Her Other, Blue-Grey Brother

The Myth

Apollodorus 3.3.1

... But Glaucus, while he was yet a child, in chasing a mouse fell into a jar of honey and was drowned. On his disappearance Minos made a great search and consulted diviners as to how he should find him. The Curetes told him that in his herds he had a cow of three different colors, and that the man who could best describe that cow's color would also restore his son to him alive. So when the diviners were assembled, Polyidus, son of Coeranus, compared the color of the cow to the fruit of the bramble, and being compelled to seek for the child he found him by means of a sort of divination. But Minos declaring that he must recover him alive, he was shut up with the dead body. And while he was in great perplexity, he saw a serpent going towards the corpse. He threw a stone and killed it, fearing to be killed himself if any harm befell the body. But another serpent came, and, seeing the former one dead, departed, and then returned bringing a herb, and placed it on the whole body of the other; and no sooner was the herb so placed upon it than the dead serpent came to life. Surprised at this sight, Polyidus applied the same herb to the body of Glaucus and raised him from the dead.

Minos had now got back his son, but even so he did not suffer Polyidus to depart to Argos until he had taught Glaucus the art of divination. Polyidus taught him on compulsion, and when he was sailing away he bade Glaucus spit into his mouth. Glaucus did so and forgot the art of divination.

Hyginus’ Fabulae [136] CXXXVI. POLYIDUS

When Glaucus, son of Minos and Pasiphae, was playing ball, he fell into a jar full of honey. In the parents’ search, they made inquiry of Apollo about he boy. Apollo told them: A prodigy has been born for you. Whoever explains it will restore the child to you. Upon hearing this reply, Minos began inquiring from his people about the prodigy. They told him that a bullock had been born which changed colour three times a day, every four hours - first white, then red, then black. Minos then called together the augurs to explain the prodigy, and when no one was found who could do so, Polyidus, son of Coeranus, showed that the bullock was like a mulberry tree, for first its fruit is white, then red, and when ripe, black. Then Minos said to him: “According to the words of Apollo, you should be able to restore my son to me.” While Polyidus was observing omens, he saw an owl sitting over the wine-cellar and putting bees to flight. He interpreted the omen, and brought out the lifeless boy from the jar. Minos said to him: “You have found the body. Now restore life to it.” When Polyidus said this was impossible, Minos ordered him to be shut in a tomb with the boy, and a sword placed there. When they had been shut in, a snake suddenly made for the body of the boy, and Polyidus, judging the creature whished to devour the body, suddenly drew the sword and killed it. Another snake, seeking its mate, saw that it was dead, and came and brought a herb, and its touch restored life to the dead snake. Polyidus did the same. When they called out from within, a passerby reported it to Minos, who opened the tomb and found his son safe. He sent Polyidus many gifts back into his country.

Robert Graves’ The Greek Myths

90c. Glaucus, while still a child, was playing ball one day in the palace at Cnossus or, perhaps, chasing a mouse, when he suddenly disappeared. Minos and Pasiphae searched high and low but, being unable to find him, had recourse to the Delphic Oracle. They were informed that whoever could give the best simile for a recent portentous birth in Crete would find what was lost. Minos made enquiries and learned that a heifer-calf had been born among his herds which changed in color thrice a day - from white to red, and from red to black. He summoned his soothsayers to the palace, but none could think of a simile until Polyeidus the Argive, a descendant of Melampus, said: ‘This calf resembles nothing so much as a ripening blackberry [or mulberry].’ Minos at once commanded him to go in search of Glaucus.

d. Polyeidus wandered through the labyrinthine palace, until he came upon an owl sitting at the entrance to a cellar, frightening away a swarm of bees, and took this for an omen. Below in the cellar he found a great jar used for the storing of honey, and Glaucus drowned in it, head downwards. Minos, when this discovery was reported to him, consulted with with the Curetes, and followed their advice by telling Polyeidus: ‘Now that you have found my son’s body, you must restore him to life!’ Polyeidus protested that, not being Asclepius, he was incapable of raising the dead. ‘Ah, I know better,’ replied Minos. ‘You will be locked in a tomb with Glaucus’s body and a sword, and there you will remain until my orders have been obeyed!’

