In the dream they tormented me endlessly. Wherever I was, whatever I was doing, one or more of them would appear, acting at first as if to help me: change a flat tire, start the car, free the stuck window. But as soon as one of them got a grip on the tire iron, or got behind the wheel, or had me close to the open window, things got ugly fast.
My skull bashed by the tire iron. Over a cliff in the car driven by one of them, grinning madly.
Out the open window, dashed on the ground far below.
They killed me, or tried to kill me, over and over. Inexhaustible, clever, driven to my destruction. And strong. Crazy retard strength. Matrix-like jumping over buildings, twisting reality to fit their needs.
Despite all this, they couldn’t really kill me.
I fought back, hard. Wrenched guns out of their hands, drove blades deep into their eyes or throats or soft guts, twisted. Kicked and punched, threw into traffic. Over and over, just as strong as they were, just as driven, just as merciless and hard.
Eventually they let me know their demands.
“Open the doorway.”
“Open the doorway, let us out. We’ll leave you alone.”
All I had to do was let them out of the dreamworld, and I could sleep in peace. If I refused, the torment would continue unabated.
They all gathered around me as I tried to reason through my predicament. Then it came to me.
“Look, you guys, I’m not going to let you out. This is my dream world. I’m God here. I call the shots. And that’s why you can’t kill me. And why I can’t get rid of you.
You’re my demons. I created you, I gave you life and yet give it to you. And this, all this destruction and mayhem?
You are but doing my bidding.
You are my beloved demons, doing what I need you to do, in a world of my creating.”
Not very psychological, huh?
I wonder what it means?
May you have a good long talk with your demons, whatever they are.
You might discover something startling about them.