more than a bush demon

more than a bush demon:

I remember staring at the piece of wood, wondering. I could easily imagine people fearing him—his eyes were certainly creepy. But worship? Would someone really pray to such a thing? He was barely the height of a pencil.

I remember that as my first brush with an idol. But all along I'd had my own set of idols I held close, caressed, and whose grip on my heart I kept alive and well. My idols—although invisible—were many and strong. And they made their own temple inside of me…

[Read the rest at the link above.]