Religious experiences often come in the form of a visit in a dream. Jesus, for example, may come to you while you're sleeping and tell you something important. Maybe you forgot where you hid your stash - well, I hear sometimes the Blessed Virgin will whisper its location in your ear while you're all 'ZZZZZZZZ'.
Unfortunately, none of those people have ever dropped in on me. No saints or spirits or God or anyone. My Midnight Messengers tend to be MLB'ers. Like Pedro! Sneer if you want, Churchy, but does your higher power have a Cy Young award?
Last night/this morning I dreamed I was riding shotgun next to Keith Foulke. The car was a beater (a Maverick?) and there was a half-inch of wet snow on the streets. Dusk. Undeterred by the slipperiness, Foulke was hitting a stainless steel flask. There were people in the back seat in parkas. It seemed like the late 80's.
"Is that coffee?" I asked him. Even though, yeah right. He said "Nooo" very condescendingly and waved a bottle of Yukon Jack in my direction. I wanted a sip very badly but was too polite to ask. He didn't offer. Then I woke up.
This sort of thing doesn't appear in the Old Testament, but there're imprints of Catholicism all over this dream. Like yesterday was Foulke's birthday. And... he's coming back, you know. He wants back in. He's all better now and he was only kidding about not really liking baseball. RESURRECTION!!!
I have read where people are saying "Hell, yeah, I would give him a shot in Boston. Why not?" And that is a very stupid idea. I don't know anything, and I know that a one-year hiatus from pitching doesn't re-elasticize your arm and junk. I get the feeling KF needs money.
(his spirit entered me and I became Allular)