A Snake Named Jesus

To tell you my dreams are odd would be an understatement.  They are weird, vivid, brightly Technicolor, and often, violent.  The last week or so they’ve settled for just being odd.

Last night, I had a dream about a snake named Jesus.  Jesus, as in the son of Mary.  Not Jesus, the son of Maria.  And somehow, I was working for the Director.

I got the impression I was working for a movie director, and my job hinged on catching a snake after it had done its bit on film.  Actually, my job hinged on getting over my fear of snakes.  Because being afraid of snakes was going to get me fired.

Jesus was an opalescent color, which scales turned gorgeous rainbow colors.  It was to come out of a pile of food, and I was to catch it and put it in a bin for safe-keeping.  Only, when the time came, I couldn’t find a bin and Jesus escaped me.

The next thing is all of a sudden snakes are coming out of the walls, and people I barely knew in a past long gone were walking the halls of the mall looking to kill snakes with pitchforks and long sticks.

I found myself stopping groups of people and telling them not to kill Jesus.  Other snakes were fair game, but not Jesus.

And then, like the cliché, I woke up.

In waking life news, there’s this.

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