e. When Polyeidus grew accustomed to the darkness of the tomb he saw a serpent, approaching the boy’s corpse and, seizing his sword, killed it. Presently another serpent, gliding up, and finding that its mate was dead, retired, but came back shortly with a magic herb in its mouth, which it laid on the dead body. Slowly the serpent came to life again.

f. Polyeidus was astounded, but had the presence of mind to apply the same herb to the body of Glaucus, and with the same happy result. He and Glaucus then shouted loudly for help, until a passer-by heard them and ran to summon Minos, who was overjoyed when he opened the tomb and found his son alive. He loaded Polyeidus with gifts, but would not let him return to Argos until he had taught Glaucus the art of divination. Polyeidus unwillingly obeyed, and when he was about to sail home, told Glaucus: ‘Boy, spit into my open mouth!’ Glaucus did so, and immediately forgot all that he had learned.

g. Later, Glaucus led an expedition westward, and demanded a kingdom from the Italians; but they despised him for failing to be so great a man as his father; however, he introduced the Cretan military girdle and shield into Italy, and thus earned the name Labicus, which means ‘girdled’.

Daniel Ogden’s Greek and Roman Necromancy

The Greeks used honey as a general preservative, and in particular made use of it when they wished to embalm their dead...  Other Greek traditions preserve a link between honey, resurrection, and necromancy. Thus the Cretan king Minos's son Glaucus disappeared and died by falling into a pot of honey. Polyidus ("the much seeing"), commissioned by the king to find him was led to the jar by a dream. Minos then ordered Polyidus to restore the boy to life, and, when he could not, had him immured with him in his tomb. A snake then brought and demonstrated a magic herb, which Polyidus used to resurrect Glaucus. The honey was evidently integral to the resurrection, for the summary proverb said, "Glaucus drank honey and rose again."

The Mushroom

Terrence McKenna’s Food of the Gods

Let us attempt to analyze this peculiar story. First of all, it is necessary to comment on the significance of the names of the two main characters: Polyidos is clearly “the man-who-has-many-ideas,” and Glaukos simply means “blue-gray”. The meaning of Glaukos was for me the entry point into the intention of the myth. It is well known among mycologists that the flesh of Stopharia cubensis and other psilocybin mushrooms has the property of staining a bluish color when bruised or broken. This blue staining is an enzymatic reaction and a fairly reliable indicator of psilocybin. Glaukos, the youth who is preserved in the jar of honey, seems symbolic of the mushroom itself…

    The antiseptic properties of honey have made it a preferred medium among many peoples for the preservation of delicate foods. And in Mexico honey has long been used to preserve psilocybin-containing mushrooms. The fact that Glaukos, the blue-gray one, fell into a honey pot...and was preserved there until the time of his resurrection seems highly suggestive. Herodotus mentions that the Babylonians preserved their dead in honey, and the use of large storage vessels, or pithoi, for burying the dead was widespread in the Bronze Age Aegean. The motif of cattle is present in the story in the bizarre section concerning the simile of the three-colored cow and the need to demonstrate linguistic facility as a precondition to being able to find the lost child. And the serpent, familiar from the Genesis story of Eden, makes a cameo appearance--and once again proves to have accurate and secret information concerning plants, especially plants that confer immortality. Polyidos, the shaman figure, uses the information gained from the serpent to return Glaukos to life; the information leaves Glaukos and returns to his departing teacher. This may refer to the elusive nature of the visions glimpsed during mushroom intoxication. […] all the motifs of a barely remembered mushroom cult are there--themes of death and rebirth, cattle, serpents with herbal knowledge, and a blue-gray child who is preserved in honey.

Bruce Rimell’s “Minoan Honey : The Bull, The Mushroom And The Mistress Of The Dance” (Essay & Accompanying Art)  

We also see here an explanation for Glaucos being the ‘son’ of the Minos-Asterion bull (or indeed of the Moon-Cow Pasiphae). As mycologists have pointed out, many psilocybin-bearing mushrooms are found naturally growing on the dung of cattle. The Minoans cannot have missed this important aspect of the plant’s culture – indeed this may have been how they or their Neolithic forebears discovered and cultivated this sacrament – and so encoded this detail into the myth as Glaucos son of the cow or bull. It is also noteworthy to consider that Glaucos has to enter the honey-pot, past the deathly owl and into the Underworld (the cellar), in order to transcend death. This resonates strongly with the honey given to the Mistress of the Labyrinth, suggesting the little son was only a sacrament once he had been transformed or preserved.

