Bridget’s Phantasm

If somebody can tell me the way to peel a soft boiled egg without
destroying the edible part I will say nice things about you the next time I write in this blog. Send me an e- at russianxak@sbcglobal.net.

Today is Bridget’s Day, the return of the light, the blessing of the wells, the first stirrings of seeds in the ground. If you are a Celtic Pagan you will be dancing and making music and generally raising holy hell on this day. I didn’t pay a lot of attention to Bridget myself because I slept most of the day. I got up at 6, went to sleep in the easy chair at 7, woke up at 10, went back to sleep until 1pm. That is Old Dog behavior and it scares the poop out of me!

I had a really strange dream sometime during all that sleep. Courtesy of, I don’t know what. Wish I could decipher it. I think dreams are some kind of message from a Higher Power and one time years ago I participated in a dream workshop at a Catholic retreat center and learned a lot. Now I have forgotten it. But I am having a hell of a time forgetting this dream.

Here it is:

I attended a weekend workshop with a bunch of people mostly including neighbors and family from my married years. It was given by people who advocated something that I wouldn’t have touched earlier with a ten foot pole because my ex-wif3e was big in it and it had to do with Church and I thought it was a cult. But we all had conferences and dialog and all that psycho-energetic stuff and when it was over we were all in love with everybody. I was I love with everybody including my ex- (no I am not going back to her in real life). Totally, to the core. I saw all the mistakes I had made in all of my past life from birth and they were all somehow wiped away. I was friends with my (former) spouse as well as being in love with her, pals with my kids. Part of the exercise, after the weekend was a trip to Ottawa, Canada (don’t ask, I don’t know either). On the trip (we went in a Jeep that Mark G. drove, in real life he died about a year and a half ago) we went through sites where people, big industry, were building new bridges out of steel. In Ottawa we wound up at a ‘40’s Greyhound Station with a ‘40’s black bakelite phone what I used to try to call my Mom. It didn’t work. Then we drove to Hastings, Nebraska to the seminary I used to go to school at. I showed my ex- the Plains (like, you know, flat for miles, as far as the eye could see, and all newly plowed…) Visited with seminary people from of old, classmates, teachers, priests. Don’t remember that we did anything but eat supper.

But the feelings just about killed me. With joy? I don’t know. Even after I woke up and sucked down gallons of coffee and went shopping and driving in the real world, I couldn’t shake this universe-moving feeling of “What have I missed all these years?” I don’t know if it was sad or joyous. But it’s there down to my core even now at eight o’ clock at night. I would like it to go away. Or, at best, just have wimpy, absurd, fluffy dreams tonight. Any clues out there? Tresa??? If this is about getting centered with the Universe I would rather have it in smaller doses. If it is about getting rich and ordering pounds of tobacco from Europe I want every last detail. If it is about the shortbread cookies I had during the news last night, I will never eat them again!

My sometime friend Tommy M. died last week. He had a heart attack, got two stints surgically implanted, came home and sent emails to everybody about how well he was doing. And dropped dead. Ta!