The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1403 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Billie trotted along behind me to the car, then got in behind me and pulled on her seat belt. She said nothing all the way home which suited me fine. I was trying to get my head round the dilemma of being special to some obscure Hebrew goddess. As I did the old epithet, Those whom the gods love, die young, kept slopping about my remaining brain cells. I didn’t feel particularly afraid because I suspect it’s another mythology, and besides how can a mythical entity harm anyone?

Despite my apparent nonchalance, what Sister Maria had said concerned me. I didn’t understand the blue light or from whence it emanated, let alone why it chose me–I mean, special yeah, but no more than the other few thousand transsexuals in this country–are they being threatened by a goddess? I doubt it.

I need to talk to someone who might understand my dilemma without any judgementalism, and I think I know who. I reassured myself that I was responding responsibly to Maria’s warning, because that’s what it was. I felt silly doing anything other than dismissing it, but what if she was right?

I’d wait and see what this other person thought. We arrived home and Billie went to change into her own clothes while I explained what had happened and put her soiled uniform in the washing machine.

They were all relieved to see her safely home and made a fuss of her, but she wanted to go and lie down–she did promise she wouldn’t run off again or do anything to hurt herself–the incident with her headmistress had shocked her somewhat–she wasn’t the only one.

I explained what had happened and how after apologising to the police for her aberrant behaviour, I had a chat with Sister Maria.

“So the blue light triumphs again?” smiled Simon.

“By itself, no, that required the connivance of Sister Maria who doubtless will go to confession for telling porkies.”

“If she hadn’t, you could have been done for murder.”

“I know, I could have had fourteen years to think about things in between slopping out.”

“How about we all go out for dinner to celebrate the return of the lamb who was lost and my wonderful wife?”

“Who was equally lost–by all means you go, but I’ll stay home with Billie and the babies. I’m really not hungry anyway.”

“Okay, I’ll go and get a Chinese for those of us who are hungry.” He called up the local takeaway, and made his order–then set off to collect it.

I checked on Billie, she was fast asleep, then after showering to remove the debris of the day, I changed into some jeans and a tee shirt and went to phone someone from my study, closing the door after me.

“Cathy, what a lovely surprise–how is married life suiting you?”

“Um–it’s okay I guess, same as before with titles?”

Marguerite laughed at the other end of the phone.

“Have you some time to talk, I need some advice?”

“Um–I could probably manage half an hour–is that okay?”

“That would be splendid, thank you so much.”

“Okay, what could be so important that you need to talk with a priest? Don’t tell me Jesus wants you for a sunbeam, because if you do I shall drive up there and slap you one.”

“Ah no, it’s a bit more complicated than dealing with Iron Age carpenters.”

“Ooh, that was catty.”

“Sorry. Look, let’s get straight to the point–how much do you know about the Shekinah?”

“Old Testament Hebrew goddess/feminine principle/female face of God–how’m I doing?”

“Better than most. Do you believe in her?”

“You mean do I believe she could exist?”

“Something like that yes.”

“It’s possible, God manifests in so many ways.”

“Could it all be something in my head?”

“That’s possible too–there’s a but coming though, isn’t there?”

“Yes, she seems to have invaded the mind of someone else who issued me a stern warning that I needed to listen to her–the Shekinah–or pay the consequences.”

“Very Old Testament.”

“Exactly.”

“What is the Shekinah wanting you to do?”

“That’s it, I don’t know.”

“Have you tried communicating with her?”

“Look the last time I tried communicating with a mythical character, I was seven years old and sending messages up the chimney to Father Christmas.”

“Did it work?”

“No, I got a bloody football not a tea set.”

“Do you accept that the Shekinah might exist?”

“Not really–and would I be talking to myself–like all those poor buggers in church on a Sunday?”

“Thank you very much.”

“Oh sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I see, so you make exceptions for me and my imaginary friend, do you?”

“For you, Marguerite, I’d accept anything and make exception any time.”

“Flattery may work with gods and goddesses but not their foot soldiers.”

“It was intended as a statement of the esteem in which I hold your advice.”

“When in a hole stop digging.”

“Um–okay.”

“You need to talk with this entity–how you conceive her is less important than the communication, so see her as a goddess or as a part of your higher-self, if you want to be Jungian, about it. But settle down quietly somewhere, meditate and see if you can make contact.”

“What do I say to her if I do make contact?”

“Whatever you like, but no hostilities; that achieves nothing. Be open but no arrogance–scientists act like priests of old–remember I was one, you still are.”

“Arrogant–me? I’m ever so ‘umble.”

“Cathy, this could be serious.”

“What you actually believe this thing exists?”

“Do you believe in the blue light you’ve used to heal people?”

“Isn’t that self evident?”

“Of course, but I needed to start with some base level. The fact that you’ve used it means it exists.”

“Yes.”

“So where does it come from?”

“I have no idea, do you?”

“I have my own ideas but they wouldn’t help this discussion. But consider for a moment that they are a manifestation of the Shekinah, the female principle behind all healing.”

“Hang on, that’s a bit sexist, isn’t it?”

“It might be somewhat stereotyped, but if we take the masculine principle as being primarily destructive and the female one as constructive–as the opposite ends of the spectrum–then most of us sit somewhere between regardless of sex or gender.”

“Okay, so the Shekinah is up towards the female end of the spectrum?”

“She is the opposite end of the spectrum.”

“But if she punishes me or mine because I ignore her, isn’t that hurting rather than healing–and more masculine than feminine?”

“No because she sees herself as healing you in punishing you. Once you understand what she wants you to do, you will be healed, in her eyes.”

“But I’m not sick.”

“No, but you don’t accept yourself very well, do you?”

“I do–I’m just a bit more critical–because I know what’s going on inside me–motives etcetera, and they aren’t always very nice.”

“Okay, so you’re no Mother Theresa, but then she wasn’t as pure and perfect as they sometimes like to make out.”

“Probably not, but I’m no saint, shall we say I’m closer to the sinner’s end of that spectrum.”

“You’re human–my goodness–that’s quite a discovery.”

“Very funny.”

“Talk with her, allow her to show you what she wants and humour her, she has the wisdom of millennia on her side.”

“Age doesn’t always mean wisdom.”

“No it doesn’t–especially in your case.”

“Hey, that was below the belt.”

“Only because you wear it as a headband.”

“True,” we both sniggered.

“Is that any help? I have to go, I have the mother’s union people about to arrive.”

“It’s always a help to speak with you, Marguerite, thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome–oh, and may the God you don’t believe in, watch over you. God bless you, Cathy.”

“And you, reverend.”

“The doorbell–the mother’s union have arrived–bye.”

My own doorbell rang as I put the phone down announcing the arrival of Stephanie–I went to wake Billie.