Judica me
Deus, et discerne causam meam de gente non sancta: ab homine iniquo et doloso
erue me. Quia tu es Deus fortitudo mea: quare me repulisti, et quare tristis
incedo, dum affligit me inimicus? Emitte lucem tuam, et veritatem tuam: ipsa me
deduxerunt, et adduxerunt in montem sanctum tuum, et in tabernacula tua. Et
introibo ad altare Dei: ad Deum qui laetificat juventutem meam.
Judge me, O God, and
distinguish my cause from the nation which is not holy: deliver me from the
unjust and deceitful man. For Thou, O God, art my strength: why hast Thou cast
me off? and why go I sorrowful whilst the enemy afflicteth me? Send forth
Thy light and Thy truth: they have conducted me and brought me unto Thy holy
mount, and into Thy tabernacles. And I will go into the altar of God: to God
who giveth joy to my youth.
CHAPTER 1
Like
a spring rain, dreams come unexpected, out of nowhere, and end almost as
surreptitiously as they begin. By some ancient slight-of-hand, a sudden shower
can cleanse everything without destroying anything, leaving everything fresh
and new and ―reflective.
Sometimes the damp streets appear to be magically paved with rainbows
afterward. The glassine colors give way under foot and the person, like Alice
going into the rabbit hole, tumbles into the other side consciousness where
scenarios await of being chased by an unidentified assailant, of drowning, and
falling out of an airplane or off a cliff and never hitting the ground.
Children tell each other if the dream ends with being caught or drowning or
hitting the ground the person will die in their sleep. Of course, no one has
ever been known to die in their sleep because of a dream ―one of those things people choose
to believe to be true without the slightest proof. The mind always stirs itself
awake just before impact.
Sebastian
Stephens passed through the rainbow the moment his head touched the pillow. His
dream this particular night didn’t run in continuous sequence like a movie.
This one played more like a movie trailer, jump-cutting scenes, changing points
of view. Both observer and young American Indian boy shirtless and wearing
deerskin breeches, long black hair blowing almost straight out, Sebastian raced
through the shadowy woods. A hand print of white paint over his heart marked
the boy’s chest. More than just running; he fled something or someone. He would
have yelled, but he had to save his breath to maintain his pace. A voice-over
of Gregorian chant Dies Irae fueled the rhythm of his strides as he fled
his pursuer as though his life depended on speed alone. The scene dissolved
into an image of a house with a disconsolate family dressed for church.
Jump-cut now to a procession of men in black robes taking up the deliberate
pounding bass of the Gregorian chant, quan-tus
tre-mor est fu-tu-rus, quan-do-iu-dex-est-ven-tu-rus, cu-nc-ta stric-te
dis-cus-su-rus with a descant of Native American voices in their quicker
paced mourning chant. Hai! Hai! Hai! Hai!
Ji-yu-thon-de-yanka-ha. Hai! Hai! Ja-tag-wen-i-o-ton. Hai! Hai! Men in the black
robes walking ponderously as their counterpoint to the native voices continued.
Oh, what fear man’s bosom rendeth, when
from heaven the Judge descendeth, on whose sentence all dependeth. The
Indian women wept and cried out loud; some howling, shrilling in their grief. Hail! Hail! Hail! Hail! Continue thou to
listen! Hail! Hail! Thou wert ruler. Hail! Hail! Sebastian as the Indian
boy kept running in spite of increasing fatigue. Like the fox he doubled back a
couple of times in a figure eight before he finally dodged behind a boulder to
try to catch his breath. He peeked
around the edge of the giant rock to try to gage his distance from his attacker
just as someone grabbed him from behind. A pair of very strong arms reached
around him, pinning the boy’s arms down to his side. Sebastian as the boy felt
the man’s hot breath on his neck mixing with his own sweat and producing a
chill now while he as the spectator could only standby. The boy turned to get a
glimpse of the man’s face and yelled out in recognition.
Sebastian yelled
himself awake as he sat straight up in bed. Profuse perspiration stuck the
sheet to his body and plastered his hair to his forehead and around his face.
Still panting from his dream running, the sight of the empty side of the bed brought
him back to reality. Fortunately his lover absent lover, Sean, was spared being
awakened by this nightmare. He swung his legs around to plant his feet on the
floor before reaching for the eau de nuit he kept on his nightstand.
What was that
about? Sebastian rejected his initial thought that watching The Last of the Mohicans starring Daniel
Day Lewis prior to bed had anything to do with it. Movies didn’t give him
nightmares, well, at least not since watching horror movies as a kid anyway.
With the journal and a pen kept on the nightstand he attempted to record the
details, but like a spring rain the dream images were all washing away.
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