“Glaucos” by Bruce Rimell

My Thoughts

My own introduction to Glaukos was through the above quoted book by Terrence McKenna, which also quoted Apollodorus in full.  I was quite stunned that this other brother of Ariadne had completely escaped my notice until then.  (Pretty sneaky of him.)  The second quoted source comes from an essay by Bruce Rimell which gets in-depth and speculative, but nonetheless fascinating reading.  He even provides a theory as to how Glaukos son of Minos might be connected to Glaukos the sea-god (who otherwise are very different characters, excepting the same name and both having a magical herb being a part of their stories.) If you look at nothing else in the essay, at least check out the artwork and the extensive photo essays after the bibliography.

Now, I want to highlight some observations and questions about the myth of Glaukos.

Polyidos: Did you catch that he was the descendant of Melampos?  I didn’t until recently, probably because Melampos was not strong on my radar until my involvement with the Thiasos of the Starry Bull, where he is recognized as one of the Dionysian heroes.  Melampos was also a seer and prophet, and spread the worship of Dionysos.  Both Graves and Hyginus note that Polyidos character was sometimes replaced with Asklepios.

Omens: The omen which leads Polyidos to the cellar is an owl frightening a swarm of bees. Although some versions gloss over this bit completely, Graves’ explains in his notes that the word for owl is “glaux”.  In other words, this is a pun for Glaukos name, and the bees symbolic of his falling into honey in the cellar on which the owl is perching.  (There could be double symbolism there in the owl being a bird of death/wisdom setting the bees [soul] to flight.)  I love this glimpse into the way that omens were interpreted back then.  I can’t recall if I’ve ever seen an omen that was a pun, which PROBABLY means I’m not paying enough attention.

Bees & honey:  A lot has been written about the importance of honey and bees in ancient Crete, and it is represented often in their art.  Honey was not just a food or commodity--it’s an immortal substance, a divine nectar, flowering nature itself, transformed into something entwined in both life and death.  Honey had medicinal and magical properties, could be a preservative or embalming agent, and could be transformed into intoxicating mead. There are sources that indicate that the Greeks thought of bees as souls and they were thought to be born from the carcasses of bulls--their other most sacred animal.  That Glaukos drowns in honey, and not in a pool of water or the ocean, would appear to point to some deeper symbolism here.  Dionysos has several associations with honey as well.

The color-changing calf:  Of all the details, this one seems most befuddling to the authors who provided possible interpretations to this myth.  But as these three colors together seem to crop up in shamanic and mystery traditions, it didn’t seem so strange to me.

Animals and plants:  This short myth has no less than 4 significant creatures in it. The calf, the owl, the bees and the snakes. And every single one is revealing some sort of knowledge.  And then there is the enigmatic, unidentified plant.  Was it unnecessary to identify it because it the plant itself was also one of its main characters?  Are these two snakes the same held by the Minoan snake goddess/priestess figures? Also noteworthy is the fact that the magical herb did not have to be ingested, simply placed on the body. But as Ogden mentioned in his book, it was not just the plant, it was also the honey that had restorative powers.

Resurrection:  In Greek mythology, Glaukos is one of the few people to be successfully returned from death to life.  Usually this required an actual journey by a god or hero to the Underworld.  And yet Polyidos is able to do this with just an herb revealed by a snake.  Hmmm….

More mushroom connections:  It’s a seemingly random detail, that Glaukos was eventually known for introducing a military girdle to Italy.  Unless he already had the nickname “girdled” and the detail tacked on later by way of explanation?  Maybe it’s a stretch, but it occurred to me that mushrooms have a skirt or girdle, called a ring or annulus, once the cap umbrellas out from the stem.  Rimell came to this same possible conclusion.  

    If Glaukos were a mushroom, consider the cycle it creates... one where a swarm of bees is born from the carcass of a bull, which goes on to create the sacred honey, which can be used to preserve the mushrooms, which themselves grow from the dung of cattle.  Another bit of Greek lore about mushrooms is that they were formed from lightning or thunderbolts hitting the ground, so that mushrooms are somehow connected to a Dionysian cult is perhaps not too far-fetched.

