The Song and the Flame

From my reading journal, some thoughts on (the first third of) Allyson Szabo’s Longing For Wisdom: The Message of the Maxims:
Longing For Wisdom

I feel kinda bad for not being better pleased with it. I don’t think it’s at all RevAllyson’s fault as an author; I think that possibly I ignored or did not pick up on clues about the way the book would go that were perfectly well available to me. I want to stress again that I don’t think it’s a bad book, it’s just not what I’m looking for right now. I would certainly recommend it to someone looking for a devotional (which, if I’d been paying attention, is kind of Bibliotheca Alexandrina’s gig; there’s one of those clues).

In other news, this quick-look not-quite-review (I refuse to review a book properly when I’ve not finished it) is the closest I’ve come to saying anything direct about my religion on the two blogs that I consider more-public space — that is, the space my extended family might reasonably stumble upon by following links from various profiles. So I’m a little nervous there that someone will read between the lines and realize what’s going on, and it’ll be a Big Thing. Except, you know, with my family I’m betting it would never actually wind up being a topic of discussion. Gotta love Midwestern American German Lutheran manners; you don’t discuss religion in polite company.

Karl Kerenyi, “The Spirit”, Apollo: The Wind, the Spirit, and the God: Four Studies, speaking of Vergil’s description of Apollo possessing the Sibyl at Delos:

In Delos it is Apollo who arrives… And he is at the same time the object of the spiritual experience and of observation by the few who, already chosen for their own worth, are able to have or are worthy of having this experience.

I realize, in transcribing this, that Kerenyi is not saying what I initially thought he was. Initially, I read that as referring to the worth of the Sibyl herself; I think, now, that it was instead intended to refer to those gathered to hear her answers. The thought it provokes is the same either way.

In a community that contains a number of people who feel themselves to be called or chosen by various deities, and also contains a number who do not feel so called or chosen, there is inevitably The Question. “Why?” Why are some called, and some left to find their own way without the intervention of the Gods? Why are some chosen and others left without guidance? What sets us apart? What makes us more desirable to the deities that call us? Are we tools suited to their tasks? Are we favorite playthings, collector’s items? Do they choose followers as we choose friends, according to personal attraction and mutual interests?

All possible. All probable, separately or together. But, reading the above passage, another idea occurred to me.

It occurred because I immediately rejected the idea of “worth” as a determinant. I don’t like that. I suppose it’s not PC enough for me — not that I’m usually all that worried about being politically correct, but it makes me feel uncomfortable to say that I am called because I am better than someone who isn’t called. It feels arrogant. I don’t like arrogance. I don’t believe it, either; I don’t believe I’m more of a special snowflake than Jane Doe over there who hasn’t been personally thwacked upside the head with the spiritual equivalent of a rolled-up newspaper.

So I honed in on the option: able to have…this experience. My gut reaction there was, “Able? No, that’s not the right word.” It’s closer than “worthy”, but it’s still not right. I don’t have a special brainwave, or a hidden organ, or whatever, that makes me able to exerience contact with a deity. “Willing”, perhaps, is more of it. Not that we sit down and decide we’re willing — nothing so conscious as that. If it were so simple, fewer people would have crises of faith, no? Just decide you’re willing and you get tapped; easy, no problem, we’ll put you on His schedule. How’s 3pm next Wednesday work for you? Besides that, I know I’ve heard stories of people trying unsuccessfully to run and hide from such an experience; if it were as simple as giving consent, again, this wouldn’t happen. “Not interested? Oh, OK. Next!”

There’s “I’m willing to do this”, though, and then there’s “my psyche is willing to process this experience”. Which is where it starts to verge on “able”, but I don’t like that word because it seems to imply that some people have no potential for it. I think everyone’s got that potential, but a lot of people quite sensibly put up subconscious resistance to it. Because direct deity experience is a damned scary thing at times. It requires letting yourself go out on a limb, perch on the edge of the rooftop, stand on a bare hilltop in the pouring rain and reach for the lightning in the clouds. Kerenyi, in this essay, shows us through Vergil’s work and through the Christian Bible that experiencing the Spirit appears to be something like being caught in a hurricane. He’s not wrong.

Some people thrive on that, some shrink from it, and as with anything there’s a whole spectrum of responses in the middle. And none of those responses is inherently better than the others, but some will be more conducive to a direct relationship with a deity than others. Those chosen aren’t more worthy than those who are not, just as a water main isn’t more “worthy” than a kitchen tap. Which is to say: Worthy of what? You have a greater capacity, you do more work on this particular task. You have a lower capacity, you do something else that you do have a greater capacity for. OK, I talk to Apollo. I can’t write hymns for shit, I have a fuzzy grasp of theology at best, I have difficulty communicating my experiences and beliefs to others (one reason, perhaps, why this blog is so slow). I crave structure but have trouble putting it in place; I am overwhelmed by instinct and it’s sometimes difficult to translate that into anything more than a feeling. These things are important too. Divine experience is not the end-all, be-all of religion, nor is it a magic cure for any religious issues one might have. If anything, it just creates more issues.

