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“There was once a man who chose to confront his demons. Not the demons we speak of today—you know, merely used as metaphor and symbolism for our personal struggles—but real demons; short little things with small horns, beady eyes and the worst trait of all—a bad attitude.
This man lived years tormented by his demons, who, of course, had a leader. But he shall remain nameless. Why? Because the man did not know it’s name. It would never say. But it knew his, and it would talk to him day and night; pestering him with it’s opinions, draining him of life as it lived off the energy he spent distracted with it’s words, trying to silence it’s voice.
At first, the man prayed, cried, fasted, pleading with God to have this thing removed. There was no answer. Heaven was silent.
Why?
Because Heaven didn’t know who was bothering him, for the man did not know the devil’s name…”
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