Hold up. Let me explain. I’ve written about “her” before. I don’t like the post because it took too long for me to get to the point and then I barely touched it. But the “her” I refer to is not a real person. She comes to me in nightmares so disgusting, terrifying and drawn-out that I never forget a single one. Friday or Saturday night was the worst.

I’ve been sleeping at night for about two weeks now. That’s very unusual. But it’s been okay. Then I was awake for over 40 hours because the pain in my spine was too intense. I couldn’t walk, stand, sit or lie down for long because it hurt, and I always had to move, shift or whatever.

When the time came to go to sleep, when exhaustion took me down, I slept nearly around the clock. I got out of bed after 16:00 and was only awake until 02:00. That’s all it takes. A period of long sleep, restful and restorative, followed by sleeping again within 12 hours. That’s when She comes.

But–

She is not merely a dream figure. Not a real person, either. I’ve long since concluded that demons, or, if you will, evil spirits, can get into our dreams where they are much more free to torment us. In dreams we are defenseless. We do not use our senses of sight and sound. Our brains remain active, but our bodies are shut down. So if God can give people messages through dreams, then certainly, so can the Evil One. But his message is madness, relentless torture and terror.

The demon in my worst nightmares is always a woman and she is always different in appearance. Last night, like most, she was a petite brunette who tapped into my need for female companionship and my loneliness. It began, as always, with her in charge, but this time kissing me passionately. I was immediately revolted and pulled away. I knew that it was Her.

I’ve never seen the house I was in before, and I believe it to have been She who put me in it. Sometomes our minds cooperate by partially rebuilding places we’ve been or seen. She did the rest. I guess, after she left, it filled in more, but was never complete.

She arrived at the door and knocked but I would not let her in. She got in anyway. Sweet, acting innocent and more desperate romantically than ever, she tried to touch me. I backed away, got a sword and ran her through. Twice. She vanished, only to show up at the door again. This time I let her in so I could use the sword again. She laughed at me, “you can’t kill me.”

When She was gone, I found myself living with my father, the most evil man I’ve ever known, even to this day. He gave me a handgun. It was a small caliber revolver that held five rounds. I shot her with it without any effect except for her leaving again. My older brother took me to his garage workshop and quickly assembled a .357 magnum. The same kind my father held to my head in real life. Back then I wish I’d demanded that he shoot me.

The magnum did not work either. I shot her six times in the center of mass and she laughed at me. Somehow she came back with help. Another woman, posing as her mother. Two demons in one dream. People, I’ve long suspected, die during such harrowing nightmares: we often hear of fatal strokes and heart attacks in sleep and say, “At least he or she died in peace.” How arrogant are we, making such a conclusion like that? Because, of course, we cannot know. What if they were tormented in a nightmare so terrifying that a cardiac event was triggered?

Demons are not amusing. They’re nothing to underestimate. They hate us, they’re jealous of us and they have one mission: bring us down, hurt us, get us to renounce God, blame him for our pain. Our losses. Our loneliness. To turn us away from the light.

In movies and books and paranormal TV shows, they’re portrayed in an over-the-top fashion. In the real world they come in where we’re vulnerable, like cat burglars, quiet, unassuming at times. They know how to do it. They know what we like, what we don’t like. If working one side doesn’t get them in, they just change their approach. If they can’t get you to give in to your vices, or to dark emotions such as hate, lust, anger and sadness, then they will try something more direct. And resistance only gains more testing. They use every trick in the book. To them, there are no boundaries and faith itself is their lone enemy, their sole target. They will attack it relentlessly.

I believe that is why She keeps at me. She appears as a beautiful woman, with lust and false love. Of all the women I have loved, most never knew, even if they suspected. My condition, unknown to me in its true nature, kept me insecure and unfit for romantic relationships. I was certainly afraid of rejection and, sometimes, even had to consider just how much I really loved them. If I found that I did actually love a woman, I was objective; I was not the right man for her. I respected her.

