Only One Door

 

February 4, 2011 – Only One Door – Another Allegory

This Place Hotel?

 

Dreams about Gang stalkers http://michaelsguardian.blogspot.com/2011/02/only-one-door-another-allegory.html

 

 

Isaiah 19:2: “ I will set Egyptians against Egyptians; Everyone will fight against his brother, And everyone against his neighbor, City against city, kingdom against kingdom.”

 

 

 

 

The dream takes place in the back yard of one of my first supervisors – a lady who was my department manager in Boscov’s back in the early 1980’s.  I was still living at home and attending college but working at the store during the Christmas season.   We ended up remaining friends for the next 20 years, but in this dream she was not my friend.

 

My mother dragged me to this woman’s house for a visit.  I did not want to go, but I did not complain.  The woman was my mother’s age.  She invited us back to sit on her patio.  While she and my mother talked, I tried to ignore the conversation, preferring instead to glance around her back yard, which was filled with esthetically positioned flower beds.

 

As I panned  the back yard with my head, I saw in back of me, sitting on the stone accent wall, an ornate, Victorian doll house.  It was beautiful with the gingerbread wrap-around front porch, shutters, medallion accents around both windows and door.  I moved over toward it, drawn by the sheer detail in the beauty, forgetting where I was.

 

The dollhouse itself was probably about three feet high from base to eaves.  It was the kind of house I always wanted to live in . . . old fashioned with a warmth to it.  Even the color, a dusty dark blue with white trim, spelled elegance with comfort.  I could imagine a warm fire going inside on a cold and snowy Christmas eve night.  Suddenly, I felt eyes on me.

 

I turned to find both my mother and the woman looking at me.  I felt my face flushing.  I was I daydreaming out loud?

 

“My husband made that for my daughter”, the woman said.  “It ‘s BEAUTIFUL!” I replied, forgetting how wary I was of her.

 

She then asked me, “Would you like to go inside?”

 

My eyes widened at the possibility.  I DID want to, but how?

 

Suddenly, I was pulled, as if by a vacuum, into the house and I was looking at the outside from one of the windows.

 

I looked around the house, but something wasn’t right.  I felt something behind me.  Then I heard them.  They were giggling and snickering but it was a threatening sound . . . without mirth.

 

Then I heard them taunt me, calling my name.  I began to run because there were no doors in that room I was in.

 

They – were women . . . a bunch of them.  A pack.  They were behind me, keeping pace as I was trying to get away.  They followed me as I ran through rooms opening doors that led to hallways full of closed doors.  I would shut door behind me to slow them down, but they were constantly behind me.

 

I ran and ran, through doors, closing them behind me, opening ones in front of me.  I ran down hallways, opened doors that led to rooms, that had doors that led to other hallways with more doors to more rooms to more doors to more hallways.  Nothing, not one door led to the way out.

 

As I ran, I somehow knew that they were trying to get me to turn toward them.  They wanted me to look at them.  I also knew that if I did look back, they would get me, so I continued on.

 

They tried everything, cat calls, taunts, even throwing objects that occasionally hit me, but I did not turn to look at them.

 

I was getting quite tired and I knew that these women were evil.  I had to get away from them, my life depended on it.

 

As I exited another room and into another hallway filled with closed doors, I noticed that one door toward the end of the hall, on the left was open.  I slowed as I approached it, the women still behind me, the same gang, stalking and trying to get me to turn and face them.

 

I slowed to a walk upon approach to the room of the open door.  There inside the room, in the center was one man, in white robes and sandals on his feet.  His hands were clasped in front of him, one over the other.  He was looking directly at me.

 

I knew who he was.  Every bit of fear drained from my body.  I felt the strain leave my face but as I tried to take a step toward that room, a sudden heaviness overtook me.  I felt as if metal were moving through my veins instead of blood.  The weight of even my own leg was incredible!   The effort it took to make just one step completely drained me of energy.

 

The gang of women behind me had stopped as well.  They were still taunting and throwing things at me to get me to turn around, but they would not come any closer.

 

I could feel objects hitting me in the back, but I kept my eyes on him.  I was still trying to walk, but it was so hard!  One foot lifted and placed in front of the other, rest, ragged breathing as if I had just run a flight of stairs, it was like trying to walk through thick mud.

 

I could hear the laughing behind me, “why don’t you turn around! You’ll never get to that room, join us . . .” all the while, throwing objects at me, hitting me.