As much as I adore the idea of connecting my enthusiasm for mushrooms to my devotion to Dionysos, Ariadne and the whole bull mythos, I’m not entirely convinced Glaukos is a mushroom personified.  Regardless, I have this special fondness for his myth (what survives of it) and its mysterious implications.  Eventually I hope to share some UPG about Glaukos, but I didn’t want to go longer without introducing him, especially since my fascination of him goes back a couple years.  My husband and I went down the rabbit hole of this myth together in the year before his death.  So, I’ll leave you with a poem he wrote.

SONICRY

The only one who could ever teach me

was a blue honey-soaked son

He sighed like a maiden and held me like a mother

crooned a crone’s crow

a staggering echoing song

soaked me to the soul

He laid claims to the plains where every bull stamped its hoof

He lived under the trees of the forest floor

Glaukos son of Minos

brother of Dionysos

I hear your eyes when they are open

I feel your mouth when it’s closing

You’re closing in on me

My mouth fills with energy

I drown in your honey

She rambles

In time. all time, I hate my Bakkhos, love my Bakkhos. I am lost in the counting of his moments, and report in slow detail to him that which happens in a flash. I see a love before me, not mine, though, for I have found no life in this body. Body? Dare I call it such? Lashed to the god by his word, his lips forming his pain and play like a song, and I spit it back at him, loving my Bakkhos, my god.

                                                     -- Frenzy by Percival Everett

Late night bath after Persephone's devotional day.  I throw in a handful of dittany of crete, some florida water, some floral bpal perfume.  Smear honey on my face, because why not?  Sip ale and read the first half of Frenzy by Percival Everett.  An incredible book, thus far, and no doubt my favorite Dionysian novel.  I stop now and then to ice my the tendons of my arm. The simplest remedies always take me the longest to get around to, for some reason.  Though it makes me writhe, I don't take it off my skin until it stops hurting.  It's all brain signals anyway. I have bruises on my leg that I'm not sure where they came from.

I imagine that I stay in the bath until dawn.  I do.

It's the eve of the anniversary of my husband's death.  Sometimes I worry, more than I care to admit, that death is like a drug trip.  Yet this doesn't stop me from tripping.  I imagine that similar fears of life and death have not stop me from being reborn.   I once, on the last solstice we had together, asked my husband about this after dancing the delta mary tango and forgetting the meaning of words. "Dionysos."  "Sunrise."  "Solstice."  They had shape and significance but my own loss of self could not reconcile their amorphousness.  I came back and said, "Are you still here?"  He said, "Yes, I'm here."  I said, "I wonder if that's what death is like."  He thought about that for a moment and said, "I don't think so."  We talked about it a little more, as I marvelled at glowing webs of energetic thread and color still pulsing around the room.  

In the bath, I take very deep breaths and it makes my heart beat abnormally hard and fast, in series of five.  I repeat this a few times with the same results.  No pain though, just a heart like a drumbeat and a penchant for unlucky numbers.  Maybe I'll die of a broken heart.  Or bad puns?

I think about Dionysos and whether all who love him are bound in some way, needing to be free.  Or sharing some other commonality of person or pattern that fits to His own.  I mean, everyone needs freedom from something, but for us... is it the willingness to forsake boundaries, the realization that such chains are there, an abnormal awakeness, a divine contract?  My given name actually means "bound".  I suppose it figures.  Such clues are everywhere if you look.

I found myself thinking a moon cycle or more back, about certain way I thought I might hold myself back.  (a la "I don't think I could ever...") Which isn't always wrong, I mean sometimes there are taboos and I thought perhaps I had found one.  Dionysos disabused me of that notion pretty quick, with a loud "I'm sending you a dream." And he did, and he made his point.  I think the point was the point, so far.  At least, in other words, actual circumstances have not tested me... I think he just wished me to drop that idea pretty quick.

If you want to go mad, you need to give yourself more time with your own thoughts.  Truth.  

I have been chanting a lot lately, the Greek words from the bone tablets.  Particularly...

Bios Thanatos Bios Alethaia Zagreus Dionysos

Sometimes when I'm walking outside, sometimes at odd moments when I'm alone.  I'm quite enamored with the way they flow off the tongue.

