While passing through a crossroads, Goodwin suffered a demonic possession. It wasn't the first time -- possessions come and go, and they're not always pernicious. This one, though, was troublesome enough that Goodwin consulted musical healers.
Kraig Grady had proved a valuable hand in the past. His microtonal compositions broke down sound into harmonies and rhythms that resonated differently than standard thirds, fifths and 4/4s, shaking up calcified neural pathways. It was like a deep-tissue massage for the brain.
Fortunately, Grady had a new album, "Lake Aloe Festival," presented under the mask of an ancient summer rite of joy and humility. And the music showed a new face for Grady: In place of his usual metallophones and organs, it was mostly drums and percussion, placing it in a line that includes voodoo, Gnawa and Native American sound rituals. (Grady has Native American ancestry.)
Goodwin listened first on headphones, to shatter the shell. Immediately involved, he noted this as the first long drum solo that did not stimulate an urge to flee and urinate. He experienced all 45 minutes of complex rhythmic evolution.
Days later, Goodwin lay down for a loud surround-sound session. Slow clomps gave way to hand drums that emerged from a background like ocean waves. The beats overlapped and countered one another, deprogramming themselves, increasing speed and gamboling within a gentle echo, relentless and disciplined. A big, deep drum took center stage.
Still reclining, Goodwin noticed his breath -- very shallow, but interrupted by spontaneous gulps. His upper left thigh tingled, and the tingle moved slowly to his left foot. As the speed increased, his heartbeat slowed. He smiled.
Ghost voices encouraged Goodwin to stretch horizontally. The tingle spread to his left arm. His right fist clenched as the music faded into a tunnel. His left hand tingled, his right fist unclenched, and both arms rose from his side toward the ceiling in a gesture of welcome.
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The Jamaican reggae inventor Lee "Scratch" Perry had died two days previous, and Goodwin was moved to play Perry's 2019 dub recording "Heavy Rain." From a cave of volcanic ash crawled the voice of Scratch: "The spirits speak, the devil get weak."
The connection between healing and demons has always been recognized, and it's not a question of good and evil. Christians considered the healing Jajouka goat god a demon, because he was a manifestation of the pagan Pan. They also branded voodoo medicine satanic, because it derived from pre-Christian African traditions. The judgment depends on who's judging, and who's being healed. When Jesus cured the blind and mute, the Pharisees said, "It is by the prince of demons that he casts out demons" (Matthew 9:34).
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While listening, Goodwin had a vision of the Virgin of Guadalupe. When he looked at the cover of Lee Perry's "Heavy Rain," though, the image turned out to be Scratch. "Old Scratch" is one of the devil's nicknames, appropriate to a musician who was also called the Upsetter.
A match is also called a lucifer, literally a light-bringer. Scratch a match, and sparks of essential fire (stolen from the gods by Prometheus) rise toward their source. "Man is born to trouble, as surely as sparks fly upward," says a friend of Job (5:7), pinpointing the nexus of pain and spirit.
At the time of Goodwin's possession, messengers were flying around him -- crows, hummingbirds, owls. A pal sent him a picture of an aloe plant Goodwin had given years ago for its healing properties. Healing friends called. Carlos Castaneda kept coming up.
The possession and the healing both seemed like passive experiences, hinting at the Latin root of the word "patient" -- one who waits or endures. Whether Goodwin's demon has been cast out or not, he has begun to see it as something more than an affliction.
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Listen to "Lake Aloe Festival" here.
