Corned beef is tended and one beer down, and now I have one of those little brain-borer thoughts running around in my head that just won’t shut up until I exorcise it by
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Writing about it until I’m bored (bored by a brain-borer; how stupid is that?)
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Drinking enough beers that it doesn’t really matter and I can’t remember what was boring in the first place. (Boring as adjective AND verb…)
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Being assaulted by a totally different brain-borer. (That wouldn’t really come under the heading “Exorcise” would it? If you’re being assaulted by an outside source, then you’re not really actively exorcising anything, are you? Something else is, in effect, doing the exorcising, and you’re just being acted upon. And then we get to the question of is it exorcism, or is it merely displacement? But I digress…)
Anyway (second beer mostly gone and I feel myself warming to my subject) on the subject of Paddy and the Celts and Druids:
Can you really blame the Druid priests for being pissed at Padraic? Poor Celts; they had a thing going that worked for them and here comes this guy selling a whole new ideology or whatever. And this new ideology/iconography/religion/whatever is starting to gain a foothold and next thing they know, they’re having to go underground with the old ways.
Yeah, I’d be pissed too. Which is why this brain-borer started in the first place, I guess. ‘Cause I come by the pissed-off part honestly. I was born to be a Pagan; it has to be in my genes and it’s certainly in my attitude.
My Pagan friends declare that I am, in fact, a true Pagan. But I don’t think so. What I know is that I’m just a humble heathen aspiring to Pagan status. I know this because my granny told me so. Not that I was an aspiring Pagan. But that I was a born Heathen. From the earliest that I can remember of my granny, she called me “Little Heathen!”, usually with the exclamation point so clearly implied that it was almost another word. I can’t remember any of my cousins being so-addressed by Granny; most of them were either “Heifers” or “Rowdies” or “Snots”, and then there was the one golden-boy who was always referred to as “My Good Boy” (Gawd, don’t you know the rest of us just hated him! And I’m still not too fond of him… the jackass). Oh crap! I digress further…
Anyway (dang, this beer is goin’ down good! And I notice a tendency to say “Anyway” whenever I start another. Hmmm, wonder what that’s about?)
(Resisting the urge to say “Anyway”) I was alwaysalwaysalways the “Little Heathen”. Oh, she called me a cane mule on occasion, as in “You’re stubborn as a cane mule, you Little Heathen!” — which I thought was cool because I have a fondness for mules — but that’s another subject altogether and I’ll address it another time. Heathen I was born, heathen I am, heathen I will stay, I guess. I’m thinkin’ you probably can’t teach a cane mule new tricks — or somethin’ like that…
So yeah, I tipped a couple to St. Paddy, may the gods rest his soul, but the next ones are to the Druids and the old ways. Sometimes you just gotta acknowledge your deep roots and to hell with the politically correct or acceptable or modern or what-makes-other-people-comfortable and be what you are or were meant to be.
Anyway (Ha, you knew that was comin’ dintcha?) I’m gonna go hug an oak tree and reconnect with my ‘heathen’ roots. And the moral of this story, if there is one — which I doubt — is: Don’t go meddlin’ in other people’s belief systems; it just tends to piss ‘em off.
Roux
Tags: brain-borer, Cane Mule, Druid, Heathen, Pagan
