Continued from page 8

…and had it not been for the recurring dream I would have never considered Chicago.  After all – it was the dream that first brought the two of us together.  Not that time, the first time – in the farmer’s market.  Remember?

I didn’t ever put much stock in dreams.  I always viewed them as just a by-product of living through the day.  You go to sleep at night to recharge your batteries and while all that is going on your mental garbage disposal grinds up all the gibberish you’ve collected throughout the day. 

Anyway, now having taken a more serious look at the various peels, shavings and ground-up bits of that gibberish I’ve begun to see just how some of it, those bits flying past your mental window during your dreams, are intended to guide you.  Consider them as mystical hints – No, not this way, take that road.  Or, Hey!  Save this thing you just found on the carpet.  Later you’ll discover what it goes to.

Yes, those are just a couple lame examples, I’m sure the actual hints we are given are more critical and essential than that.  Some, of course, say there are spirits guiding - helping us along.  I don’t know about all that, but here’s an example a little closer to home that I’ve never been able to explain.

Where I live there is an airport that was designed by an actual certified moron.  The layout couldn’t be dumber. It is convenient to no one.  But I digress.  I’m running down this very long hall trying to get to my gate to catch a plane.  I finally get there only to discover the airline has changed gates.  Now I have almost enough time to run, dragging my luggage, to the far side of the airport and then down another very long hall to the new gate. 

A large group is gathered around the gate.  The back-up is caused by TSA, who had decided to re-scan each passenger before they board.  They even had a bomb sniffing dog walk through the plane before we were allowed to get on.

Eventually I fly to a smaller airport about 70 miles away to where my car is parked.  That is the original airport I had left from. 

I locate my car, toss my luggage into the trunk and climb behind the wheel.   As it has already been a long day and I’m quite tired, before driving away I slip my shoes off.

Here’s the thing; inside my right shoe is my rather large silver, Navajo ring.  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.  How did it get there?  How on earth could my foot and the ring fit into the shoe at the same time?  How had I run the entire length of the previous airport and not felt this thing in my shoe?

The reason for the trip was to help my sister bury our mother.  Mom was the one who had purchased the ring for me years ago.

Spirits - Angels or  Mystic Shenanigans?

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