Rose thought of Saint Patrick who travelled across Ireland to go up a mountain, The Reek, also called Croagh Patrick. He stayed out there for forty days and nights and had his visions. Surely he was pinned to the mountain as the moon came and went on those forty nights. In the fifth centaury the Christians took their religion seriously, looking for the connections only to be found in aloneness between self and Source/God. There is a direct line between Tara, where he lit the pascal fire and this Mountain on the Atlantic West Coast of Ireland. It crosses the Hill of Uisneach, known in ancient times as the Naval Stone of Ireland.
Rose climbed Croagh Patrick with some of her sisters and her Father and brother. Mary, now deceased, was the one who ran ahead all the time, light on her feet. We left home at 6 am or earlier. Rose can still see her father’s blue eyes close to her face, as he woke her up to get ready to go. They got to the Reek near nine am and started the climb. It was a long hard climb, especially the last bit, as it was all scree and fairly up straight. It was August and steam came off their backs as they climbed that last bit, toward the middle of the day. They had to look out for the people going down as sometimes they started going faster and faster and could not stop. They would have a frantic look on their face as legs went out of control, arms and legs going in all directions. One passed nearby close enough to touch.
There was a cool stiff sea breeze on the top. There were prayers and rosaries to be said, plus confession and Holy Communion, even Mass. Many priests did the climb and signed up for saying mass as part of their climb. Pilgrims knelt down on stony places. Rose and her siblings were treated to a tin cup full of strong sweet tea shared among them, procured by their father from the little gray clad man with the donkey who had such fare for a price.
Rose’s father liked to make a picnic on the way home and set a fire and made some fresh tea and some sandwiches and variety cakes purchased in Lynam’s Bakery in moat. There was one Rose liked in particular, full of lemon tasting cream in a pastry. A big fluffy one full of cream in the middle, sprinkled with powdered sugar was another favorite. Getting a mouthful from each one was the most that could be done with sharing these treats. The large slice of “plain loaf,” white and spongy covered in homemade rhubarb jam was a welcome meal after the hard hike up the mountain.
Her father got leg cramps as he drove the “blue Vauxhall” through the stoney somewhat treeless Connemara on the long straight roads between water and bog and rocks. Her father had to stop the car to walk a bit, a time or two, until he got better. He looked very serious, as he walked up and down on the tarmac road for the cramps to subside, ill equipped to fathom the meaning of pain for him as he aged. He did all the driving. Rose was sleeping on the back seat by then, and as she woke herself up in the silenced car, she looked out the window and observed him in his walk at a slight distance, and she worried for the worried look on his face. They arrived home a weary bunch but with a memory of that ascension. The mighty ocean in the distance, the waves, the stiff breeze, being higher than anyplace she had ever been before, combined to make her very glad to be home again.
Rose dreamed she found her earring with the two pearls on it, under a bench, near where a truck stopped in which she had been travelling. She was so surprised to find the earring there as she had lost it twice lately. The pearls looked big like that eclipsed moon above. She was happy and just for good measure many of her lost gloves were there, as well as a pair that are new, that she likes a lot, and makes big efforts not to loose.
She thinks she figured out this dream. It is about Rose as a MacTruck. She does not like them in general, they go fast, stones fly out of them, they spue black smoke etc. So if Rose is in her Mack truck she is in the ego, pushing along, not considering the spirit of things. Then if she get out of this truck she will find the pearls of Great Price, which are under a bench on cement. They need rescuing and she can only do that when she is out of her ego, personality and character and habitual ways, going straight forward where ever the spirit leads.
She was pleased to see this. She tried to forget this truck aspect at the beginning but it is the most important message in the dream. She got the interpretation when she pondered it at the beginning of a morning meditation, when she sat with her partner for forty minutes together in silence. As a result of having this dream she is challenging herself before bedtime to observe how she gets into that old Mack truck in herself, by her comments, showing impatience by her blue eyed stare or otherwise ego filled effort to be in control and block out the spirit.
If you have some dreams about lost pearls or trucks, or dreams that bring in the other marvelous symbols of a great blue color, or wearing a straight black wig, then write down three or more and come visit me in my sun filled room. We will see about making straight the old waste places, pay some ransom to grow into other and in the spirit and find ways everlasting. Love from Rose.