Out of loneliness and guilt and bitterness at not being loved and feeling “dirty” because I had been/was being raped by my own parents, I guess She was born. Sorrow, anger, hate directed at myself were things I believe Satan knew about very well. And if anything, he’s good at using such things as weapons.

I do not remember how the dream ended. That part was lost as I was coming awake. But I know it ended in stalemate as usual. And She has returned.

Last night She appeared as an ex-girlfriend. The “mother” from the last dream was with her. They were making me relive the dark days which ended my second attempt at fleeing my father.

They kicked me out on the street. Then wherever I was living vanished. I was looking for things I owned to put in my car. They mocked me in disgusting ways. Then my car disappeared along with both of them; her mother had it towed away. I was somehow told where to look for my car and it was not a safe or easy trip. Drawn out, full of choices on this street or that. Once again into a labyrinth.

The dream ended with me paying men in a shop a few dollars to get the car back. They were Muslim men who felt pity for me. They offered food and drink, tried to calm me down. Never got the car back but the significance of those kind men were ultimately the end of the dream. The car did not matter; the kindness and respect shown by the men did. God knows us all as His children. No one is loved more than another, and all people of real faith serve Him. They kept me busy, looking on this lot and that, looking for my car. They were protecting me. She was not going to get past them. Perhaps they were angels.

She will return. I’m on a drug that’s known to help PTSD nightmares. She is immune to it. But my faith is stronger every time I am granted the miracle of waking up and living another day. I went back to Twitter to get quick news updates, especially about the criminal invasion of Ukraine. How I pray for those poor, yet courageous men and women, protecting civilians and dying in the attempt. They have exceeded all the world’s best hopes. The evil they have faced with honor is unspeakable evil.

On Twitter, a site I once called toxic, I had my faith in people restored. I’ve never felt that I mattered, not to strangers. Now I do. You know my fight for them. You know my desire to help is an honest one. I won’t post a link here; it’s on a previous blog already. It’s easy to find in my archives. But for now, this post is about renewed faith. There are wonderful people in this world. Amazing people who want to help save us from extinction and offer up great strategies. There are compassionate people who you’d never think would offer help. There’s love. There is still decency and true faith. And I’m grateful to be able to see that.

Evil will be with us to the death. How you think of this post is up to you; it’s here to offer you something to think about. What I know is that racial and religious bigotry keeps half the world out of our lives. I’ve worked with Muslims and I’ll never forget them. They were so good to me. On Twitter, I left comments on Joel Osteen and Franklin Graham’ posts: “Go and sell all that you have, give the money to the poor, then take up your cross and follow Christ. Then, I will listen to you. The eye of a needle, sir.”

I was not being harsh. There’s no hatred or enmity. But our jobs as Christians is to keep loving and supporting one another as Yeshua did. He left us an example to live by. Tall orders, but ones that must be adhered to. Will we sin anyway?

Yes. But if our hearts feel true repentance, we escape the furnace. We escape our personal demons.

That is what Easter is all about, is it not?

If you have strange dreams, recurrent ones in which you are tormented by an enemy who comes to you like a lover, only to leave you in a shambles, you’re not alone. Just leave a like or a comment. I’ll pray for the demon to let you go. We have each other, and Yaweh has our backs, always.

Please enjoy the rest of your holidays. And may God bless!

This post is dedicated to Abba, the Holy Father, to His Son, with gratitude and humble praise.

It is dedicated to the suffering, the poor, the haunted.

It is dedicated to all the women I’ve loved in my life, especially those who never knew, and didn’t know how much it hurt me to love them from a distance.

It is for Margaret, Jane and Kevin, and my friends, wherever they may be. Last but not least, for Jerry, his wife and his family, without whom, this post would have been impossible to end with hope. He allowed the Spirit to work through him to open my eyes. I couldn’t be more grateful for his help. And to Jack Flacco: thanks for all that you do.

Amen.

Goodbye my loves. I’ve always wanted the best for you.

Simply the best. Goodnight everyone. God bless.