Bios Thanatos Bios Alethaia Zagreus Dionysos

Sleep overtakes me.  I shan't apologize for being strange.  

The Dark Night: Grief, Trauma and Loss of Faith

Like anyone with something precious to lose, I used to sometimes think, What would happen if the worst happened? What would happen if the person I love most suddenly died?  How would I react?  

I could never think about it for long--it seemed too morbid, too frightening, too taboo to consider.  Even in intimate conversations with my husband, we would feign assurances and promises that we would die together, that way neither would leave the other behind.  I say “feign” because we ultimately knew we had no control over this, of course, and we actually had a very vivid, near-constant awareness (and subsequent gratitude) for every precious moment together, an awareness which seems rare when I look around at other couples.  Still, we knew that dealing with the death of the other would be too much to bear.  (Indeed, I’ve barely survived his death, and for all his strengths I doubt he could have survived mine.)  But I did assume that, should the worst happen, I would fall back on my faith and religious practices pretty hard, because that is what was most important, comforting and meaningful to me.

The stark reality was a little different, or at least not so simple, and I've only recently begun to sort out enough of that process to begin to discuss it.

Before my husband’s death, I thought I had a decent grasp on death, even a (sort of vague) theory of what happens to the soul, and what the point of this life and death cycle is.  But afterwards, when I tried to grasp any of that when I needed it, I couldn’t.  After my husband’s death, nothing was a “given” anymore.  All the work I thought I’d done had unraveled.

You hear a lot of people say that, after the death of a loved one, that they no longer believe in a god who would “let” something so horrible happen.  I was not so naive as this.  Not even angry, really.  But I was still spiritually floored.  Up was no longer up, down was no longer down, and most importantly…I was no longer me.  

I will say that again, because it is very important, and literal in a primal, emotional sense.  In an instant, my identity had changed.  So too had my “place” in the universe as I knew it, as if I’d been picked up from the path I knew, and put unceremoniously into the middle of the woods, where a new pathway would have to be cleared.  I've ended up mourning not only his loss, but the loss of the person I was as well.  

What did this mean?  It meant re-evaluating EVERYTHING from my new place and personhood.  My thought-process at this time was not so clear, however, just this profound sense of disorientation and confusion along with the shock and pain and terror of grief--and subsequent self-criticism that the well which had once been full was now empty.  If I was angry at anything, it was at how little I really KNEW, how little resources I had, and how little modern paganism deals with death in any real way. We’re supposed to be a path that acknowledges the shadow side of things, that doesn’t flinch at death, and yet… what has that given us?  The metaphorical, poetic Death-that’s-just-a-new-beginning à la the tarot? Or the seasonal death of a vegetative deity? Or the vague and slightly childish concept of the Summerlands (you know, like heaven but groovier!)?  Or reincarnation? (Not exactly a comfort to think that a loved one’s soul would be immediately reborn in a way that would forget you entirely.) This all seemed so aggravatingly meaningless in the face of finding the corpse of the person who was, only the day before, your most intimate and beloved companion.  What was his spirit going through in the hours and days after his death?  How could I help him, ritually or otherwise?  At what point does he “cross over”, and what does that really mean?  And, being in a faith that interacts with gods and other spirits, how can we still interact with our beloved dead?  Shouldn't we be able to?  I wanted real and practical, not pretty and polite metaphor.  I felt like I had to assure my husband’s well-being before I could even BEGIN to tackle my own. I suppose that’s just instinct, which does not die as easily as flesh does.

Even now, I want to say, “What the fuck, paganism?” when it comes to these topics.  It isn’t enough to wave our spooky fingers and say that no one knows for sure, or that it’s highly personal.  If our religion cannot handle these topics, then is it really fulfilling its purpose?  I find it hard to believe I’m the only one who’s had these thoughts.  Seriously, correct me if I’m wrong, but the only book out there about death and paganism is Starhawk’s The Pagan Book of Living and Dying.  And it wasn’t just the questions about death itself that were difficult, but my grief felt unique by virtue of my faith, in a way that I wasn’t able to completely discuss with a typical counselor.

And then there’s the really hard questions that I didn’t even want to admit I was having…

Did this happen to me because I worship Dionysos, because he wishes to challenge me in this way?  