 

I was walking, slowly, agonizingly trying to will my feet to move.  I know I needed to get to him.  He continued to watch me, his eyes giving me strength. They were so calm.  They were filled with this incredible love and I knew not to take my own eyes off of him if I was going to make it.

 

Something the gang of women threw hit me in the back.  It was heavy enough to knock me to the floor.  I continued to crawl as I knew I would not have the strength to get back up.

 

I pulled myself with my arms and pushed with my legs, crawling like a child.  Every movement was so heavy and sapped me of energy.  Finally I crossed the threshold, looking up into his face, like a baby trying to crawl to its parent for the first time.

 

I was so very exhausted.  I just wanted to lay my head on the floor and sleep, but I kept crawling, keeping my face on his, even straining my neck back to look up at him.

 

Finally I was close enough and I reached my hand out to touch his sandaled foot.

 

I touched him.

 

As soon as my hand made contact with his foot, all the heaviness left me immediately.  I was lifted and placed in his arms, with my head against his shoulder, as baby would be placed.  My hand rested on his chest and my head in the crook of his shoulder.  I was crying but full of emotion that was anything but sadness.

 

I smiled at him.  I know my cheeks were wet and I was looking at him through tears.  Everything I felt was coming back at me through his eyes.  I said without speaking, “I love you, do you know that?”  The joy of giving him back what he gave me was incredible.  “I do know” he told me, again without speaking”.  Those eyes were remarkable.  I wanted to fall into them they held so much love and peace.  Complete serenity.

I felt as if I was being gently set back on the floor.  I felt my feet touching it and I was standing now, as the fully grown girl that I was before I crossed that threshold.

 

He asked me, again without speaking, why I was afraid.  I told him that I had been trying to get out and away from those stalking me and chasing me, I said to him, “Will you please help me get out? I can’t find my way out.”

 

He replied (none of this with speaking), “All you need is your faith, where is your faith?”

 

As he said this he began to drift back away from me.  I shook my head, “No . . . don’t leave me here, I have to get out, can you show me the way out?”

 

He continued to drift back while I shook my head no in denial, he kept repeating, “keep your eyes on me and have faith” . . .

 

I followed him,  reaching out to touch him, “please don’t leave, I need to get out” and his smile always interrupting with , “keep your eyes on me and have faith, just remember to have faith . . .” as he drifted back away from me.

 

I followed him with my hand toward him to touch him until I connected with something.  It was flat and solid and cool.  It was the wall, but I could still see him beyond the wall.

 

In my head was his words repeated over and over, “keep your eyes on me, don’t turn away and have faith.”  I began shaking my head in agreement, “okay”, I said, “okay, okay . . .” shaking my head as a child would in understanding.

 

Both my hands were against the wall now, peering through it and seeing him slowly fade into the pattern of the paneling, repeating the same, “keep your eyes on me and have faith . . .” and my shaking my head “okay” until finally he was undetectable in the paneling. 

 

I continued to nod my head “yes”, repeating, “okay” as if he were still there.  The gang of women were no longer a concern.

 

Suddenly the wall disintegrated into this grey, pearly mist and in an instant I was sitting at a counter in a Dunkin’ Donuts.

 

I awoke and opened my eyes over a cup of half-drunk coffee; the aroma of it snaking its way up through my olfactory nerves and lodging in my sinuses. 

 

I slowly lifted my head and looked around.  None of the other patrons had noticed I had fallen asleep.  But how did I even get here?  I don’t remember driving to a Dunkin Donuts!  This was my step father’s favorite haunt, but he was nowhere in sight.

 

I looked down and saw a half-eaten Danish and a bill with a dollar and change laying on top of it.  I shook my head in disbelief.  Whatever happened, nobody noticed and somebody, maybe me, paid the bill.

 

I felt incredibly groggy, as if I hadn’t slept in days.  I turned on the stool and made my way to the other side of the shop to leave, walking past all the seated patrons who were engaged with conversation or looking into their cups of coffee.

 

I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to look behind me.  It was a kid (college aged . . . my age) with short, neatly trimmed dark blonde hair.  He was clean cut, wearing a flannel shirt.  “Can you help me?” he asked.

 

“Uh, sure.”  I said to him.

 

He continued, “I’m trying to get home from college.  I had friends that were supposed to meet me here and pick me up, but I’ve been waiting over an hour and I don’t think they are coming.  Would you possibly be able to drive me home?”