I got tapped because my brain has less of a danger-avoidance mechanism regarding spiritual matters. Doesn’t sound so sexy anymore, does it? Which is just fine by me.

As I’ve started poking around in pursuit of more information on the “dark” side of Apollo, an interesting thing has happened. This interesting thing is that I’m not, actually, finding a lot that I wasn’t already aware of. Not a lot of what I’m reading or discussing or thinking about turns out to be new.

The task, then, may not be so much about learning as about remembering. I grasp this concept on an almost instinctive level. I suppose I should have realized that to some extent based on my reaction to hearing “Dreaming Blade” for the first time. I didn’t hear it and kind of scratch my head and go, “Er? Are you sure?” Rather, something deep down inside of me heard it and said, Yes. This fits. Exactly. To the point that it sort of shook me a bit. If I didn’t understand, I could not have had that reaction.

If I am unaware of something, I cannot ignore it, can I? I can be ignorant of it, but to “ignore” something requires a conscious effort to avoid it, and you cannot avoid something if you cannot percieve it.

So. I am aware. I know. I must not lose sight of what I know. I must remember this, about this god I have committed myself to.

My daily quote today:

If you would be pungent, be brief; for it is with words as with sunbeams–the more they are condensed the deeper they burn.–SOUTHEY.

I don’t know whether I’m just in that headspace where I see connections everywhere, or if I’m really getting hit this hard upside the head with it. I mean, even Battlestar Galactica will not leave me alone about it: “Good with a bow, god of the hunt… and also a god of healing. Now, a god can reconcile those two opposing forces.” And I don’t think BSG’s One-of-the-Lords-of-Kobol Apollo is a 1:1 correlation with the Greek god Apollo, and certainly Lee Adama is not, but still. The sentiment is still, roughly, there. Healer and Plague-Bearer, and a god can reconcile that and be both, so wake the frak up.

It started with a thread about songs people associated with various Greek deities. No, that’s not right. It started, specifically, with one suggestion from that thread.

With eyes shut tight
His dreams are sharp as a knife
And he is saving them
Until the timing is right
–Rhea’s Obsession, “Dreaming Blade”

Apollo, said fiamma. And I listened to the song, and I got it, I totally got it, I saw the correlation in ways that kind of scared the crap out of me a little. And then the subject of the nature of Apollo gets touched on over at Hellenistai, and then gets dragged out in the Apollonian/Dionysian discussion at TC. And this stuff keeps coming up, here and there and everywhere, and, like, OK. I get it.

It’s not that I’m not fully aware of… is it appropriate to refer to the dark side of a god of light? It seems twisting the metaphor until its back breaks, somehow. Whatever you call the bits of personality and disposition that lead to things like the slaughter of Niobe’s children and Cassandra’s curse, I’m well aware of their existence. It’s not as though I’m not aware of the potential light has to be harsh, to reveal more than you want to see (or be seen), to burn. It’s not as though I’m some fluff trying to make out like it’s all lollipops and rainbows with Apollo.

At the same time, I have shied away from that. I am aware of it. I haven’t given it a great deal of thought. I haven’t explored who He is, beyond the bits I’m interested in. I have allowed myself to conveniently shuffle away the fact that He is Plague-Bearer as well as Healer. I’ve let myself make it a comfortable relationship, one in which I never have to deal with the aspects of Him that I find intimidating, even frightening.

Well. Maybe I spot a little fluff lingering around after all.

Some time ago, I started a little personal practice of greeting Apollo each morning and evening. May your light shine on me throughout the day; may your light guide me even in my dreams. I dropped the good-night part, because I have a policy of never asking questions to which I do not wish to know the answer. I’d had a good think about the idea of being guided even in my dreams, and realized that might qualify as asking questions to which I didn’t really want to know the answer. So I stopped. I realize now that may have been a mistake.

Sometimes you have to know the answer, whether you want to or not.

And so it was I found myself lying in bed the other night, waiting for Tim to come to bed and trying to fall asleep, with those words ringing in my mind while “Dreaming Blade” ran on infinite loop in the background. “May your light guide me even in my dreams.” Say it. I tried, and my voice would not do it. Say it. Another try. You wanted a task. This is it. Know me. Say it. A sense of… almost being embraced, and simultaneously pulled off the edge into freefall, the arms around me a promise that I would survive the fall but also a promise that it must happen. “May your light guide me even in my dreams.” Say. It. Until at last I forced the words out, in a very small whisper.

