Through a Trap Door

I want a good night’s sleep.
I want to get up without feeling
That to waken is to plunge through a trap door.
   

George Bilgere, from “What I Want”
  

Lately, I have not wanted to get out of bed in the morning. The radiators in my ancient apartment building are not yet functioning at full force, though the morning cold is. Out of bed, there are conflicts to be dealt with, decisions to be made, impossible walls to be scaled. My dreaming life is so much more inviting. It is hard indeed to put my feet on the cold floor, look out my window, and say, sincerely, thank you for another day.

But today on my way to work, I passed a landscaped lawn with one sprinkler on. The sprinkler turned, the water hit the light, and a rainbow formed, just in that one moment, as I happened to glance over. It was a wink from some other awareness, from the part of me that knows, this seeming reality, too, is just another dream world. It was a moment of seeing, awake, to the other side of the trap door. It made the idea of getting up tomorrow a little easier.

Theseus and the Minotaur

In ancient Crete, mythology has it that King Minos built a labyrinth to house the Minotaur, a half-man, half bull, to whom the youth of Athens were sacrificed every seven years. The Minotaur was the direct result of Minos’s greed and defiance of the god Poseidon; Minos had prayed for a white bull, whose appearance was to be a sign of approval. Poseidon granted the bull, with the agreement that Minos was to sacrifice the bull in order to return it to the god. But upon seeing the animal, Minos found it beautiful and defied the agreement by keeping it for himself. Poseidon exacted revenge by making Minos’s wife fall in love with the bull. The result of their union was the Minotaur.

The hero who slayed the Minotaur, Theseus, did so by volunteering to take the place of one of the youth who was to be sacrificed. He was aided by Ariadne, daughter of Minos, who gave him a ball of string so that he could find his way out of the labyrinth and shared with him the knowledge that Daedalus, architect of the labyrinth, had given her: go forward, never down, right or left. Once inside, he found the Minotaur and beat it to death, then escaped with all the young Athenians.

Our culture is dealing with multiple Minotaurs at the moment, in multiple labyrinths constructed to house the consequences of our old mistakes – greed, poverty of imagination, hunger for power. The war in Iraq is a maze that devours young men and women on a daily basis. The financial crisis sacrifices the elders and robs the young ones of a future.

The myth of the Minotaur gives us some clues about what is needed to defeat the monster: love, cooperation, humility, stealth, a willingness to listen those who know. How wonderful would it be if instead of assaulting us with sound bites, our presidential candidates told us of swords they have hidden to carry into the labyrinth, what they have learned from battles with other devouring monsters, and the Ariadnes and Daedaluses who will provide them guidance and knowledge.

A Dance for Death

In Vermont, I took part in a ceremony that involved confronting death. The old story says, if you live your life like a warrior, meaning bravely, authentically, when Death comes, he will give you a gift. He will pause, and you will have a chance to dance one last time. The ceremony was intense, emotional. Standing around the fire with my friends when it was over, we heard coyotes yipping in the distance, celebrating a kill. Someone remarked, “So Death really did show up tonight.”

Yesterday I learned that a friend had died, suddenly and unexpectedly, of an aneurysm. She had been a force to be reckoned with, an absolutely larger than life singer, dancer and choreographer who loved to teach what she knew. No one could tell a story more dramatically, sing louder, or convey such a sharp and ironic sense of humor; I can still remember vividly stories she told more than 10 years ago, and they still make me laugh when I remember. 

If ever anyone was allowed the opportunity to dance one last time, when Death came, I think it would be Vicki. I imagine the dance was raucous, hilarious, and over the top. I imagine Death had never been so entertained.

On Getting Lost

“Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you
Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger”

David Wagoner, from Lost 

I have a particular talent for getting lost; I do it better and faster than most people I know.

This wasn’t something I cultivated. This brain of mine, which does a number of things fabulously, does not hold more than 3 turns at a time, and it is likely to remember at least one of those wrong at least half the time.

So recently, in Vermont, when given the task of wandering in the woods for half an hour or so,  I dutifully picked a familiar direction. I took only 2 turns, and I was careful to note them exactly in the map my mind was making of where I had been. I was so cautious. And somehow I got lost anyway. Even later, walking in that same stretch of woods, I was unable to figure out where my wrong turn had been. It seemed, on turning around, that there were choices I didn’t remember making, forks in the road I had not seen as forks at the time. My mind tried to make something of that, to ask itself what other choices it might have made without even realizing there was a choice. But ultimately, the question came to nothing.

I found my way back. I wasn’t all that lost to begin with. I had picked the right direction, just the wrong trail, so once I got within a reasonable distance, a friend saw me, called out my name, and guided me back to the group.

Despite my best efforts to know where I am at all times, and where I’m going, I have come to believe that I will just get lost from time to time. It seems to be part of how I operate in the world. That’s not easy for a woman who is used to doing most things well and efficiently right from the beginning. I do have a sense of direction; I do find my way back. But it may take me longer than most people, and it may make for some embarrassing moments when it becomes apparent to people that I’m not actually as together all the time as I might like them to think. All in all, though, the moment of being found almost makes up for it. Thank God for the friends and family who somehow manage to meet me halfway down the trail, time and time again, to help guide me back.