 

I said to him, still feeling half asleep, “Sure, where do you live?”

 

“Milford.” He replied.

 

I felt a sense of dread, knowing my beast of a car and it’s thirst for gas.  “I’m sorry, I can’t.  I don’t have enough gas in my car to get to Milford.”

 

He replied, “That’s okay.  I can give you five dollars for gas.  My mother will give you another five once we get there.”

 

I thought for a second.  Milford was only about thirty to forty minutes away.  “Alright, I’ll do it.”  I turned and continued toward the front of the shop, expecting he would just follow.

 

Next thing I know I feel another tap on my shoulder and the grey, pearly mist folded around me again.

This time when I turned to acknowledge him, I was looking up into the face of my sister, who was bent over my bed, “Get up lazy-bones, I made you a cup of tea…”

 

With that she left my room.  I was on my belly and had to twist around to see her.

 

I swung my feet over the side of  the bed and sat there for a second.  The first thought in my head was, “ugh…”

 

Wherever I was before she woke me, I was in a deep sleep.  My sister, who is 13 months younger than me, had become pregnant and was handed an ultimatum by my mother the year before at the age of seventeen . . . marry or abort.  So she had married and moved out of the house.  She apparently was there to visit.

 

I managed the motivation to get off of the bed.  I had laid down for a short nap after work. At the age of nineteen and living back at home after a year of “on your own”, I still had that luxury.

 

I made my way out of the bedroom and through the house to the kitchen.  Around the table was my then thirteen year old brother, my mother, my visiting eighteen year old sister and her seven month old son.

 

I found my “assigned seat” marked by the cup of tea she had told me she made me.  I sat down, wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep.  Pieces of the dream were coming back to me as I worked my way backward through the memory of it.  I took a sip of the tea which was perfect in taste and temperature. Slowly life began to spread back through my veins until it reached my brain cells.

My sister and her husband had one vehicle between the two of them.  I know by his schedule at the Delaware Hospital for the Chronically Ill that he would have been at work.  So I asked her, “Sandy, how did you get here?”  She replied, “Bob picked me up on the way home from his mother’s house and dropped me off before he went to work.”

 

“Oh”, I replied and took another sleepy sip of tea.  Bob was our stepfather and he drove truck for Perdue.  He would be gone all night.  Oh yes, I had to ask, “Sandy . . . how are you getting home?”

 

She leaned over the table at me with this impish grin on her face, “You’re driving me.”

 

Her imposition sent a bit more life back into my blood tinged with irritation, “Sandy, I don’t have enough gas to get you back to Townsend, you . . .” and she broke into my preparation to let her have it by telling me, “Bonnie!  I have five dollars for gas and Wayne will give you another five when I get home . . .”

 

My eyes flew open and I jumped up out of my chair, “Mom! Mom!  I just had a dream about that!”  I was fully awake after that, and told them all my dream, including the little “attachment” dream God gave me, that came true as soon as I woke up . . . His way of telling me, “pay attention to this, I am not playing around . . .”

 

*

 

That dream I had in the summer of 1984.  There were elements in the dream of course that are universal, such as “keep your eyes on me” and “have faith” and “remember your faith” . . . but the pack of women following me and taunting me, trying to terrorize me and thwart my destination made no sense. They represented distraction to me back then, but take on a whole new significance learning what I’ve learned about what Michael had to deal with.

 

The Victorian house?  My longing for a home.  I never really had one.  Grew up without the security of a home, a longing for Victorian times?  Old fashioned values?  These were things that disintegrated when I was six years old.  Security and family became things of the past.

 

The unending doors and hallways, the many twists in the path, lies, illusions.

 

All doors closed except one . . . the one that Christ is standing in the room. The ONLY destination is the one where the door is open. 

 

The counsel from Christ to “keep my eyes” on him and “have faith” and “remember your faith” that faith gets you through and out of every situation.  Just trust him and keep your eyes on him.

 

Being stalked by gangs of women and Jesus giving me the “attachment” dream that came true right after I woke up, right down to the dollar and the gas!  I was supposed to pay attention to this dream.

 

Gangs of women . . . I can’t get over that one.

 

Tomorrow, I will share with you the “numbers” and the research Biblically I had done four years ago, inspired by a simple, little known movie.

 

God Bless you