Facing Evil

Tonight, dreaming, I found myself locked in combat with Evil again.  It always seems to manifest as Voldemort, perhaps because Ralph Fiennes/Joanne Rowling achieved something mythic in those movies.  Connecting, committing: a sense of electricity fills me, like I’ve plugged my finger into a socket.  I can take a prodigious amount of pain, physical and emotional, but tonight it was primal: neither he nor I had any form.

And I thought: how can you out-hate Hate itself?  How can you be more violent than Violence itself?  You can’t.  It is impossible.  That is their element, their battleground, and always their victory.  So I set a table, and invited It to dinner.  After an initial increase in current, it faded.

I have had this rough dream before, with the same resolution, but it takes time to fully grasp. to fully enter, these realities.  On some level, I am reworking my Being (so-called: I am not invoking ontology in any sense, as life is more complicated than that) itself.

Christ, it seems to me, set a table for his enemies, and he sat at it all his friends, those he loved, and he dedicated himself to a simple meal, filled with the simple pleasures of satisfying hunger and thirst, and spending time in communion with his brothers.

When he offered up his blood, he was offering it to Evil itself.  When he offered up his body, he was offering it up to Evil itself.

And in this was his victory.  There is something quite deep here.  This myth happens every day in all of us.  Every day is the Last Supper, if we are wise and pay attention.