This ones one among many other, less remarkable, dreams from last night. I was having problems in my life whenever I had this painting around, I painting that I had been working on, similar to Paint it Black, but not exactly that particular painting. I acquired the canvas through some old acquaintance and it used to be part of another piece of art. Later in the dream I would spontaneously have the realisation that the original painting it was part of was in a house where a lot of suffering and eventually murders took place. I've been recycling a lot of old canvasses into new work lately, so maybe its why it even came up in my subconscious. To proceed with the story, Lisa felt very uneasy around the painting, and not because of my painting itself. The series of wrong events culminated with a car accident while I had it in my car, nothing fatal because of my own maneuvering of it.
Now that I'm think about it, the whole setting was in the neighborhood I used to live in Rio de Janeiro, near my grandparent's house. In the corner there used to be a comic book shop that was closed during the dream sequence, and where there used to be a hair salon, was now a small gallery. Lisa and I had had it with the series of badness around the piece and we brought my painting to the gallery where it was empty of all people, but the building was open and the paintings were still there and there. The building was only partially lit, like the electric when out and an auxiliary power supply kicked in at a quarter of the usual lighting capacity. It was dusk outside, like a perpetual half light in an overcast day, and there was no one in the streets, like a ghost town almost. In the gallery, next to the easel we propped my painting on, there was a particular painting of a baby, with he world card naively painted as a background to this infant boy/girl, though I felt it was a boy. from looking at it I could tell there was a film of dust on it and it seemed very old, though not necessarily worth a lot of money. Could have even been a copy of an original, yet Lisa liked it.
We turned our attention to my painting once again and she focused her empathic perceptive powers, when she touched it she froze with terror. the oil paint layers that I had laid upon the bottom left part of the canvas started to recede forming a ghost image of a square, it became clearer within seconds as all of the black paint I had around it receded revealing also a face contained within it, it grinned at us as a tear ran down the canvas dividing it in two from top to bottom, slightly angled from left to right, separating my likeness of my self portrait on one side and the demonic presence on the bottom left piece. Lisa felt thought it was a lost, angry and confused human spirit, but I knew better. It tried to pass itself for a human residual haunting, but it was clearly a demonic being, taking pleasure in the misfortune of the living around him/them, cackling at the horror shown in Lisa's face. Yet, I wasn't afraid, instead I felt an anger building from deep in my heart, thinking "how dare this malignant creature defiles my holy work?" I had to fight this feeling from becoming outright unbridled wrath, less I become like it, feasting only in the negative and be consumed by the darkness. Uncontrolled anger was not the higher path, but righteous indignation with God on your side is the proper frame of mind to stare at demonic forces unafraid. So I channeled this righteous fury allowing my faith to guide what I did next. Remembering what I felt was a very valid teaching from studying the Bible, I called upon the divine name, for I knew they fear it, loath it. I used not the Anglicized version, but the language of the name of the ancient Father as the Hebrews knew him, Yahweh. I spoke in Portuguese, not by choice, but because the words flowed out of me in a chanting manner, I was performing an exorcism. Never in all my dreams have I felt such union with Divine Might, a felt holy power coursing through me, and an aura as though I could have been glowing as moses glowed when he had seen the shadow the Father aspect of the Creator. "Criatura maligna da escuridao, sai de re em nome de Yahweh" I repeated the holy name many times, it screeched as though in pain, and it fled from the canvas, just then we were interrupted by some friends approaching in the distance outside the gallery, I think Irv was among them and they were looking for Lisa and I. It broke my concentration just enough that I could not banish the demon very far. We looked at the baby painting near my, now unified, purified painting, and it was all gone, faded. We quickly left the place, joined the others and told them what happened. We were all staying at what used to be my and my grandparent's house down the street from that corner. The final memory I have of that dream was Lisa and I walking just outside of my front yard, and looking at the gallery down at the corner facing us. There was a slight silhouette of a grayish face at the window, staring from the pitch black interior. "You didn't kill it?" she asked. "No, its not its time to die yet, nor is it my job to finish it" I told her.
I've been having many lucid dreams lately, this one was worth writing down because I feel it represents my restored faith in God independent of organised religion. That evil can be banished when calling upon the Creator with unshakable faith and conviction, as Father Callahan did in the last moments of his life. Someday this will be a painting.
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