Bewitched (Volume 13, November 15, 1981 — January 5, 1982)
December 16, 1981, 20 to 12:00 am, Wednesday Night
Every once in a while I flash back to one certain episode of the tv show, “Bewitched.”
I can’t remember the exact situation, but either someone was concocting a spell, or someone (most likely Der-Wood or Dag-Wood) was under a spell which he or she was trying to undo. Probably Samantha was trying to complete a counter-spell (with one of Dr. Bombay-Come-Right-Away’s remedies) to save Dar-Win (Darrin) from one of Endora’s spells.
The cure consisted of three parts, and was effective only when all three parts had been successfully completed.
Each successful completion was noted by the sound of a loud bell being rung (or possibly a gong) — one ring for the first step, two for the second and three rings for the final step. Naturally, the steps were ridiculous and inane. (I think one even included the traditional eye of newt from that ancient dream-ensconced pharmacist.)
One step might have been “You must carry a small dog through a fountain backwards before sunset in the dark.” The victim would walk through a drugstore (soda fountain) eating a hot dog and wearing sunglasses. A bell would ring.
I bring this up because I experienced that yesterday in real life. Not carrying a hot dog through a drug store wearing sunglasses, of course, but hearing my own bell ring in my head, signaling that I have just completed a phase; I have grown.
I have felt this almost tangibly the last few days. I experienced, experienced, experienced; withdrew, subconsciously piecing things together, reflecting and waiting passively — then went through some very challenging, trying times with “Leo,” with my mother, and with myself. I relaxed into my life, and the answers started appearing. The calmness and strength stole in; I have come back to joy; joy from understanding.
Yesterday when I let the joy remain, when I reveled in it, accepted it — accepted flow, accepted change — at that point of realization, I was outside walking Tiger in the front yard, sidestepping dog turds. I looked up at the moon — an obscure but bright wedge-shape. The air was wonderful — cold, clean, breathable. As I looked up, studying the moon, I heard the gong. I knew I had entered the next phase.