So I realize that I have not written in a while.
I feel badly about this, despite the reality that I am beholden to no one, and yet, I have been meaning to write something. There is a folder on my laptop that is contains at least a dozen half-finished posts- and several completed ones- and yet I still haven’t posted anything in a while.
But what I do end up wanting write about is this rather simple concept that my friend Stormwise mentioned to me over six months ago, regarding how the Gods can act as mirrors, and this premise is found in the Bhagavadgita, of all places, Chapter 4, verse 11:
In whatever way people surrender unto me, I reciprocate with them accordingly. Everyone follows my path, knowingly or unknowingly, O son of Pritha.
With whatever motive people worship Me, I fulfill their desires accordingly. People worship Me with different motives. (4.11)
And this little bit of Chapter 4 stands out to me in that this is the very thing that I am trying to accept.
That the Gods will come to you in the manner that you have come to Them. If you approach Them full of fear, then They shall come to you in a manner that inspires fear. Many years ago, I struggled to repress the fear and uncertainty that I felt towards the facets of Them that I felt that I was experiencing.
And Their response -which was often visual at that time – was rather cryptic:
If you are looking for monsters, you will certainly find Us.
It seems such a basic aspect of manifestation that I found myself feeling rather foolish, especially in regards to Odin.
Of course, He was a monster, because I was expecting a monster. If I learned anything, it was that it scarcely concerned Him if I was afraid of Him or disliked Him. He had some business to do, and I had some things to learn.
Well, I learned.
* Yes. I can’t get these images out of my head. I feel compelled to draw them out…and yet, my artistic skills aren’t as well-developed as I would hope. At first, I thought the story was a rather simple rendition of the lore…until the storyline took on an unexpected turn that featured some rather adult-themes during several meditations later.
This quote has been sitting in a folder on my computer for at least three or four years now.
I never knew where it was from, except that it was from a poem by American poet, Louise Glück:
“…from the beginning of time,
in childhood, I thought
that pain meant I was not loved.
It meant I loved.”
Today, I found the whole poem.
The poem is titled
Long ago, I was wounded. I lived
to revenge myself
against my father, not
for what he was–
for what I was: from the beginning of time,
in childhood, I thought
that pain meant
I was not loved.
It meant I loved.
Context is everything.
As I have had company these last four days, I have not been able to post this lovely poem from The Daily Good, as sometimes I just need poetry.
(If you click in the link below, you can listen to the poet, John O’Donohue, read this poem aloud, along with some rather lovely imagery.)
–by John O’Donohue, Jan 01, 2016
On the day when
The weight deadens
On your shoulders
And you stumble,
May the clay dance
To balance you.
And when your eyes
The grey window
And the ghost of loss
Gets in to you,
May a flock of colours,
Indigo, red, green,
And azure blue,
Come to awaken in you
A meadow of delight.
When the canvas frays
In the currach of thought
And a stain of ocean
Blackens beneath you,
May there come across the waters
A path of yellow moonlight
To bring you safely home.
May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
May the clarity of light be yours,
May the fluency of the ocean be yours,
May the protection of the ancestors be yours.
And so may a slow
Wind work these words
Of love around you,
An invisible cloak
To mind your life.
[Note: “Beannacht” is the Gaelic word for “blessing.” A “currach” is a large boat used on the west coast of Ireland.]