There is nothing I shall want, she said, as she stared at the place on the counter where the bag of gold used to be. She was practicing letting go of this and that, mostly that gold. It was not easy. She decided to concentrate on getting well next and after that, if she was not dead she would go after the gold again, in a year or too. Meanwhile she would try and figure out how to live without this midas that mythered her. She knew it was not possible to save herself and her health, if she kept harping on about the gold.
She went in search of the Druid again so she could get a better grip on what was required of her for her healing. He was a bit reluctant to humor her, saying she had to make some headway, be ready for instruction, before he could get his people together to swing the sticks in the air, boomerang sytle above her head, to create the vortex that would heal her. She thought of going elsewhere for her healing but her inability to walk hindered her and she had to use what and who was at hand to work on her. The druid turned his back on her as he lit his pipe.
Doing her exercises helped her symptoms but she felt the cause was there and had lodged in the area near the top of her right leg. Once in a great while, for about three hours she felt in tune and at that time the pain left her, as she listened to a sweet tune, or held the twin babies that were being passed around. When she was totally forgetting herself she was pain free. She was always surprised when the pain was there again in the night or there to greet her as she sliped out of bed to greet the day.
There was some instruction, delicate, precise about listening for instruction from within, through her dreams and through her meditations, and through just asking in the dawn light for enlightenment, an understanding of what was happening, what she needed to do to reverse the river of lumpiness, of pain in her near butt region.
And then as she got her instructions, which she felt she did, how could she get herself to not dicker down what she had received.
She had a dream about twins coming to live with her. She was sure she got instructions from one, which was opposite from the instructions from the other. She looked at the stars in the sky called Castor and Pollock, known to her as the twins also, as they looked at her in their proximity to the yellow moon in the middle of the night sky. They were full of light and caught her attention, but no clearance on which of the dream twins she needed to heed.
When she brought her dream to the Druid, he said that she needed to hold the tension of the opposite views of the twins, and stand in that place between the two, so she could launch into a different direction as the one she was on was not helpful to her or her walking legs. Typical instructions she mumbled to herself. The choice was back to her as usual.
She did not care to talk to those two, twins of her dreams. In real life the twins she knew were at best horse thieves, at worst, well she was a little afraid of them. However, she sat with the twins together and thought of all she knew about them, of what they might say, why they were in her life bargaining for the space around her, wanting an exact third. One of them was already sitting in a make shift construction of boards in one of her rooms. Mariah thought of the boards at the end of the lane, for a moment.
For a little minute she thought she saw how to step on their heads and launch into a slightly higher place, where the space was free, free to all three of them. She saw a shadow of herself walking in her house, at peace, in love for a moment with her life, accepting all that it consisted of, keeping her mind to this and not that. She would get a hold on the great criticizer in her and sew it up, like a Halloween mouth, not allowed to say the usual things, or better still to sit with the criticism and to take out her own needle and thread and poke it out of herself, all that was belonging to those twins, in her, and then sew up the wound. Every time they opened their mouth she could repeat. It would keep her very busy. She would have to just go back repeatedly and walk in peace through her house. How not to dicker it down? How to hold on to the spirit of truth and peace and love as she went her way as the winter came in. She would keep trying, was what she concluded, be optimistic, be kind and smile more. It was some kind of a start she mused as she began preparations for the evening meal for Uishneach knowing he would surely show up soon. She went outside to find a stone to put in the bone soup. The end.
Rose is happily working with dreams and was the dreamer in the corner at the Open House at her part time counseling job where she practices as an LPC. Many people work with her through their dreams in a psychoanalytic way.
And if you want to work with me at my home office later in the week I will be happy to bring you to the idea and the feeling, and the fact that dream work is soul work. Let me know if you like my story above. Sending out a prayer for you. Love from Rose.