Tuesday, October 8, 2019

In a Labyrinth?

Follow the Thread

In Greek mythology, there is a story of a man, Theseus, who in order to find his way home, had to find his way through a labyrinth that led him to a dark center, where he had to kill a powerful beast, the Minotaur. The only way he could return to the light of daily life was to trace back the thread he had unraveled on his way in, which was given him by a kind woman, Ariadne.”
Mark Nepo (The Book of Awakening, p. 381)

In order to find his way back to the love of Ariadne, Theseus had to fight the beast in the center of the labyrinth, and then find his way back out. Fortunately, he could follow the thread he had unraveled as he traveled in. We modern humans reenact this Greek myth in many ways, from ordinary to sublime. For instance, we discover that we have lost our phone or our glasses; what we do, after we've panicked and pitched a fit over having lost them in the first place, is travel our path in reverse to see where we may have left them. We remember, “I was here, and before that I was there, and then I went there...” We have to search our memories and drag up likely trouble spots. It's a backward journey.

When a relationship falls apart, we do much the same thing—after the rage, and recriminations, and tears, we begin the tortuous backward journey. How did this happen, when did it change, what did I do to cause it, how could I not see that it was happening? We suss it out, we pick it apart, we follow the thread. Likewise, when someone dies. We sort through our life, all our experiences with them, the good, the bad. We remember, we reminisce, we regret what we did or did not do, or say. We recall all sorts of stories from long ago; stories that we had forgotten until that moment. Our memories are the thread that shows us the way back to the land of the living.

In Greek myths, often the way back is provided by a woman, a beautiful, kind woman. Especially when the hero of the story is male, the love of this woman is the key to getting back. Carl Jung would call her the Anima—the feminine soul of the man. She is his guide, or she provides the means for his return. So it was in the case of Theseus, and so it is with us. Our soul is the guide. Especially when we have lost our way, when we have headed into a labyrinth of our own making, to a dark center where the beast of our own conscience resides. We do battle in the form of depression or anguish or sorrow, and eventually, we emerge scarred, changed, but also strengthened. We have followed our own soul's guidance, discovered our own warrior, defeated our own beast. We are now ready to claim the reward of being hero of our own lives. Life offers us many opportunities, both large and small, to follow our thread back to the light. And so it is.

                                                     In the Spirit,
                                                        Jane

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