Fragments de vies rêvées, nuits vécues, mes rêves comme dévoilement du caché.
It was night, in the countryside, I was in the car with my mother. Suddenly, I cross her gaze and I sense malevolence in her eyes, like demonic eyes. In a very rushed tone, I tell her: “I know you are not my mother, you’re a demon.” She replies: “No Francisca, you’re imagining things.” And suddenly, I notice a rapid change in her eyes: for a moment, they look like those of a reptile, like an iguana’s. Then, her eyes quickly turn back into my mother’s.
I am seized by panic.
Yet, instead of screaming or running away, I repeat to her, with even more conviction, that I know this is not really my mother, but a demon. I tell her I am not afraid, and that it must leave my mother’s body immediately. She starts laughing, a strange and frightening laugh. Then, the only thing that comes to my mind is to pray. I begin to call upon God and Jesus out loud, trying to recite prayers.
The dream was so intense, so distressing, that I woke up whispering, “Jesus.”