Did this happen because my husband was himself Dionysian in nature?

Had I done something to offend the gods?  

In the immediate days after my husband’s death, I felt like I could not approach the shrines of my gods.  Something repelled me, and I felt guilty over it, like something was wrong with me.  It wasn’t until later that I considered the miasma I would have naturally had, and that my instincts were probably correct, but it was still difficult at the time.  I couldn’t even drink wine..  (Yes this was significant, for me. I’m still not sure if it was an intuitive sense of wrongness at the thought of using something so sacred to my god as an escape, or if I knew it would just take me down even darker avenues of my psyche. Maybe both.)

I did rituals for him, because there was no one else I trusted to do them...and I did them alone because somehow they felt too intimate to share. Whether or not this was ideal, given my state at the time, I can’t really say. I did a ritual the night before he was supposed to be cremated, to assure that his spirit was completely released from his body.  Later, I did a more in-depth funerary rite, with petitions to the gods and a large amount of offerings.  This was a trial in every way possible, including physically, as I walked at least a mile into the desert at night with a very heavy suitcase of ritual accoutrements.  (I think I was half-hoping to get bitten by a rattlesnake.)  During that rite I was mostly looking down into the pit where my offerings were placed, or through my tears into the darkness, but when I finally raised my head and whispered my final thanks to the gods I saw a shooting star.  The way it responded to my words and actions at just the right moment made it a very moving omen.  Lastly, for his public life celebration (memorial), I had help from a couple other friends but I still wrote and put together the ritual aspects myself.

The couple months after that are a blur now but were excruciating at the time. I thought of suicide a lot. My husband’s birthday came around in August and for some reason, I did the hardest thing I could think of.  I went camping alone, which I had never done before, in the same place we had exchanged our private vows.  It was a significant turning point… the first time I did any Dionysian ritual since my husband’s death.  There, I found what I can now see was an incredible omen, a single pantherina mushroom.  Later that night, I imbibed entheogens, and literally walked to the edge of the cliff and thought for a long time about the shadowed crossroads in front of me.  Then I turned around, built a fire, stripped off my clothes and did what mad maenads do in the woods.

But in all honesty, every apparent turning point or decision in grief has need at least an extra couple months to really integrate.  In fact, I’ve spent the better part of a year being scared.  Me, who considered herself a Dionysian.  I used to be scared of death.  But now I welcomed it, and I was scared of everything else… the future especially.  Sometimes the only words I could manage to offer to Dionysos, in shame and desperation, were… “I’m so scared. I’m terrified of life.”

I don’t think I got any spiritual bearings (or sense of the gods) again, truly, until the Lenaia.  (Eight months, if you’re counting.)  And then Anthesteria.

It’s getting better.  I’ve realized even in the last couple weeks that I’ve been calling myself “a wreck” as a sort of defense mechanism, but in reality, I am not a wreck any longer.  I’m coping, even though it hurts to admit it sometimes. I’m having a hard time letting go of the idea that coping somehow diminishes the depth of my loss and my love.

I’m still not where I want to be, as far as finding answers to all my questions. Deep down I am desperate to gain enough clarity and skill to find those answers.  Unfortunately, desperation tends to be more of a wall than a window.  But I HAVE begun putting together what I believe, which has been a work of intuition and prayer as well as research and simple choice.  It’s easy to have faith when it’s easy, when you feel blessed.  When life kicks you in the ass… well, then faith takes on a new definition entirely.  There are times you have to take it on faith that you have faith because you can only feel pain.

Other than simply sharing my story, my most important point about a Dark Night is this:  Forgive yourself. You have not lost your faith, or the gods, although it feels that way some days. You have lost your Self to a new Self, and she must find her footing, first, and then find her own way forward.  (Not back, because we can never go back, can we?)  It’s hard because you have all the same memories, and it seems like it should all work the same… but it doesn’t, not exactly.  Luckily, the gods always know where to find us, and seem more than willing to meet us halfway no matter which way we walk.  But walk halfway, we must, even if it feels at first like we are simply going through the motions.  This is about making space for the sacred again.  You can’t renew your closeness to the gods if you don’t make time to sit at your shrines, pray, visit a sacred place, or otherwise turn your attention outwards again.  (It will feel different in some ways, keep at it.)  Within a month after his death, I had a shrine for my husband - it took me a little longer to cultivate a daily practice with it, but that has become essential to my equilibrium.  I believe, too, that omens appear when we are too numb for subtleties, although the full import of one may not sink in until later.

