There were two pieces of bacon left and she had her eye on one of the pieces, maybe more. She felt a little guilty she had eaten the rest of the side of bacon, quietly, deliberately, munchingly. It was so sweet, crisp and uneven, sizzling on the black pan on the red hot coals of turf. In the black cold of winter, it had a way of filling up her emptiness very satisfyingly.
In a moment of guilt and lapsing greediness, she told Uisneach about the two last pieces of bacon, forgetting to mention her name was on one of the pieces, assumed he would figure that all out. That morning he ate breakfast earlier then she, and he was well finished, his mess cleaned up, by the time she was ready to eat. She felt she knew what she might eat for breakfast, what concoction of greens, or eggs or porridge might pass her lips. She especially knew the bacon was on her plate that morning. Her eyes were a little lit up, a little green glint, from the inside glow her thoughts of the bacon were creating on her.
She got the coals ready, the pan was hot and she went to find the bacon. There was no sign of it. She looked around the corner. Uisneach was busy with his papers and she asked if he had seen the bacon. Not only had he seen it, but also he had eaten it. There was no smell of bacon. Had he cooked it? Was he sure he had cooked it and eaten it. He said he lightly cooked it and ate the lot. She wondered if it had even greased his lips. She left quickly so he would not see how long her face was getting.
She went back to the hot pan and to find the porridge that was nine days old and a little frozen waiting for its lot to be eaten. She placed in on the pan and in the coals above and below, with the tight lid on it. She waited for it to send out a slight smell of burning, and when it was bubbling she turned it over and made a crisp skin on the top and bottom. She whipped her fury about the bacon into some cream and honey. As she jumped around trying to get it to whip up, it slipped out of her greasy little fingers and was gone. She sat down near the mess, crying for all the injustices that ever beset her and ended up with the bacon and the cream, her most favored food, in her mind. She knew cleaning up her mess would not be easy.
The porridge was not a bad breakfast but whenever she thought of the bacon and cream, she went a little sour, which in turn made her stomach sour and she had to carry around that lot for the day with her, eating a little of this and drinking a little of that to settle everything down again. Later, when she met druid Bernie, who never ate any bacon ever, and petted pigs and gave them names, she walked with him a ways. This adjusted her mood a bit, and when she told him of her not feeling well, he gave her apple pieces to feed to the pig and said it would make her feel better. Giving pieces of apple to the pig and hearing him snuffle it all down gave her a certain pleasure and she paused to think it might be good thing to not be eating pieces of this lovely pink pig. She left feeling fine again.
When Rose woke up that morning, she had a dream. It reminded her of the Black Madonna and “The Child of Prague,” to whom, her mother prayed. As she awoke she knew to wait a second and not think of her dream, as something had to happen first. She waited. A wave of undulating movement went over her chest from one shoulder on one side to lower on the chest on the other. It looked similar to the thing that happens on her web site when she presses on the button “publish.” Then she remembered the dream.
It was the third or fourth ‘being chased’ dream, only this time there was a tall statuesque woman, beautiful, who was doing the chasing. She came in and as she turned to sit down she said how sorry she was for chasing Rose. Rose was a little amazed at this, hardly knowing how to take the apology. She presumed that all the chasers, including the killer, was sent by this black Madonna to get her attention.
And when the madonna had her attention, and had her meditating in earnest, painting in watercolors, writing, making music, exercising, and then had her have the right attitude within these activities, then and only then could she come in and sit down and say she was sorry. Rose feared these chasing dreams as she lacked an interpretation that satisfied her. She said that a follow up dream would come to explain things to her and it did. Rose finally became “In earnest” about taking her quest to another level.
The right attitude is the one where she finally gets it. She is reminded of the parable of the Sower who goes out to sow the seed. The picture that came to her was of a tall woman with flowing hair, who was throwing out something of a gossamer quality, that changes the nine feet of space around her. This changes the space she walks in. The sower knows what she needs to sow. She knows of the miracle of the seeds multiplying, from one to one hundred and it is love she is sowing. If she does not know that nothing else matters. If she does know that nothing else matters.
And if you want to understand what your dreams are about, hear their commentary on your spiritual efforts, then make sure you come and work with me with your dreams, your creativity and with your spiritual practices. For you see I am a counselor who works with dreams in her private practice and can be contacted through this site. I can also be found in the Center for Marriage and Family Counseling, working with clients on Tuesdays and Mondays as a Licensed Professional Counselor each week. You can access my information on Psychology Today.
Love from Rose