And slept a dreamless sleep, wouldn’t you know.

What am I going to do about this? Read. Think. Write long, rambling, half-nonsensical blog entries like this one, I suspect. Remember. Be aware. I don’t know. Stop allowing comfort to lull me into complacence, I suspect. Or at least attempt something like that. Do my best to accomplish the task I’ve been assigned. The pressure feels off for now, but I don’t think it will stay that way if I just fall right back into the same old thing.

You know… I’d only meant for this theme to be temporary. The more I look at it, though, the more I like it. The color of the header graphic reminds me of congac amber — and amber being something that I associate closely with my Patron, and something I wear a lot of, that seems as appropriate as a custom sun image does. Even if I didn’t do it myself.

I’m still not sure about the bright orange links; maybe I’ll try to calm them down somewhat. But there’s less change needed here than I thought there was, really.

I get smacked upside the head in the damndest places. This time it’s Jacob, over at Television Without Pity, recapping True Blood:

Like Jesus washing the feet, or Hestia’s temple, or those nuns that wash the courtyard flagstones every day: They’re doing it as a sacrament. Putting aside their pride and comfort for the good of others, and serving with their hands. And that’s the most amazing, beautiful thing in the world to me. But if you forget for a second that you’re doing it as a sacrament, then you’re just on your knees.

And the mundane meets the sacred.

I have sometimes gotten frustrated because all the housework tends to fall to me — there are other things involved in running our household that Tim’s better at than I am, and he does those things, and kind of by default I wind up with the cooking and cleaning. I don’t particularly like housework, and it just never ends, you know? There’s always something that could be cleaner, something that could be done more often, and I get frustrated that I don’t get any help with it. This is my job, though, and I need to do it.

On the religious side, I’ve been giving some attention to Hestia, but it’s largely been on the “I know I should” level. I know She is important, but I don’t have a good feel for how to acknowledge that. So I’ve kind of stumbled through a few different attempts to find the right way to honor Her, the current one being a little libation and prayer in the morning.

Seeing housework as a sacred duty, performed to honor Hestia as much as to keep our house clean, seems the obvious solution to both problems. It won’t make chores more fun, no — but mindset can be everything sometimes, and approaching it from the mindset of performing a sacred duty rather than “doing chores” makes it more likely that I’ll think of it in a more positive light and will potentially make it more rewarding. And it does give me a way to honor Hestia that feels like it really fits. Caring for my home, my family, setting aside my own pride and issues and comfort to do so; what better way to honor the goddess of the hearth, the spirit of the family bond?

Plus, it doesn’t involve any new practice, just a change in mindset, so I’m not as likely to let it lapse as I have some other things.

I intended to do more about blogging my Pagan values this month. I really did. I’m finding myself at kind of a low point creatively, though, and am having difficulty coming up with the energy and motivation to write much. I may or may not get another entry about it in before the end of the month. Sigh.

Which makes me wonder why I’m also planning to finally get some work done on the template for this blog, which is also creative work. But I’m going to try anyway.

Piety. Eusebia. Giving the Gods their due and appropriately recognizing their role in our lives. This is important; that seems fairly self-evident to me. If I don’t think the Gods are active in my life, what am I doing here? And if they are indeed, then how can I ignore them?

But… what does that mean? How do I do this? What are the parameters?

I suppose I should start out with what “piety” is not to me. I mean, if I start talking about a “pious” person, it can bring up some pretty strong and fairly negative connotations. Piety starts to look like a person who’s all God(s), all the time. Every smallest blessing is “from God”, even those that are products of the person’s own efforts. Any trial is an ordeal that God helps one through, or maybe a part of God’s plan. And you hear about it all the time, because the other thing is, God’s glory should be spread by the pious person. Right?

I don’t think so. I’ve talked about personal responsibility elsewhere here. I don’t think piety is giving that up. Piety is not giving the Gods credit for every single good thing and for your surviving every single bad thing. Piety is not about abasing yourself, about surrendering all free will and credit for anything (good or bad) that happens.

What piety is, is acknowledging the Gods’ role in your life, in honest terms. Honest not just about what they do for you, but also about where the boundary is where it’s no longer what they’re doing, it’s just your own skill or dumb luck or whatever. In my case, it’s a quick recognition each morning, with especial attention paid to those who are important to my life in general terms or who have some connection to something going on that day. It’s pouring a libation following some particularly good thing — to Hermes after a successful journey, for example. It’s formally recognizing and honoring a deity when I’m in their space, such as pouring a libation to Poseidon when I come to the ocean on vacation. It’s even smaller things, too, thinking of Zeus in a thunderstorm.

But it’s not surrendering your entire life to the worship of the Gods. There’s a difference between living mindfully and living slavishly. Piety is the former, and not the latter.