Sunday, January 9, 2011

Electric Prayer Hands



A dream....

I am in a kind of old garage that has been converted into a room. The place is unpainted and fairly Spartan with a concrete floor and unpainted walls. Outside, it is fairly rustic looking, dead leaves lying around, peeling paint. The surrounding area has a lot of big hardwoods and there's a kind of drive going past outside the door. 

Outside the room, there's a covered area, like a porch. The garage is a room where I am living with Rusty as a roommate, but Michael and Denny are there also. There's some sense that we are all teenagers. I am sitting at my desk in the room playing with a MIDI program on my laptop. There's some interaction with a stereo and wires, but that seems left over from the previous dream or string of episodes. Rusty is listening to music—Country Music that I don’t care too much for. I am thinking I need to remember to turn my music on before he does so we don't have to listen to his stuff. It occurs to me that I'm being a bit of a music Nazi. 

I’m sitting at my desk with my desktop. We’re all waiting to go to a movie together. It’s time to go, so I pull away from the computer and note that a really bad thunderstorm is moving in with dark clouds, driving rain, and intense thunder and lightning. The lightning is striking the ground and trees outside the room and leaving bluish, tinsel-like arcs of electricity. The lightning strikes down by the lower left of the door and I can see the tingling charges there. 

Denny walks over to check it out and he is hit by a bolt of lightning. He lies there with the bluish charges arcing around his body as he convulses with a surprised look on his face. 


Soon, Denny is standing again. He steps over toward the door and a pair of giant hands--like the praying hands of Jesus with the flowing sleeves of his white robe undulating in the breeze--reach down from out of the sky into the room. The hands are held like a pair of scissors and clamp around Denny’s neck, lifting him off the ground. The hands become electrified, like lightning, shooting jolts of electricity through Denny’s body. His arms and legs flail as the bluish charges arc around his body. He's screaming in terror and pain. I tried to reach over and pull him free, but felt a jolt of electricity and so let go and just stood there helplessly watching. The hands open and Denny falls to the floor of the porch. The hands recede back up into the sky. 


I stand there stunned, looking at Denny's motionless and smoking body lying on the ground. His eyes are wide open. Before I make a move or can even think what to do, the hands come reaching back down from the sky and grab me around the neck. I'm terrified, expecting a jolt of electricity to course through me, but it doesn't. The hands pull me out of the porch and lift me high into the air, above the trees. I expect to be killed, but then I realize the owner of the hands is gentle. I look down and see the world below. The hands carry me over to a newly paved street with freshly painted, crisp yellow lines against the midnight black asphalt. Newly poured, white curbs line the street, providing crisp boundaries for the manicured lawns across rolling hills. There are no trees here. Everything seems clean and new. A white van is passing on the street and the giant hands place me inside the van. Now, I’m inside the van on the passenger side. Someone is driving and we head down the road together.