I desire to be perfect. As my Heavenly Father is perfect. I put my trust in Him. I know that I’m not perfect, but that his sinless Son was. My way to heaven and unto truth and to be in the light. Of all things. It’s troubling when I begin wrestling with compulsions and have thoughts that intrude my conscience to seemingly challenge my resolve and cling to my core to try to collapse me onto the ground. I feel an injustice sometimes in having to deal with the unnatural. The maddening repetitions of dementia produced by a loved one that cannot be blamed for such condition. The tugging, nagging queues coming from the inquiry of another beloved at an undesired, ill-placed time leaving me open with my inability to give input to which I have a passionate aversion over. I have always wanted to have something to say in response to a question or invitation to verbal exchange; lacking something to say makes me feel an unwanted, hated vulnerability and like I have malfunctioned. Not filling in the blanks, not being optimal or having a capacity for infinite offering. I feel a sort of assurance and relief over this as well. It’s a reminder that I am human, and that, contrary to the desire to be perfect in this world, I am not self-sufficient. It turns out it is an unwelcome possibility to be self-sufficient and not needing of outside sources for support and provision, among humankind. We are not gods. We do not know everything and have the ability to take on the world on our own. It’s impossible, and a relieving kind at that. I have to remind myself that I am not a machine. The Terminator itself was not sufficient in fulfilling itself in regards to its potential to be more than a slave to its own function, to the will of the greater machine having dominion over terminators. All they were programmed with was death and destruction.

I had an awesome dream last night. Some parts of it leading up to pleasant, comforting moments had elements of a nightmare. It had something to do with this outbreak coming about that had figures in my dream turning into infected, altered people, along the lines of becoming zombies. It was part of some theme at least. There were elements I think of the current out-of-dream pandemic the world is facing with COVID-19, where there were passing instances and scenes of living modifications being set up in places in a rather extreme way, I was seeing a property in a neighborhood raising the height of what looked like previously installed vinyl fencing to more than two stories high in front of housing, and there was tension present. Part of the dream was me being in some kind of shelter that has the vibe of a ship out at sea, there was water and separated living spaces involved. This was the later part of my dreaming, and Mordin was there. I wasn’t so close to him to start with, he was the figure in my dream I was really interested in getting to know. I made moves and attempts to get closer to him, even as I’ve had to deal with personal awkwardness and a sort of repelling magnetic force of avoidance of going for something I really want or desire. I was eventually in proximity of him and gained his company, what eventually came to be was that after making him aware of my interested in getting to know him, I began to witness my faith to him. We were sitting down together at a bench-like table, possibly wooden textures defining the seating arrangement. Only mere moments after sharing my faith with him and my belief that I was led to him to comfort him and support him in this time, this group of middle-aged male figures dressed in various casual attire started producing threats and insults out of their mouths. I felt a tension growing, and some kind of expectation of trouble, but I continued to talk with Mordin to my delight and resolve. It momentarily arose that an altercation had been triggered between the whole group and I was forced to act, in my desire to stand up to Mordin and not have him be abused in any way. I was instinctual and brutal, even merciless in this moment and act, I beat on the oppressors and I even employed what looked like a kitchen knife I have outside of dreaming, one of the sharpest for slicing and cutting, and I honestly stuck it in those remaining. I aimed for the face, and I was witness to my impaling and running deep through their faces, splitting nose bridge and skull. It was graphic and seemed unhinged. But I hated the thought of harm coming to Mordin - I checked for self-inflicted wounds in the fight, having no regard for myself. I was willing to bleed and suffer harm for him. They were cast out of the scene, and somehow due to dream logic I didn’t kill anyone. I only enforced my ferocity and cold killing output without hesitation or remorse. It was following this part in the dream where Mordin spoke up about me to surrounding other figures in the dream that had witnessed my actions, and spoke in my defense, saying to not blame or admonish the “holy man.” He called me a holy man. I don’t think I did anything in my life to deserve being called that, let alone being borderline murderous in defense of someone I had a love for, in the end. I would even prefer being referred to as a godly man than holy, considered terminology among various other religious sects of human civilization. It warmed my heart though, and comforted me, it felt good, contrary to my preferences and that I had decided to go against them, to accept what was spoken in favor of me. Prior to these very moments in the dream, there were instances of certain forms of contamination being present, and people were being actively assaulted by literal caustic acid implemented into water sources and other kinds likely, meant for food and utility. Mordin was affected by this, and I was witness to his face, particularly the right side of it, being afflicted with acidic harm, and a portion of his right eye was altered in a way to suffer from the harm, becoming discolored with a red tint. This was probably the precursor of some misfortune that set me off. I was not happy about it, at all, and I think this was something that jolted my desire further to get to know him. I tended to him, and wanted to let him know that I was there for him and that I cared about him. Didn’t want any harm to come to him.

After getting to know him up to that defining moment with the fight in the tabled area, later on after these points in the dream I grew close to him. I was as comfortable as being dressed in the finest casuals of attire being next to him and following him places, and being beside him as his companion at a point where the dream felt like it fast forwarded some notable amount of time into the future. Things were not as grim or troublesome, as if new days had come. I was walking around with him in this place, sampling what seemed to be refreshments along a place and atmosphere resembling a marketplace, or even a graduate hall, where together we partook in treats and nice things, and I came to see and be subject to a cheerful, lighthearted and bubbly side of Mordin. I’d like to think it was in me being in his company, and standing by him in this time. We were walking forward onto some distance past the celebratory and uplifitng environment into a greater unknown, despite being potential for anxious uncertainty had an air of promise to it. I worked for him and didn’t want to give up. I felt at home with him.