The demons and angels and magical forces that reigned in the world no longer hold sway
In a world of people governed by rules and laws and discipline, order and civility
In the grave seriousness of the moment where the past is closed off
And fairy tales and ghost stories belong to the world of children
Walled off from the worlds of imagination in our buffered realities
Carefully constructed to ward off the shock of the unknown
Ballasted with the bulwarks of certainty to hold off the devilry of doubt
Where the only monsters left are ourselves
Yet our souls were never created to inhabit a mechanistic world
Nor our spirits excommunicated from our body
For all our science, suffering still calls out for an answer
For some new type of heroism that might call us from the banality of a disenchanted world
Yearning not merely for some romanticized past but a present that is not ultimate
To move us again to the transcendence of our excarnate realities and disembodied feelings
To the incarnate immanence that can somehow re-enchant the cosmos
Allowing the winds of creation to penetrate the armor of our buffered reality
And breathing free the breath of God in the midst of the polluted heavens

Neil White, 2014