. . . and filled with a shrouded white light

Isn't it a tragedy when a person never gathered enough capable knowledge during their length of time deliberately rebelling against it?"
said the fanciful guest.
After enjoying a creative, compelling rendition of Don Giovanni at the opera house they sat in the kitchen sipping wine to become more aware, to chase away evil that lurked  in their sub-sub conscious.
A lot of people can see that he is invisible --- and maybe a little drunk --- an enigma. Hell, with a blink or twitch of his nose water would turn this dark red.
The host and hostess sat across eyes affixed in total belief of this so called fugitive, even no one dare crucify him. He was always reasonable, noble, non-combative --- maybe stumbling a little, but would vanquih your fears; that ill-feeling throughout your body, like he did to those people at Resurrection Hospital. Such a lenient character  would cry-down to the world around him.
"Where are you going from here?" the host asked.
"First, I must go to Chicago and then Ft. Smith to mend broken hearts ... as I did November 16th some years before, and September 9th years before that ... Oh yeah, before I go you and your wife finish off my cup and I will see you soon."
The houseguest mounted his vintage triumph motorcycle with side-car and rode off into the twilight. On his journey (so the legend goes) he picked up young ravens that were pushed from the nest by their parents. Nourished by morning dew from heaven, they flew from his hands back to the nest and was accepted for now
being th right colour.