midnight in the garden of my brain

i just had another nightmare about evil, and the devil in particular.

i dreamed a co-worker and i were sent to a huge luxury house in vancouver for something work-related. we arrived and had a hell of a time finding our way around the place. it was a labyrinth of opulent dining halls, bedrooms with views of an ocean painted red by the sunset, staircases going this way and that. eventually we realized that whatever we were sent there for must have been some kind of error, but the charming, gregarious people (all between the ages of 40-70 years old) at the house were having a lavish get-together with mountains of incredible food and invited us to stay and join them, so we did.

we ate a bunch and chatted with them and they were all really nice. then i wandered around the place and started getting spooked — something about it was creepy, ominous, but i couldn’t figure out what. then a kid i used to look after in summer camp (in real life) was there and did something to piss me off so i slapped him across the face, hard. i couldn’t believe what i’d just done. then i noticed he had a large, old bruise on the same side of his face already, and i realized i must have hit him before, that i had some sort of weird rage problem i had never been aware of. i was beside myself, i was so ashamed. eventually the party people came in the room and i thought, “that’s it, now the police are going to get involved. what an absurd thing i’ve done,” but the party people couldn’t have cared less. they laughed about it and that was that. on one hand, i was relieved, but on the other i was shocked by their lack of concern.

my co-worker and i were finally leaving the fancy house and the old couple who lived there were thanking us for coming. they had the glass i had drank water out of at dinner and asked me to hang it up on a weird, wooden chandelier-like thing before i left. i thought it was odd but said ok. when i climbed the step ladder to hang the glass, i saw that each spot on the chandelier for hanging these glasses had a different symbol that reminded me of markings i’d noticed before in the symbol of baphomet and on the cover of the necronomicon, like this:

baphomet-black-1000-close

like the symbols at the points of the star

at this point, i became alarmed. it suddenly became clear to me that this old couple had lured me into their home to acquire this item that now had a personal connection to me, and were going to use it to seriously fuck with me somehow. i don’t remember the rest of the dream well but i think i was too chickenshit to say or do anything about it. i think i just left with my co-worker and was terrified for my immortal soul.

it was a vivid dream, and definitely the scariest i’ve had in a long time. i think it’s weird that most of my dreams revolve around abstract evil. i’m so legitimately obsessed with it that i think about it in my sleep. that’s pretty nuts.

but i can already see some inspirations for this dream that have come from my recent life:

  • ben read rosemary’s baby while on his honeymoon (he said the book was underwhelming, which i always thought was a distinct possibility — i figured polanski turning it into a film would be tantamount to kubrick making the shining), and the mansion and party people in my dream were basically rip-offs of the satanists in rosemary’s baby.
  • the mansion itself was quite similar to the venue of ben and madeline’s wedding last month. not identical, but it had the same sprawling opulence and incredible views.
  • i’m not as confident about this one but i think the slapping of the boy has to do with my recent efforts to try to be kinder to the people closest to me. it’s amazing how we get comfortable — too comfortable — with those people, and allow ourselves to treat them in ways that we would never dream of treating anyone else. or at least, that’s me. i have a suspicion that most people are better at this than me, but i’m aware of it and have added it to my laundry list of things i need to improve at unless i want to die alone.

i wonder if people who read these posts hate hearing about my dreams as much as jenn does. huh.

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