Another important point, reach out to spiritually like-minded friends, or acquaintances.  There was a very scant handful of such people that I was able to talk to in the hardest weeks and months that followed, and I cannot emphasize enough how critical that was for me.  You will have questions, doubts, concerns, may need help with divination or ritual.  Or even for simple reassurance. I have found that, in those dark times, even those things that you are pretty sure you “know”, you still need to hear out loud, from other people.  That the person you love is okay, and that the gods have not abandoned you, among other things.  It’s a cruel irony that in such times, the more you need comfort, the more grief-sick you are, the more difficult it will be for you to feel the comforting presences that you wish to feel.  Even if you’re usually psychically sensitive, you’ll probably need to outsource for a while.  Reach out.  (And if you’re reading this and you don’t have anyone, drop me a line.)

Grief is messy.  And it doesn’t take “time” so much as it takes a lot of work. A lot of exhausting, soul-wrenching, sanity-testing work. With the physical presence of my soul-mate, my life took on this glowing meaning, this greater purpose in the unconditional love of this remarkable person, embodying a shining example of what was possible.  Now, in his absence, I have to contend with the idea that life has some other purpose for me.  A counselor told me, “You either get better, or you get bitter.”  I don’t really like the phrase “get better”, because I’ll never “get better” in the sense of some end-goal or state-of-being.  I can’t be better without him.  But in the qualitative sense of improving, strengthening, becoming more accepting of life and who I am in the face of loss, it is absolutely true.

Synchronicities

I just finished reading a book called "Living the Magical Life: An Oracular Adventure" by Suzi Gablik.  It's one of those "one woman's spiritual journey" books, yet I was excited to read it based on its promised content... oracle work, embracing daily synchronicities, becoming suddenly drawn to and close to a specific deity (in her case, the Black Madonna.) 

 

Unfortunately, the book didn't have the depth I was hoping for.  The middle-aged author builds an altar to the Black Madonna and visits her statues in foreign places but does not detail any very noteworthy interactions with her as a deity - and almost ignores her entirely for the last half of the book.  She uses I-Ching and bibliomancy which, although certainly valid forms of divination, are not what I'd consider "oracular".  The book is a disjointed account of her doubts and affirmations regarding whether life is meaningfully synchronistic, interconnected and guided by outside forces or simply random.  She describes years of following divination and omens which tell her to hold out hope for a specific romantic relationship, despite all outward evidence that this particular person was entirely disinterested.  The book ends with the romantic interest rebuffing her once and for all and the author ends saying that the outcome does not nullify her experiences.  Basically, "Who knows why things happen the way they do? This is my story, take it or leave it."

 

Urgh.

 

It brings up the whole question of whether or not the gods/spirits/PTB would be intentionally misleading or even blatantly lie in order to further our spiritual development.  The author doesn't tackle this issue, having decided on a tenuous position of blind faith, and certainly seemed to think she emerged a stronger person.  But still, I wonder.  Certainly the gods themselves are ineffable and may mislead for reasons we can't comprehend at the time, but I like to think that divination in general is about revealing patterns.  Was she then not reading a reality pattern but the pattern of her own psyche, which wasn't ready to give up no matter what her divinations revealed?  I think that's why I have a hard time reading tarot for myself -- especially when I'm really emotionally invested.  I feel like I'm reading what I want.  Which is *a* truth, but not the truth I'm usually aiming for.

 

But this book about synchronicities actually seemed to be, well, synchronistic.  It made me stop and take note of omens that have been appearing in my own life.  Oddly, it even referenced a couple very specific things -- including redwood trees, a topic which I just read an entire book about and which seems to keep coming up, and a book by C.S. Lewis that a friend just gave me to borrow.  Even in the ways the book was lacking and irritating me reminded me of my own shortcomings and what I want to strive for in my spiritual practice. 

 

So, time not entirely wasted.  Now I just need to figure out why the trees are trying to get my attention.  Maybe I should just ask them?