I prayed not long ago that I would never forget God in my dreams, because I had been suffering for a while from bad dreams and thus nights that left me feeling exhausted and drained instead of relaxed and refreshed. I asked Him to remind me to call on Him, even in my dreams.
Last night was a particularly interesting spectre, and it revealed some insights about myself and about what influences me.
My mother had turned into an ugly, dying parody of herself, so I ran, chest tight and heart pounding, into my parents' bedroom to escape the house full of threatening, lost loved ones. I remember running up to a window in the room, shouting, "Jesus, Jesus! Help me! Jesus, help me!" and not seeing any miraculous rescues. I was used to calling on God and escaping the dream, but the hulking monster was still coming after me, I was still in the dream, and my chest was still hurting from the fear that was choking me.
As I looked out the window, I saw three male figures on the lawn in front me. I was still shouting, "Jesus, help me!" when I noticed the first one. I quickly recognized the Jesus-figure: he was bloody and mangled, like he had just limped down off his cross. He was facing me, but he looked powerless and beaten.
A movement on the right drew my eye to another figure. This one was an old man with a longish beard. He was wearing all white and silver in his robes. He was levitating a few feet off the ground with his hands drawn up to his chest and his palms placating heaven, and he was looking upwards. The strong impression of him was, "This is God the Father, but He is too holy and inaccessible to even be bothered with me."
There was a third figure sitting on the ground between them, his right heel underneath him and his left leg also folded, but relaxed out beside him. He was wearing a royal blue shift with a yellow cross on the front, and he was looking at the bloody, weary Jesus, in a kind of saddened, but unable-to-help sort of way. It took me a couple of seconds to figure out who he was. I remember thinking, "He must be the Holy Spirit!"
Another thought was, "Am I seeing their real selves, have I accessed the truth through being in the dream world? Are they really powerless icons?"
But then I thought, "Why are they three separate figures? Why are they contained in bodies? Why are they either uninterested or powerless to help me? Why am I separated from them?"
I didn't believe they were who they claimed to be. I remember turning away from the window and looking at the hulking figure that was my mother, and shouting, "God! Help me!"
I don't remember what happened after that, but I woke up refreshed this morning. :)
Where did that experience come from? I'm sure that it drew on my own doubts and fears about the reality of Christ, and thus all that He implies. The presentation was so well-constructed and the idea of finding special insight about God was so tempting that I entertained it for a moment. I don't think I can credit my subconscious with all of it--I felt like an idealogical battleground during that internal questioning.
Why do I remember this dream? I think, perhaps, I am not supposed to forget it...
Beloved, believe not every spirit, but try the spirits whether they are of God, because many false prophets are gone out into the world. Hereby know ye the Spirit of God: every spirit that confesseth that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh is of God, and every spirit that confesseth not that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh is not of God. This is the spirit of the anti-christ, whereof ye have heard that it should come; and even now already is it in the world. Ye are of God, little children, and have overcome them, because greater is He that is in you than he that is in the world. -- 1 John 4:1-4