Dream of: 11 July 1986 "Holy Battle"
I had gone to Patriot, Ohio to visit a former professor, a woman who had taught me at the Ohio University, Portsmouth Branch when I had attended school there. Although I hadn't seen the woman in a long time, she had once given me a key to her home, a key which I still had. Trying the key on the door, and discovering that it worked, I opened the door and walked in.
Once I was in the living room, I looked around, listened, and thought I could hear sounds originating from the bedroom. I walked over to the bedroom door and stepped inside; lying on the bed were the woman and her lover, a young man in his early 20s, complete with beard and mustache. Not wanting to disturb them, I turned and walked back out into the living room.
I only had to wait a short while before the fellow walked out of the bedroom and left the house. I, in turn, re-entered the bedroom, doffed my clothes and lay down beside the woman. About 50 years old, she was beginning to have lines in her face. Still, she was rather attractive. She reminded me somewhat of Lily Tomlin, and a bit of my junior high school algebra teacher, Miss Wolfe.
As I lay next to her, the woman rolled up against me. I was unsure, but I thought she might want to have sex with me. When I informed her that I wasn't going to be able to make love to her, I suddenly felt her hand on the back of my leg, inching up toward my groin. I exclaimed, "No, no, please don't hurt me!"
When she stopped, I disclosed again what she already knew: that I couldn't have sex with her. Even without sex, however, I still enjoyed being with her, and I could tell that she also wanted to be with me.
Presently we decided to get up. We rose, dressed, and walked outside, where we found a little push-scooter which belonged to me. When we both climbed on, with her standing up behind me, I advised her that it might be more prudent for her to take a car; but since she wanted to stay with me, we scooted off together.
We soon reached another building – our destination. Dismounting the scooter, we walked into the building, into a large empty room on the ground floor. Two or three people were already standing in the room. When another man walked in and began threatening us, I quickly forced him out of the room. But then, yet another man walked in – a tall rotund shirtless man. Although the man seemed affable and non-menacing on the surface, I had the feeling he had enormous power which he could use against a person if he wanted.
In my right hand I was carrying an ordinary fork. The tall round shirtless man walked up to me and challenged me to try to stab him in the chest with the fork. Giving him what he wanted, I stabbed him as hard as I could, cramming the fork about six centimeters into his chest, right between his breasts. When I saw that he was utterly unharmed by the fork, I suddenly realized who the man was: the devil! I blurted, "You're the devil, aren't you?"
When he acknowledged that he was the devil, I pulled the fork from his chest. With a single leap he abruptly jumped into a far part of the room, where he looked much smaller. It appeared that he was preparing for a baleful battle, and the other people in the room began bracing themselves for war, preparing to fight the devil. I also was steeling myself to fight, when suddenly, I yielded to the devil's putative prowess, threw down my fork, and announced, "You can't fight the devil."
Realizing it was hopeless to fight, I walked toward the devil and uttered, "Help me Lord." At first I didn't know exactly what tact I should employ, but something suddenly came over me – I spontaneously burst out singing and clapping my hands. My voice – deep and resonant – was absolutely beautiful. Something seemed to have taken hold of me and was singing for me. It occurred to me that although I was powerless myself to fight the devil, I could enlist God's assistance – God could fight the devil. I sang, "Hallelujah, praise the Lord. Fight his holy battle. We believe in truth, our cause is justice."
The other people in the room began clapping along with me. I was uncertain that we were winning the struggle against the devil, but at least I didn't feel that the devil was gaining any ground.
As I sang, I picked up a pair of scissors and some pictures; I began cutting out pictures which I thought I would be able to use for a collage. As I stood there, singing and cutting at the same time, it seemed that the singing and cutting were somehow intermingled, to form a whole.
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