Quis ut Deus?
In the last four years, I’ve dealt with various disturbing nightmares involving topics that could easily be the focus of the next Conjuring movie. For whatever reasons there are, I have plenty of dreams dealing with dark supernatural themes and creatures that leave me questioning what I saw when I finally wake up.
I had two of those dreams last night, in rapid succession.
You Aren’t Him!
“And no wonder, for even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light.”
2 Corinthians 11:14
In the first dream, I was floating alone in the sky, surrounded by white clouds as an angelic man came floating towards me. He was wearing a white robe and had a stern expression on his face as he drew closer.
When he was close enough to speak, the man started rambling about how much he had had to evidently sacrifice for humanity, including something bizarre like “having my wings burnt off”. He even said that he was Jesus Himself.
Well, hearing the phrase “my wings were burnt off” was the warning I needed that I wasn’t face-to-face with God whatsoever. I rebuked the man, telling him that he clearly wasn’t Jesus, although I can’t remember if I called this guy Satan.
The next thing I know, the man first scowled at me and then began to laugh maliciously as he disappeared. The entire sky rapidly darkened, the clouds twisting around me as everything went black. I remained floating in the air, unnerved at the possibility that I was about to see this man’s true form, whatever he was.
A Fireplace Exorcism
In the second dream that night, I found myself in a dark, dreary Tim Burton-style British town where dark, demonic spirits in the form of twisted grey wraiths were soaring around. I was stationed inside one of the dilapidated buildings, next to a fireplace that, as far as I could tell, God had turned into a one-way portal to Hell.
You see, without my doing, the musty old fireplace was blazing with a vicious orange fire that didn’t give off the same welcoming warmth that homely fires create. This one filled me and the people in the room with anxiousness.
The family of the house sat stone-still as I firmly clasped my hands together and began to pray fluently in Latin, a language that I can’t hope to properly speak in the real world. The only word I can clearly recall speaking was “mortis”, which, naturally, means death. As I did, the demons outside were suddenly yanked shrieking in fury and pain towards the house by an unseen force, and into the fireplace where they disappeared.
Before the exorcism could be completed, one demon was dragged out by God’s hand in the ritual from one of the girls sitting before the fireplace. Her mouth opened, and it almost looked like she was regurgitating the thing inside her, which looked like the other demons, only more black. As I finished chanting, the thing was dragged into the fireplace, and I’m certain that I heard it scream “I’m burning!” as it disappeared.
Once the last demon had been removed, the flames within the fireplace disappeared, leaving the fireplace empty and bare, with not even smoke as a reminder of what had been raging within it.
A Dream or Something More?
My biggest question for these dreams, of course, is whether or not what I’ve seen are actually demonic entities, or simply figments of my imagination like my usual dreams. I do try to interpret these things with a grain of salt for that reason, but when the scene is far too real and too easy to recall unlike the usual dreams I have, I take these very seriously.
Did I actually come face to face with the devil disguised as an angel/Jesus in that first dream? Potentially. Whatever that man was, he was evil, and a deceiver. I’m relieved that I wasn’t allowed to see what really lay behind that white-robed figure’s would-be benevolent face.
As for the second dream, all I know for sure is that I felt God taking control of the exorcism, while I merely prayed in Latin. I didn’t cause the exorcism to happen, He did. I’m just really unnerved that I spoke the Latin word for death, honestly. I assume I was praying about the death of evil, but still, it’s a baleful word.
The worst part is that I have enough dreams like these to write a novel, a collection of short stories, or something similar. Also, I expect to have more dreams like these, whether I seek them or not.
Featured Image by ugglemamma/Pixabay
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