

You remember that famous scene from The Exorcist, when the little girl—Regan—is thrashing around and the priest is shouting commands at the demon?

Now imagine that energy, except the demon is a cable news narrative.

Someone shouting political slogans at you while you stand there calmly like Father Merrin in a bathrobe.

Hand extended.

“Belial, by the authority of common sense and historical memory, I command you… leave this poor voter immediately.”

Maybe add a dramatic pause.

Maybe glance upward like you’re waiting for the ceiling fan to start spinning.

The poor guy would be standing there wondering whether to keep arguing or call security.

Of course I’m joking.

Mostly.

But underneath the humor there’s a serious observation hiding in plain sight.

Human beings have always been susceptible to possession by stories.

Religions. Nations. Ideologies. Markets. Revolutions.

Every era believes its narrative is the one true reality.

And every era eventually discovers that the story was driving the people more than the people were driving the story.

Which is why I spend so much time talking about that quiet little space I call the crack.

The place between the narratives.

Because once you step there—even for a moment—you start seeing the scripts moving through people like weather systems. Storms of belief blowing through entire crowds at once.

From that vantage point you don’t have to fight the demons.

You just recognize them.

And sometimes that’s enough to break the spell.

Still…

If I ever do find myself face to face with someone completely swallowed by the machine, I might try it just once.

Slowly raise my hand.

Look past them.

And say in my most solemn priest voice:

“Belial… the jig is up.”

You never know.

Calling something by its name has been considered powerful magic for a very long time.