Strange book

I dreamed I was with a former colleague from the bookstore, D.F. We were in a red, red room, a kind of bookstore itself, about 20 x 20, crowded with several other people in dark clothing. We were staring into a glass case that was lit up.

I had in my hand a book, and found my name in the back, the index. D.F. asked if his name was in there, but claimed that his real name was "Strange." I looked it up. "Nothing," I told him.

The bookseller behind the glass handed us a large, cumbersome graphic novel. It was lavishly illustrated, a masterpiece. We opened it to one page where there were three or four panels. It depicted a divinity seated among clouds, who I immediately took to be Giove, wearing bright yellow raiments. He winked slyly at the reader, breaking the fourth wall. Below him, on a black bier, was the former president, lying in state. He looked peaceful, but you could only see his profile; his face was masked in shadow. In the next panels, we see the hand of Giove dip down into his mouth, where he removes one of the president's molars. It begins to gleam, and Giove lifts it up.

Both D.F. (a.k.a. Strange) turned away from the page, as if it were too much to see what happens next.

Divine Eros

The erotic impulsion of the Good, that pre-exists in the Good, is simple and self-moving; it proceeds from the Good, and returns again to the Good, since it is without end or beginning. This is why we always desire the divine and union with the divine. For loving union with God surpasses and excels all other unions. —Saint Maximus the Confessor, Fifth Century of Various Texts