Pitted Against the Archer

After church today, I laid down and fell into a very deep sleep. In that sleep I had this vivid and very real-seeming dream:

I was standing in a feudal courtyard on a lawn and before me at about 35 yards off was a white paper outline target of the shape of a man like at a practice range. The outline were three grey lines that made hit zones on the overall shape but no real bulls-eye.

I had long-shaft arrows in my hand and was throwing them at the target from far off. I was walking around and throwing them from all angles. I was alone and free to move about without restriction, almost flowing naturally like a sort of danced coreograph like capaoeira. But instead of sparring with a partner I would release an arrow thrown to the target.

When I tried hard to make the target's hit zone, the arrows missed their mark going down and left. When I relaxed and went with "the spirit" they seemed to naturally find the target and stick firmly in the "heart" zone of the target. When I again tried to consciously direct the arrows, they fell away or missed the mark. Then I focused on the Spirit and not by sight and threw an arrow entrusted to the Spirit. The arrow flew and hit the mark in a very tight grouping to the first in the heart zone on the target. I was confident that I had learned to flow with the spirit and trust and had mastered the ablity to strike the heart zone. I felt peaceful, assured, and wise.

I was then out of arrows. I had to walk to the right of the target underneath a colonnade to go get more from a sort of bin. I did not go retrieve my old arrows as is customary in target archery. When I was there several people had come into the colonnade to presumably go to practice as well but they were obscured and remained in the background. A man then came up to me. He was dressed to the Elizabethan Period, with billowed maroon velvet breeches and vesture. Possibly a white silk men's period blouse, a blondish page haircut, and dark piercing eyes that seemed darkened by something around their edges like a mascara. He was not effeminate at all, but rather lordly as a type of aristocrat. His demeanor I would describe more like that of a condescending country club privileged upstart. He was not young but possibly slightly older than myself. He was coming to engage in target practice.

In the man's hand was a bow. I did not get a look at it, but I understood that it was skillfully crafted, perfectly machined and mastered for almost surgical precision in marksmanship. He was obviously an expert marksman aided by his superbly built bow. He was prideful, arrogant, and mocking in his skill gloating over me in highly eloquent Shakesperean-Style prose. He belittled and mocked my approach and style, seeking to challenge me to a dual in marksmanship, and -if I was keen- to learn the secrets of his marksmanship and be taught by him. He was baiting me into this challenge. One that he proudly declared that I was unworthy to partake in, but only if I were to guess the secret to a riddle he would give me that would lead me to a password. A password that would allow me to engage in the marksmanship contest and be shown his secrets. He issued me the riddle. I don't remember it specifically other than it was eloquent, very artfully and skillfully crafted, and that it would have taken one on the order of Aesop or Socrates to deduce by carnal ability.

I was already confident in my ability, however and felt no need to compete with him and that not only was the contest a trick, but so was the riddle. The riddle was designed to make me feel worthless and inadequate before competing and would establish his superiority over me which would psychologically turn me into a willing student and protege in marksmanship. As he posed the riddle to me, I began to deduce its meaning but then my mind returned to its former peace and I turned the riddle back on him.

I asked him, "What is a password for, if not to prevent entry from something that is protected. Why should I have a burden of entry where I can freely go?" I pointed out into the courtyard and the wall disolved and became a forest with a defined edge at the extent of the courtyard. I told him, "Do you see that forest? What password is there that can prevent me from walking in there? Do I need a key to a place where I have free access. Who can restrict me from going there. Who can control or prevent me from going, if I have a will to go? Only the lord or owner of that forest can prevent me from his lands. If I desire access into a stronghold or castle, I can freely enter it of my own accord and will. Only the lord of that castle can prevent me from entrance. But I know the his Lord, the Lord of Lords. And if again, it is my will to enter I can entreat the Lord of Lords and he can give me entry."

At this time the password became known to me as the Word of Knowledge revealed it. I did not declare that I knew it to the man, but looked at him and declared "Your passwords are of none effect. They have no merit and they are merely a game. And I see your trap. I already have the ability to hit the mark and without your bow you have no skill." He looked and my eyes and knew that I knew the password and all of his thoughts and plan he became angry (as disgruntled and thwarted, not as in rage) and stomped off the target range with his bow back to the colonnade to leave and rejoin himself to his cronies.

As he left, he turned over his shoulder and said angrily and spitefully, "I curse you, and I curse your flesh!". To which I responded in the Word, "All flesh is cursed of God by sin, save one man. Your curse is powerless." He said angrily with scorn, "I know who that man is." in a way that implied for me not to lectured him. I answered, "But is He man, or is He God?" He stopped in his tracks and looked at me. I declared, "He is both. He is Jesus Christ. and He is the true password!" He then cried out in angry disgust and fully left as I became filled with a spirit of victory. I realized that the direct knowledge that came to me by spirit was more powerful, wise, and accurate than what I could reason, learn, or perform by skill. And that without trickery, guile, mocking, and cheating, the marksman was actually powerless himself to hit the mark that he was used to hitting accurately so many times before.

Praise God.